This poem is one of those for which I have very few words to describe. It is the sort of thing where either the reader will instantly understand it on a personal level, or have no idea what is going on. Of course, the majority of people will be the latter. And of course, they will pretend to be the former. But that’s sort of the point isn’t it?


How often one falls

and stays lying down,

pigs wallow in filth,

humans in self-pity,

a prisoner with no jailer,

a jailer himself,

how many blows can a soul take

before never rising again?


Soul bound by habit,

mind chained by circumstance,

dark whirlpools of dark thoughts,

the wellspring of environment,

that which offers much, but

demands but a little,

takes more than it offers,

steals the soul itself


The moment of curiosity

strangles the voice of reason,

The moment of temptation

drowns the soul of the soul,

The moment of action,

slayer of life’s last season,

The moment of reflection,

divider of the whole,

Moments fill life and

life but a moment,

One moment we choose,

we live and die,

and then


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