| As Yet If nothing comes from nothing, how can I create? There is no proof that I exist. Since the words are not my own, do I leave it to fate? But I always come back to myself. I just want to end this all. Phrases of faulty eloquence do not convince me to subsist. The connectedness escapes me. If there is a heart of the trouble, will someone say what it is? Take the beginning and hang it from a shelf. I can't look anymore. What are these behemoths that jepordize my health? Again, it is all trite. Please stop this now! It starts then stops, then I run into a brick wall. Faded, tired and jaded I go on. There is no end and my body is trapped in a prison stall. An imp of the gorgon, but who knows what it might be? It dives beyond strange. In an uncontrolled frenzy, what new nightmares can we see? Only the semblance of beautiful things. 2000 Christa Midcap |
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