What is the pleasure of the fallen
Cannot be felt by the flying
What we have sunk to feel
Cannot be measured by time
Running against the steady winds
Undoing what is defined
We stand in a part of their reeling
Trying to do the untried
The palette that holds our grays
Blending the black and the white
Will not be of meaning to them
For whom the norms suffice
Friday, August 14, 2009
Beauty of His Decadence: Part Deux
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