Tuesday, November 22, 2016

8885. SAD

I think it's so sad when people die. I don't
want me and I don't want I. Yet, the old
difference remains negligible : life and
death; same carnival? All these years,
I've sweat and slaved, and now, what?
A darkness, a void, and an empty 
avowal about something or nothing;
together, it ll adds up? You tell me.
I've got spray-Jesus, in a can. It
does freshen up my car for the
life of leisure I lead, but I want
way more then that; I want
Jesus, indeed. All those good
things, that water to wine,
those nicely-fed crowds,
the walking on water, 
even that's pretty fine.
(But I bet it was ice,
and in Wintertime)...

No comments: