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{The Fool}
by < 4 5 3 Y 5 |-| 3 |_ |> 0 |\|
{by Casey Sheldon}
The sparkle and glint in the eye of a friend
Can do very well for my soul to mend
The burning remission of cancerous souls
Can be summed up clearly with words like bright coals
The lyrics of living are noble and true
They ring in the soul like bells chiming new
The cold lonely song of an ego alone
A sadness that no hero’s act can atone
The fear deep inside us illusion at best
Seems our fastest friend or a capricious test
We strive and we pledge to complete this our task
To shred every piece of ego, our mask
The test becomes lesson, and friend becomes ghost
Our beliefs are deserted, no longer our post
We find that our sadness was merely a tool
To force us to jump into playing the Fool.
–
Sometimes moments seem unbearable. And then they pass, and the knowledge of that can be enough to keep even the most suicidal man from taking the leap. We all struggle for meaning and understanding in life, as is our wont, but rarely do we find anything more than affirmations of trite cliches and Hall-mark slogans. The difficulty, as I see it, lies in the fault of language itself, for its lack. Perhaps we will someday soon invent the necessary words, or find a new medium of communication, but for now, the very best we can do is express the fullness of our internal workings and hope that it helps someone else. Confession is the very thing which creates bonds of unity. If this helped you, share something… no, anything, with someone else, and… uh… whadya callit… oh yeah, pay dis shiznit fo’ward.
oh, and if you’re really bored… go here and download some great distractions.
< 4 5 3 Y 5 |-| 3 |_ |> 0 |\|
Get down with the S|C|<N355
Answers to questions
Don’t give you peace
They are but suggestions
That point to the east
And when the sun rises
You still don’t know why
We wear our disguises
To live and to die
We burn in our madness
And freeze when it’s dull
We tremble with sadness
On problems we mull
And no one knows why
Still some just don’t care
To live and to die
Is all that they dare
But somehow a question
All phosphor and shine
Naught but a suggestion
It enters my mind
What is it, I ask
And who does it serve
To be taken to task
I may yet deserve
A terrible quotient
I fear doth await
And what’s set in motion
It burns with cold hate
It feel it inside me
And hear on the air
The silence so deadly
An alien prayer
The sickness it quickens
And rides on our fear
And all-that-is sickens
For now it is here.
