Where are you going, Slave of Yesterday,
Walking those endless Corridors that lead to nowhere?
Have you not yet learned you memories are as daydreams,
Fashioned of mist, and as distant as Eden?
Where are going, Slave of Yesterday?
Have you lost your way in some labyrinth of might-have-beens?
Or are you barricaded in some phantasmagorical Castle,
Preferring your sainted memories to the damned, daming, and
Damnable Reality of Now? A now you have somehow lost,
Or somehow forgot. Tell me, Slave of Yesterday, are you blind
To the faded nothingness of your memories? Or is it that
You have seen a spreading cancer
On the face of tomorrow?
Doomsday Bus
Ashes into ashes and dust to dust
Our hate begets hate and lust begets lust
Kindness makes kindness and trust creates trust
But right now it looks like
A doomsday bus.
The Riddle
I am the Riddle (a boy)
Wrapped in a question (a quilt)
inside an enigma (a crate).