So far, it's been a productive year.
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In the chieftain’s arsenal,
quivered, the tribal chant:
Ownership of resource amounts
to the very ownership of man;
Dominion awarded by violence
is harsh as a lone rifle’s crack;
To the victor goes the spoils,
upon the people’s backs.
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It’s easy to romanticize,
to fantasize,
to intimate;
But to demonstrate;
To be the one
out on that limb,
testing;
Spitting into the source,
just to see
if electricity flows upstream;
Oh;
Now that’s a different story;
Because, you see:
It’s easy to romanticize,
to fantasize,
to intimate;
Until the details become too intimate…
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I am already dead;
And in this knowledge,
I find my peace:
This is, without a shred of doubt,
the only truth I will ever know;
The mere presence
of my perception,
being observed
by my own ego,
on a linear timeline
is all the evidence
I will ever need.
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The very nature
of the passion I feel
is ephemeral,
fleeting;
A translucent longing;
Like watching a silhouette
through frosted glass;
Never satisfied
by a single being,
only those aspects of every person
for which I have ever felt affection;
What a sick interpretation
of romance this must be;
For as soon as I admit
to myself
the one that I adore,
the desire has already passed.
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I will never get married,
I will never have kids,
I will never find a companion,
and I won’t have many friends;
I’ll be a bit unhappy,
But lie most of the time;
I guess that’s just what life is like
when you learn to cross the line;
I’ll always be a stranger
stuck in an unknown land;
I’ll often be dishonest
in matters signed by hand;
I’ll be all around you
and it won’t be very pretty,
but if you know for what you’re looking,
then it won’t be quite so shitty.
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Stains and scars;
A lifetime lived in the dark;
These four walls holding me up,
holding me in;
The shutter closed;
Another smile captured
and kept for the stores,
of a lonely heart;
Projections;
Upon the smokescreen,
dissipating;
Molecules
unbound and recycled:
Again and again.
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Pushing you away
was all that I could do
to save you;
I’d be lying if I said
that there were nights
I did not regret
the last words shared,
but it comforts me
to know that we
are both better off,
in spite of pain
and misplaced wrath;
The lover scorned,
now the lover past;
Drink with me
from this cup of tears;
The last words shared,
forgotten,
over these long years.
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The older that I get,
the easier it is to see:
Wherever I lay my head
is where you lay with me.
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c2016
Jacob Michael Peter Welch