literature

Train of Thought.

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Published: Feb 17, 2009

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Literature Text

Lies are too easy, especially when you have something to hide behind.
Lines on a page, how can they say so much?
How do you know they mean anything?
You can’t prove that they aren’t just empty.
        Scribbles.
               Letters.
                      Words.
                             And dots.
Nothing more.
But nothing less.

The reality of illusions,
And the illusion of reality.
Science is merely
    a game,
In an infinite web called
     the universe.

Insignificance.
What does it matter how many tears we
                      shed?
And how much blood we
                      lose?
How loud and hard we
                     scream?

Clones.
      Row after row.
                   Of clones.

Processed
         And prepared.
                 For the hell someone named:
Life.

Why are we never
            Prepared for
                  Nothing?
Never prepared for
                             death.

I don't know what that is.

I bunged a load of my thoughts down and didn't bother with metaphores and whatnot. Partly inspired by an episode of One Tree Hill were there was an end monologue voice-over thing that went like this (The episode was called, With Tired Minds, Tired Minds, Tired Souls, we slept):

Does this darkness have a name?
This cruelty, this hatred.
How did it find us?
Did it steal into our lives or did we seek it out and embrace it?
What happened to us?
That we now send our children into the world like we send young men to war.
Hoping for their safe return, but knowing that some will be lost along the way.
When did we lose our way?
Consumed by the shadow, swallowed whole by the darkness.
Does this darkness have a name?
Is it your name?

So freaking powerful.