he built
monuments
to the monumental
failures
of thinking
the world owed him
anything
the chip on his shoulder
just a pebble
from the avalanche
of self doubt
leaving clouds of dust
with every
aching footstep
in the craters
of the giants
that came before him
from the valley of kings
there were no
preordained kings
just more
and more things
that never meant
anything
except to the fools
that worship
at the edge
of a cliff
as the ones
with understanding
pushed them
over the ledges
to pile up
with the bodies
of all those
that toiled before them
he carves
epitaphs
for those
that spit
epithets
while walking
with a hunch
from the weight
of the world
he puts on his own back
another fool
in a long line
of fools
that knew
just enough
to be dangers
to themselves
and those around them
worshipping kings
of nothing
while seeking
a pocket full of fools gold
iron pyrite sculptures
of the last line
of blank faced sheep
bleating
that the sky
is falling
when it is just
the lies of those
in power
trickling down
This is my favourite so far I have read. When you can see yourself in it, it makes you site up and wonder. Extraordinary piece.
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thank you. there is nothing as satisfying as knowing others can see themselves in your words.
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Yeh, there is so much venom yet truth in this, that it’s to hard to conjure words to describe it. How I would love to know what inspired you to write it lol
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Honestly? I have a fever and have been slacking on writing. Iron pyrite hit me and I went with it.
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Really, a fever brought this on! It reminds me of the Robinson Crusoe excerpt which was also brought on by a fever. Sometimes the most dastardly episodes can bring someone forth to shine their brightest.
https://observationblogger.com/2019/08/07/near-death-and-contemplation-about-god-from-robinson-crusoe-daniel-defoe/
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that’s excellent.
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I hope you get to read that excerpt when you have a chance.
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I just did. It’s strange where sickness takes us.
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I agree. It took me there.
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Oh WOW
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