Sunday, April 1, 2012

Curtain Call

Surely some Methuselah is born.

Horizon's curtain rises

for the benders seeking nature bent.

The soul is engorged in discovering

secret pleasures

of fleshlessness,

of desires become defunct

in the quantum abacus.

Is it nobler to slay untrue than to pursue?

To what must we submit

but for hollow holiness;

a prison, a puzzle,

walls and a window,

a masterpiece to one but none to all?

Liberty lies in death or Truth,

choosing one is to fly from another.

But the dream is stolen in the awakening,

the curtain call.

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