In some crazy kind of sight
I see myself labored over by millions
wanting to know who I am,
what, if anything at all,
I was.
I wish for people to bury
me whole
to dig up my corpse later on
and make love with
science to the
size of my skull.
I see monitors tracking
fleeting brainwaves as I
die, in hopes to hold every
little thing left behind;
in a bold move
they clone me to link many more
loving words together and
once more lead
the free world on home.
A creaking copse of trees
will likely be the truth of
my cemetery site, but with
a thankless
starless sky my plot,
only to be held
vague by wind.














Comments
i like this, not only in the way it's
written, worded and imaged throughout,
but it's message. that's not ego, i hear,
but ambition, and a certain amout of
optimism. we can but try, and hope others
will hear our voice and try also.
your rhyming and alliteration are subtle,
and the little surprise of corpse and copse
is a nice touch.
i would think you've rated a solid four stars
across the board, maybe some higher. a polite
request to nycterent should get you a critique
on this, don't forget to include the link.
tell him i sent you.
pip
--
the worth of beauty is in the heart
of the observer, tallied by the
intensity of the tendency to weep.
[as in - "you are so beautiful to me"]
llp - nov'09
and thank you for the four stars.
--
Bore, n.: A person who talks when you wish him to listen.
what i said...
"we can but try, and hope others
will hear our voice and try also."
it's for you and i
to live outside our lives,
along with others
to spread to viralize.
these efforts give
our existance value.
this experiment ours
has a worth to continue.
if we do help in some way,
that is our lasting legacy.
pip
--
the worth of beauty is in the heart
of the observer, tallied by the
intensity of the tendency to weep.
[as in - "you are so beautiful to me"]
llp - nov'09
--
Bore, n.: A person who talks when you wish him to listen.
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