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Friday, September 21, 2007


Yet again I recall another fragment
Of a thought or a dream
That I don't know what's supposed to mean
My eyes and the darkness
My ears and the silence
Short waves emmitted from a sea I once thought mine
Somebody else I had always taken for I
Who inadvertedly has lead me here
To wait here
To watch this sea
Promised to a vastness long expected
Never arrived
Beyond a feeble spectre in many more sights
Ingenuously victimised
Intentionally envisaged
But influenced by this accursed light
That hides
When I need it the most
And such as jealousy I see it approach
And reproach me
Whilst I dream of my place in the sky above
Worth of my plain arrogance that shows
Through all for one
One for all
And invites me to play along


O grandness afore untouched
O insecurity of meek souls
O fallen might of the great
Who doubts
Forgets
Ignores
The folly of those who dared to touch it
And survived
Those who walked the world I imagined mine
The places where I had pictured I
Recollections
Correlations
Delusive infatuations
To whom all there is left is but forgetting
Arguing is useless and no good objecting
Silently accepting its decision
However knowing it was mine
I bow my head to the assumption
That half of life is a lie
That we breed
That we feed
And take heed that it be not hurt


I wouldn't bother for the lighter spirits
Or to have just one once more
I would not walk off on my own will
For my demented body
And my diseased mind
And my depleted soul
Who unsuccessfully attempts
And can't
Or won't
Having decided to take the fall
Suffer the winter and build up the wall
And forget so that I don't feel
Write it now so that I don't need
To do it later
Or any better than now
So that I may not be found
By anyone other than me
When I haven't found myself either


I will not stay for words of flatter
From whoever it be it doesn't matter
This is my mind which I've made and I've got
Whether you like it
Or not



said and done at
00:49
your turn:

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DisClaimer

a manual of advanced soul things, mind things and heart things.


Mark Tindo is..

but an average lad, or a nearly average lad, nearly as average as any other lad nearly close to being twenty-something and a couple of months who would get by nearly inconspicuous in the middle of a crowd everyday to go to work, or to go anywhere else wherever you would go.




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