Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The heart pounds faster.
And faster still.
Questions of what,
and who and of why?
To live is to breathe,
yet to live is to die.
Primal and vicious,
it sleeps within me.
Like a dormant volcano
awaiting its time.
Pulsating,
Creating illusions of darkness,
friends and foes alike,
Clouding judgement like a stormy winter's night.
Forgive me for I know not what I do.
So lock your doors and kiss your wives,
Saddle your horses and sharpen the knives.
For the moment of passion,
and madness and rage,
will call for your valour,
to smite me with silver bullet,
or wild rose,
and end the nightmare,
for your sake
and mine.
- 6:35 AM -