Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Though these hands be bloody and cracked,
they be also wonting and stagnant;
the sun falls lightly not
This blood that once carried that sacred fluid,
that giver of charisma and bringer of lightning,
the lightly falling sun has sapped and dried pathways
and left us as wretched, desperate, gone:
what is thought without synapse?
emotion without endorphin?
ambition without drive?

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