invincible

i wonder, if that which makes us invincible is not related to health...

... or wisdom...

... or wealth...

... or beauty...

... but arrogance, and selfishness, and inconsideration, and callousness. then would it not be simple to live in each moment, and extend that moment to an infinity, because as soon as the next comes along, we will have lived all there is to live of that prior moment? and therefore, the sum of all these moments is a definition of forever, that makes us invincible.

but this is an oversimplification, one that many choose to live with, where there is a more elegant (if somewhat more effort-laden) way of invincibility - that which requires the fondness of another, and of one's own.

but life is too short to seek eternal in the most sophisticated ways! so let us rejoice that immortality is just another construct. much like kinship or love or inner peace or competence.

distraught draught

dilly-dally, dilly-dally,
daily subroutines;
the one who sicks when socks are off and eats salty saltines.

wishy-washy, wishy-washy,
willing all the time;
that random assonances will perchance end up in rhyme.

so distraught, this dapper dude, disposed of with despair,
that one might think there's nothing left to tinker with up there;
not 'bove his head! but in it's stead, with solemn, sultry meat,
of what he thinks, no, nothing else, but sickly sorrow sweet.

sit sipping sixpence worth of sap, or spirit, cider'd sleet,
intoxicating his last breath, indeed in need of heat;
though of that naught, and not too soon! this naughty nincompoop,
inebriated to last breath, and doing loop-the-loop.

in mind, in soul, in body, too, makes silly boys worries,
for fishing with foul female wiles, for fscking fantasies!
but coyly coated christmas trees, made cuter with cutpurse,
emotional - not coin or dew - ends up not care'd done worse.

pitter-patter, pitter patter,
petty monsoon rains,
which wish away with willowed wanes these ache'd and wicked pains.

for all to see, and none to know, the tired curse of court,
this dapper man sits in his words and sips the distraught draught.

closing censure

for the longest time, i had held a fire, through rain and snow and darkest hour. but that the fire had long faded was oblivious to my eyes, so blinded with contention and hope.

but today, i have set my torch to the ground, and asked of it the whys and wherefores of its existence. knowing now that it has long since died, and an eternal flame is something to be won, not sought, i must start again in the search of that monumental turning point - man's discovery of fire (only this time, i hope it is not tainted with a stench odour and sickly blaze).

closure!
but not yet.
maybe the french will know of it?
maybe the americans?
but maybe, one day, it will be known by me.