|Oboli for you sweet ferrymen.
||[Mar. 6th, 2015|12:29 pm]
Concrete scars drawn against cold concrete.|
Iron bar world.
Years ago you slept, long before the dawning of the twilight of your idols.
Thus it had been spoken, Zarathustra.
Oh mad bards from time immemorial did you not have the gift and fire.
Pained I was by your existence and yet I still mourn you.
I mourn you for all of the choices that you never made.
I mourn you for all of the days you never lived.
Few summers passed before you slept, until you came to be the soil.
Your cruelty an expression of your own pain.
Not all anger boils from toxic fires.
Some anger from a well spring of love.
Anger transformed can become compassion.