On Angst and Better Poetry

Baron here. I found a poem I wrote well over a year ago, probably two or three years ago back when my alter ego went by a different name and that personality was moping over... well, a girl.  None the less, this poem caught my eye and I opted to subject everyone else to it as well.  You, in the back, with the glasses, get a tissue, you're going to need it.

Grasp a flower and make it yours.
It will wilt.
Catch a butterfly and keep it.
It will die.
Dig up clay and make a flower.
It will crack.
Bread will rot,
water will dry,
pens will jam
and swords will rust.
Like a bird in a tree,
a dog with a flee,
a door with a key
when you return;
the same, it will not be.

As Long As I Am In 


Agnsty kid. He didn't quite grasp Taoism so I'm afraid he took things a little too seriously.

All for now,

-The Baron

No comments: