By Jeremy M. - Posted on 01 December 2010

So I wrote this under the influence of anger directed at myself. Lately, I've been really disgusted with how I have acted towards people in general, especially towards those I respect greatly. This isn't really an apology, but more of a poem written upon my realization thats its time for a shift in how I treat people and govern myself, because I do not want to be the rebel that becomes that which he hates (that is if I am in fact a rebel). It could also be considered the companion piece to my poem about running from the eldritch spirit and confrontation as this is the next logical step to facing the evils that may inhabit oneself.

As we entered the old home

I pointed out the chipped paint

Spreading forth like a wave

From a nearby windowsill.

 

The flakes lie still on the floor

The carpet long since gone

Leaving concrete,

Paint marks of many colors all 'round.

 

I was alone.

Talking to myself,

Everyone should talk to themselves

You would be surprised at what you learn.

 

I found out what I say I believe and what I actually believe

Are as winter is to summer

Or a faux hippie's hybrid to a redneck's pickup truck.

Its time to become who you are.

 

The streetlight flickers on and off

Showing its own chaotic flair all night

An eldritch spirit stood outside

Interrupting my lonely commune.

 

I ignored it though,

It was just an old accomplice

The kind of person you meet and hangs around,

You never want to see, but tolerate.

 

The rain cascaded on my face as I left

The wind howled in torrid fury

The moon hung in the sky,

The color of blood.

 

As the judgment seems impending

As the rain hits harder and harder

And the music hits its crescendo

Its all happening.

 

War is much like life,

Even peace is war.

War is chance,

So too is this life.

 

I laughed at this realization

Taken from a better man than I

as I opened the door to my own home

And waved goodbye to the spirit.

 

Which, incidentally, was not the only thing I waved goodbye too.

 

 

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