DUST TO DUST

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I cannot bring my battles to you,

So I lie here and wait for your peeping death.

I cannot raise my sword against you,

So I wait for death to unsheath.

 

Have you ever watched a raven peck at Eagle?

If you have my dear one, You have a lived a thousand ages,

I am but a child,

As a child I eat, like a child I drink,

Like a child I think and just as children fight- so do I.

I will wait for you to die.

Death is your master.

 

 

A POEM IN FUTILITY

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I do not want to die having done anything,

And I do not want to die having done nothing.

Idealism is futility,

Futility is your reality.

I admit it,

You drink from a golden chalice but your head is made of clay.

I won’t deny it,

I smear ash on my face but my heart knows not decay.

I am sorry that you are sorry,

I am also so sorry that I cannot please you.

Life is for the living,

Death is for the dead.

Do not worry about me – me who is the Reaper’s spawn.

LES SODS

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I know a couple of unhappy sods,

And an even bigger poor sod,

All day long they hunch in their caves,

Waiting to light the fire with dead wood,

The bigger sod pisses on the little sods,

The piss spatters to the dead wood,

And the unhappy sods just keep rubbing the wood in their caves.

Hoping to light a fire with the wet dead wood.

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