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My aspirations were like grand constellations Plucking one dream after the next Then came the Big Bang of adolescence With every burning goal Came a larger person To put it out
Dear Plato, This desolate stone sculpture fumbling around with Play-Doh Molding the world, keeping us afloat Bearded Athenian, the framer's scapegoat.
Before the end it all took place, I met a man who drew my face; The paint decides the life it shows, As ancient men like Plato knows... for in that portrait I was king, and people never knew a thing...
memes of bee movie and arthur's fist conservative politicians and twitter flips the land i am in deems a laughingstock while immigrants stir the melting pot. i dug the holes of the holy saints
THE PUREST KNOWLEDGE Is preparing us for the day we die. I understand it’s a gorgeous day outside. Change is not an illusion. The basic substance is water. Opposites create each other.
Blurry lines and crooked faces all crowd around, hushed by the inevitable doom, I breathe, I exist and yet all the same I am not like them, I see the awful glory of the lights thrown against the cave walls, and I digress...
There is a fire which burns in all men, oft banked by worldly care It needs but one breath to waken its heat, a wind of holy air On pagan altar once it burned, its all-consuming heat
There is a new dawn behind each nightfall Where a higher power will start to call
Change is what I can see What I can hear And what I feel everywhere. By my well-dressed organs, Dressed in customised compulsion of slumber confusing which with perfection But not my soul
Everything has a face Just like my Brother’s old backpack Hanging in the closet with its snares and tares And every time I look At it seeing its entirety, places it’s gone, baggage it has carried