Toast

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Commercial Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Read it at your wedding

Submitted: March 25, 2014

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Submitted: March 25, 2014

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To what begins in blood -

To what shall end by blood -

To the infinite landscape -

To the broken circuits, the madmen traumatic and searching for meaning, the empty buzzing quiet streets, the impressionable shadow, the blackness, the black screen, the black sky-

To Moloch!

 

That as empty promises define it -

That as formless happenings occur -

That the trees shall rustle with laughter too.

 

Laughter at the keys to your kingdom -

Bones of society rot away -

Glimpses of pieces but never a whole -

Laughter rattling and dissolving sanity.

 

Come on crawl -

Pondering magnificence in extraterrestrials -

Come on call -

Skittish, sizable, princely, failing, turning to foam -

Chase after the ball -

Dance in a tune no one else can hear -

Be the brick in the wall.

 

Reading inner galaxies of tangerine skies and marshmellow pies, making moves only to lose, lasting with radiowaves and soundscapes, eternal, spatial...

That death is but a dream, and only life goes on.

Calculating monsters huddled over imaginary substance.

Banging our heads with beats and bullets, imbibing to pass the time.

The starring poster boy turned and tossed asunder.

And you've been waiting all your life -

To appear here.

 

What's your name?

What's your game?

Do you see eternity?

Do you have I.D.?

Do you trust serendipity?

 

To the prayers in hospital walls, in guilt and bitterness -

To the convivial prayers -

To the beggers and pleaders -

To the prayers long outgrown the concept of God -

To an apposite conclusion, to the prayers -

Finally, between two moments, canonized as a firebrand.

 

There is laughter at your deviations,

Your immortalized stagnant time spent -

We must move.

We must love.

We must find economized hope for the human race.

 

For the beast pins its' pleasure -

Digs its' treasure -

Perhaps shall do so forever.

 

For blood coughed inside the vanity sink -

For the imbalanced scales and those in the clink -

For nothing at all, no meaning, no logic, no catharsis, no promises, no heavens and no rain, letting the night divide the day, no pondering, no inhibitions, no naked consciousness, no unification, no stairway upward, no future, no past...

For only now, let it roll, baby, roll.

For acting in kindness without rajasic scorn,

For wholesome empathizing without pity,

For all the fear -

For uncertainty, the end always near -

For the decapitating end -

For you, my friend.


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