In The End,
it’s always
silence.
Silence is
our final
song.
In the background,
playing loudly,
as the credits
slowly roll.
Who’s
the villain
of this story?
Makes no
difference
to me.
In The End,
The All
played well..
whichever role
God chose
to give.
Other articles
Poem 838
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The Others claim
to feel my pulse
through tendrils
that I willingly extend..
to feel something.
My tendrils
are, however,
merely words
I type alone
in darkness
on a screen.
As they
attempt
to palpate
for some
evidence of
palpitations
in my heart,
what is their felt?
Heartbeat
of tendrils …Poem 837
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Sometimes
we find
ourselves..
to be
the broken
record.
Playing
the same
old songs..
forward and
back.. just
wasting
seconds.
If only that
I knew a way
to fill the scratch
that makes it loop
the same motif.
Best I can do
is move the needle
past the damaged
groove …Poem 836
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How is it that
a concave mask
produces an illusion
of a convex face?
Because
the origin of truth
is always hollowly
opaque to our own
brain.
It is an empty
space, filled in
with whatsoever
that we’re most
afraid of
to expect.
That’s why,
in depths of …Poem 835
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The masks
we wear upon
our face..
are truths
we struggle
to embrace.
About ourselves,
about the world.
About our past
of right and wrong.
The truths we
speak of not,
unless we’re
asked.
And even then,
we bend
and twist them
to make
fables that still fit our …Poem 834
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Death
only rides
living
horses.
That’s why
he’s so keen
on palpating
their pulses.
How else
would he know that
their equine heart
presently beats?
And if he feels
nothing, he knows
that he’s beating
a dead horse,
indeed…
It’s true,
unlike us,
Death is keen …Poem 833
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I guess it might be
time for us
to finally grow up.
The All of
booty in this
Neverland
already has been
plundered.
This pirate captain
is legit already..
running out
of hooks.
Come on..
I didn’t read
a countable
infinity of
books.
I may have
written though..
at …Poem 832
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Reduction
to the absurd.
The proof is
in the pudding,
rest assured.
As much as I
examine each
and every
premise,
still I cannot
make conclusions
that they lead to
speak more sense.
The truths
of our heart
continue being
superseded
by the truths
of our head.
No musings
of …Poem 831
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Courageous
share their truth,
however ugly
or uncouth
or inconvenient
out loud.
Cowards, however,
veil it in a shroud
of reasonable
doubt.
Nothing to point
the finger at.
Nothing they can’t
just plausibly
deny.
The All of truth,
however, is observed
by The All-Seeing Eye..
across all time.