Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Simulacrum

Along the road to freedom
I see a crippled man weep.
Crumpled up before me,
Lying at my feet.

He said he can't remember
Love nor from whence he came.
It's just this instrument of surrender
That's his ball and chain.

Jaded halo burning bright
Overhead all through dark hours,
But it's made of cracked light
That's raining over me in showers.

And as I am awakened here,
Blinded by golden opulence.
This, my instrument of surrender
Is what keeps me in the past tense.

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