Nietzche
Bluelighter
The moisture that gathers on my palm
And the tremors that enter my hands
Speak of what is to come
- haven’t I been here before? -
With trepidation I light my cigarette
and size up the matter as best I can
I see the entire splendor of the past
juxtaposed against the spectral unreality of a future
borne out of uncertainty . . .
Behind me
the cardinal red of sunset
blazes across the lateral continuum of time
turning to shadow what was once a vivid reality
My familiarity with the highway bodes false confidence,
Although the path is the same -
[The shards and fragments of dreams
Strewn along the way,
Recent additions to that tired path,
Slice my feet to ribbons]
- The destination is different.
Hopelessly, I loose myself in a maze of memories . . .
Back to the focal point of the eyes which grasp!
To see an illusion more suited for a reality not mine;
To feed a notion ill-equipped and impotent;
To encounter a presence more intrepid than god.
Nothing can be gained in the face of anxiety
Beyond the essential impossibility of determining the it
From which you and I hide in fear.
The most worn path never leads home,
Only farther away.
So come with us,
You and I,
To our home in the mountains
Of pedantic profundity
Where dark stars streak across
The bright light
Of an impenetrable night
where we I can forget that:
Home is a place
you can never return,
Home is a stasis
no one can discern,
And if you stay there too long,
You’re bound to get burned.
[ 03 January 2002: Message edited by: Nietzche ]
And the tremors that enter my hands
Speak of what is to come
- haven’t I been here before? -
With trepidation I light my cigarette
and size up the matter as best I can
I see the entire splendor of the past
juxtaposed against the spectral unreality of a future
borne out of uncertainty . . .
Behind me
the cardinal red of sunset
blazes across the lateral continuum of time
turning to shadow what was once a vivid reality
My familiarity with the highway bodes false confidence,
Although the path is the same -
[The shards and fragments of dreams
Strewn along the way,
Recent additions to that tired path,
Slice my feet to ribbons]
- The destination is different.
Hopelessly, I loose myself in a maze of memories . . .
Back to the focal point of the eyes which grasp!
To see an illusion more suited for a reality not mine;
To feed a notion ill-equipped and impotent;
To encounter a presence more intrepid than god.
Nothing can be gained in the face of anxiety
Beyond the essential impossibility of determining the it
From which you and I hide in fear.
The most worn path never leads home,
Only farther away.
So come with us,
You and I,
To our home in the mountains
Of pedantic profundity
Where dark stars streak across
The bright light
Of an impenetrable night
where we I can forget that:
Home is a place
you can never return,
Home is a stasis
no one can discern,
And if you stay there too long,
You’re bound to get burned.
[ 03 January 2002: Message edited by: Nietzche ]
