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Time Traveled Naught - 06-10-03

It used to be...
Time traveled naught,
Journeys wrought 
with the injustice
Of a swollen nite.
Life parades itself, 
And how sacred it must think it is
To be so fragile in its brightness
So casual in its darkest things

What of the point, who justified its own existence
For the seamless interplays of voided space.
Who than burrows to your undergrounds?
Belief, some way or some other yet profound
Means forto endeavor the utter obliteration
Of particular matter - severed:
The lines are crossed no more.

The fallacy
Remains a distant truth
A pourus reminder of  insatiability
Death, the silent scream
Upon an ocean's dream
Permeating