Continuing my poetic rampage, this is a poem i wrote a while back and i posted it on CD before all was lost, but i thought id throw it back up for the sole reason of indulging in vanity, its one of my favourites.

Windows

I wrote a window, a meagre glimpse, of that which he thought true,
A world of bliss and great grandeur, and worth the effort too,
He saw the world, he saw those in it, and was pleased with what he saw,
But food with outside wealth of sight can inside be quite raw.

Through time and steady thought, He came to see that which was wrong
The idea that the list of good in life is indeed wide and long,
That list is short and crumpled, and as he came to see,
His mind morphed into something different, that something would be me

I own this mind, this source of strength and oh it tastes so sweet,
He had his thoughts in little boxes, stacked up oh so neat,
I took those boxes, tore them up and used them as a tinder,
And in the flames I saw my power, my wrath the world can’t hinder

Let me write you a new window, smaller yet with more to find
For to convey the depth of these ideas, sheer language can’t convey
These thoughts are spawned of troubled mind,
Look in and if you bare the sights, allow your mind to stay.

Your gods face execution on a scaffold of white wood,
We’d make them dress as jokers just because we could,
The axe would fall with lack of mercy, glinting in the morning light
The blood would spill out oh so thick, upon the wood so white
Its neither here nor there if the blood is gold or red,
Ill sleep with satisfaction with the knowledge that they bled

Ill put your morals to the test, Ill drag your ethics through the dirt
You’ll soak your hands with hatred and rage will stain your shirt,
You’ll find a place within your mind, you never knew was there,
You’ll learn to watch a wretched murder, and simply just not care

So this is me, my thought at work, guiding my way through the mist,
Guiding this mere mortal body, as its mind will scream and shout,
The funny truth is I am not but an idea, in truth I don’t exist,
Which is why you’ll dismiss all I’ve said, to ponder how I wrote this out.