RR
16th August 2005, 10:24 AM
Fallen Hero
That man should fall before his age...
That he may trip and trample others...
That he should become degraded....
Where disgrace was once alive.
That he should change so lowly...
And change right before our eyes.
To the very ridiculed sight he himself,
Once had passed harsh judgement over.
Such rantings fill the air; words once archedly shunned,
Such dances of turmoil; ever-circling the piteous guilt,
Such questionings of that once familiar father loved...
Such pain that fills those who still wonder:
Where have you gone when you are still here with us?
Remembrance reborn
Memory will you ever escape me?
Will reliving such dawning humiliations ever cease?
Will you not let me say I cannot ever recall:
That which visits me in times of unstir?
It does its deed to jolt and blush;
The hue that can do no more than darken still.
All that was at rest...
Just mere preoccupations before...
Now spin in vivid turmoil...
To announce that voice of wretched reason.
How shut eyes and head ashaken:
Do nothing else then render myself odd.
So that yet another reminiscence is imprinted..
With the spilled taint of another.
Creating that time forsaken remembrance.
Once again...
-Querida
That man should fall before his age...
That he may trip and trample others...
That he should become degraded....
Where disgrace was once alive.
That he should change so lowly...
And change right before our eyes.
To the very ridiculed sight he himself,
Once had passed harsh judgement over.
Such rantings fill the air; words once archedly shunned,
Such dances of turmoil; ever-circling the piteous guilt,
Such questionings of that once familiar father loved...
Such pain that fills those who still wonder:
Where have you gone when you are still here with us?
Remembrance reborn
Memory will you ever escape me?
Will reliving such dawning humiliations ever cease?
Will you not let me say I cannot ever recall:
That which visits me in times of unstir?
It does its deed to jolt and blush;
The hue that can do no more than darken still.
All that was at rest...
Just mere preoccupations before...
Now spin in vivid turmoil...
To announce that voice of wretched reason.
How shut eyes and head ashaken:
Do nothing else then render myself odd.
So that yet another reminiscence is imprinted..
With the spilled taint of another.
Creating that time forsaken remembrance.
Once again...
-Querida