| lay down | lay down your weary tune | lay down the song you strum and rest yourself | 'neath the strength of strings no voice can hope to hum | and let the morning breeze like a bugle blow against the drums of dawn | and be struck by the sounds before the sun knowing that the night is gone | and stand unwound beneath the skies and clouds unbound by laws | unbound by laws | and rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings no voice can hope to hum |
February 14, 2008
Falling
I've fallen a lot of places in my life, but right now I'm not sure where to, like I'm playing Descarte's argument for immaterialism but for real. I can feel the force of gravity and the breeze, so I definitely know I am alive, which is good, and am falling speedily; but as to the rest of my senses: blind, deaf, unintelligibly unaware, and useless for the discovery. I hope it's not to a pile leaves with a thousand kinds of red and orange shades of demons, I hope it's not to that Fall of Hell that Milton so fearfully described. I hope it's not to the Lake of fire, to that pit with an unholy crash down around me, and my splintering like the chariots and body parts of Pharo's army those eons ago.
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