Stroke the flames and
burn the steel.
For in it all no hope
comes in the violence
that sparks or
fuels our ways.

Let the poets sing
their song of
you and yours and
lovely curves.

Because ashes
are what we
are born to be.
Let the lovers have
their lucky streak.

Let the fame and
fortune fall on
those less deserving
it.

Because we and I
are the only few
that will suffer
in it's misguided
happenstance.

So drink with me,
and dine with me
because tomorrow
is the end.

An end that ends
with stupidity and
ashes mixed with
the world's lunacy.

Let it end where
it begin,
and I will yank
the silver on
my scalp and the
golden words from
my beaten heart.

And you will know
that here lies
the dead soul of
someone who
loved the world,
but was given
to little and to poor.

12/12/2008

Posted on 12/12/2008
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin