(no subject)
I am convinced that this will always be my favorite Bukowski poem:
it will end, there will be no
help, no mercy, no living thing,
it will all go on, uselessly, through
fabrication and old habits, it
will continue, a headless body
of life, walking old walks, doing
old tricks, dreaming old dreams,
it will be as alone as a mountain,
and despite billions of beings
there will not be one real being, there
will be everlasting waste and only
the animals will be real, they will have
the pureness of eye and the grace,
they will be the last, the simple,
pure, the ember, what it meant
truly, the wolf will have the heart
and the panther the lungs and
the eagle, the eyes, and the last
war will be one man sitting in a
chair, laughing at it
all.
"ah" By Charles Bukowski
I think it's also in another journal entry of mine from about three years ago.
And yet, the words still convey the same meaning to me now as they did then.
Books and letters tracing through our lives, mostly silent.
The fall has begun. Boundless pleasures, perhaps?
Then again, I've never been very good at telling someone how I feel about them.
I mean, how do you say "I want to get to know you so much better" ?
Or "sit under the stars with me and tell me stories of your life" ?
Words consume every ounce of one's being, ravishing from the inside out, the speaker and the recipient both taken aback.
But in truth, I'm just lost for words.
This makes no sense, does it?
Anyway, hey there long forgotten LJ. Sup?
it will end, there will be no
help, no mercy, no living thing,
it will all go on, uselessly, through
fabrication and old habits, it
will continue, a headless body
of life, walking old walks, doing
old tricks, dreaming old dreams,
it will be as alone as a mountain,
and despite billions of beings
there will not be one real being, there
will be everlasting waste and only
the animals will be real, they will have
the pureness of eye and the grace,
they will be the last, the simple,
pure, the ember, what it meant
truly, the wolf will have the heart
and the panther the lungs and
the eagle, the eyes, and the last
war will be one man sitting in a
chair, laughing at it
all.
"ah" By Charles Bukowski
I think it's also in another journal entry of mine from about three years ago.
And yet, the words still convey the same meaning to me now as they did then.
Books and letters tracing through our lives, mostly silent.
The fall has begun. Boundless pleasures, perhaps?
Then again, I've never been very good at telling someone how I feel about them.
I mean, how do you say "I want to get to know you so much better" ?
Or "sit under the stars with me and tell me stories of your life" ?
Words consume every ounce of one's being, ravishing from the inside out, the speaker and the recipient both taken aback.
But in truth, I'm just lost for words.
This makes no sense, does it?
Anyway, hey there long forgotten LJ. Sup?