Doubt The Rabbit
Well-known member
- Joined
- Oct 11, 2010
- Messages
- 2,208
- Reaction score
- 6
You seem to know Ryan very well, sir. (D) What are you, his butt buddy?
Help Support Loneliness, Depression & Relationship Forum:
B
Bob Arctor
Guest
We're twins separated after birth. ಠ_ಠ
Doubt The Rabbit
Well-known member
- Joined
- Oct 11, 2010
- Messages
- 2,208
- Reaction score
- 6
Sooo...yes? 
B
Bob Arctor
Guest
I fail to see the logic of your conclusion, madame.
B
Bob Arctor
Guest
Adrift in grey seas of air
Do swim like stones, these living things.
Being rid the sense of bird and hare
Affords them only a gawking stare
And to count themselves as kings.
So they peer from their eagle's nook,
Though each one, a flightless creature.
Unwary they of hidden hooks,
As ignorant as a worm of rooks
Who serve life's eyeless teacher.
Would third eyes paint from tarot
Cards, my torso in this crooked maw
That bends and bites my bones to marrow
And sets me dreaming of a sparrow
Locked within the Serpent's jaw?
One thousand times I am my own fool
To have set one boot in such a mire.
To this brackish, rankling pool
I would prefer to set my soul
Afloat, atop a burning pyre.
As the eve of all I've known draws nigh
I ponder, shall they know remorse,
For every deed and every lie
That were whispered low or cried on high,
Before this blood has run its course?
The silver Moon, a ladle of frost,
Doth call to mine own soul's desire.
This path seemeth not all star-crossed,
By God, I am not fully lost
As I climb atop a lonely pyre.
Nary a wind nor Albatross
For me, upon this dismal pyre.
Do swim like stones, these living things.
Being rid the sense of bird and hare
Affords them only a gawking stare
And to count themselves as kings.
So they peer from their eagle's nook,
Though each one, a flightless creature.
Unwary they of hidden hooks,
As ignorant as a worm of rooks
Who serve life's eyeless teacher.
Would third eyes paint from tarot
Cards, my torso in this crooked maw
That bends and bites my bones to marrow
And sets me dreaming of a sparrow
Locked within the Serpent's jaw?
One thousand times I am my own fool
To have set one boot in such a mire.
To this brackish, rankling pool
I would prefer to set my soul
Afloat, atop a burning pyre.
As the eve of all I've known draws nigh
I ponder, shall they know remorse,
For every deed and every lie
That were whispered low or cried on high,
Before this blood has run its course?
The silver Moon, a ladle of frost,
Doth call to mine own soul's desire.
This path seemeth not all star-crossed,
By God, I am not fully lost
As I climb atop a lonely pyre.
Nary a wind nor Albatross
For me, upon this dismal pyre.
