Sunday, August 14, 2011

Fatal Becoming

Blog post # 221:
(221 = 13*17.)

Audaciously Unidirectional


Unsubstantially Massive


Fatalism Slanted


Sad Grandiosity


---------------------------------

Anagrams:


Spit rays
=
It sprays.

--

Turning a cool wicked screw
=
Drawing counterclockwise

--

Mortal stone shouts hate...
=
as lost hot meteor haunts.

--------------------------

Two poems, written yesterday and today.
The second one ("Unobtained Butterfly") reflects the way I feel today.

Fiery Stone
-----------

Slanted, the fiery stone
is mortal. Yet
It fulfills its thunder,
and it fails its
Carelessness.
But its explosion is eternal.
And its hatred is whole.
It flows, yes, from
The upper-left unto
such slanting, unto such
Tilted space.

And it is implied by
its oneness. For, as that
Spherical truth, it is
both dangerous and endangered.
But it slants, ha,
within its descent, within
Its fall otherwise entwined.
However, it is quite
Unequal to its own inertia.
Yet its poison
Is this damnation;
it is this injustice becoming
All fate, becoming
all fatality of sorrow and
Flame and forcefulness
thus made in these
Geometries' fantastic colliding.

-----------------------------

Unobtained Butterfly
----------------

Death implies its psychoses.
It encircles and retakes
Our sorrow, yet it becomes it.
And death has
Rendered this larva
amongst a sad cocoon as
Nothing. Surely, death
has denied the bug its beauty
Otherwise to be.
Ah, the butterfly is nonexistent,
Yes. And its abstinence
is its loss. For, never
Are such wings to
transcend their grandness.
Never is the redemption
of this insect to
Obtain its realization.
No, the caterpillar has died.
And its silk and sickness
are its only solace.
Perhaps that lepidopteran
was to achieve its
Godliness. But it failed.
Yes, it has unjustifiably
Been betrayed by
its mortality. It has wrongly
Been frustrated by its fate,
despite its irradiance,
Despite its apparition
almost its destiny. And
It is of emptiness now, quite.
It is but finite
And diminished and
demented and tritely lacking
In its sleep; it is lacking
in its dreams forgotten,
In its life unexpressed
and viciously stilled.

----------------------------

Leroy

2 comments:

flip said...

The butterfly poem was good, depressing, but good. I loved Drawing Counterclockwise though. Such a great random thought.

The Anonymous Moderate said...

I can't tell if this is a blog or not because of the way its formatted. You should definitely look into how to build up your content to make it easier for folks to get what you're trying to do here. What's with the title, "Hypothetically"? Is this a personal diary like blog or something serious?