I am not the poet.

It's difficult to determine in exactly what format I should attempt to post here, particularly when my initial post was an establishment that there will be no consistent form, let alone function. What should I address? How should I address it? To whom will I be addressing? Should I make practical assumptions, or realistic ones? What is most appropriate? Should I speak with a certain journalistic or academic sterility, or fucking swear like I actually do? Its a bit of a bitch to lay so level and vague of a foundation, only to step back and realize its so plane (hah!), it doesn't offer a damn thing to grab onto.

With the fullest acknowledgments that I am not the poet of the pair, perhaps it may be the most endearing for me to risk it. To take and chisel an imperfection.

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Left to rot on that there cot lies a man that I once knew
His beard now thick as he lay sick while stricken with the flu
His hopes are dim and chances slim for all the medicine we've got
For though once strong his life's been long and now all for naught

With troubled breath before soon death he lay and dreamt alone
Of a time when young and what he'd done when the sun still shone
A soldier in youth when short in tooth he did what he'd regret
And now when old a heart less bold beats weakly for him yet

For as he waits to see the gates of Heaven close so firm
He holds to fears of lesser years and his consequential term
To Hell he's doomed as ever's loomed the queerness of his fate
For the bitter pay of war's day would not delay nor wait

And now he'll die too weak to cry too weak to even move
His body lean with time so mean a point of sin to prove
The price to pay of those cruel days of rifle and of shot
His mercy then what God's is when death is all he's got

Farewell good friend I knew you when you were more than just your bones
I'll know you still when Hell I fill with the presence of my own
For though you've sinned I knew you then and evil you were not
Twas just cruel hate that sealed your fate when hate was all you've got

So while you die to God I lie about your mislead deeds
Of commanding men way back when when we were only kids
For though we were cruel it was the rule of those horrid days
To survive it then way back when required wicked ways

So fear death not for what Heaven's got for though it's closed to us
We've lived through Hell and that's just as well for that's what awaits us

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And now I have posted something that isn't a cheap gag, not that all gags are cheap. Make of it what you will. I'm bored, too few on movies, too alone to chat, and too pent up not to write something.

ps: I don't really proof-read. So as per my usual, if you have spotted an error...fuck you. =p


-Sean