The Word will come unbidden and unexpected. As you sit at your desk, or watch the last wisp of smoke from your cigarette vanish to nothingness. When the red tale-lit slipstream from the night highway reaches you and touches your sadness with thoughts of transcendence. When the din of rattling traffic makes you huddle against your balcony and conceive a vision of the streets for which the street has no name.
The patient abiding is everything...
__________________ And the good Saint Francis that said Little Sister Death, that never had a sister.
Gender: Female Location: every which way but loose
I'm patient as the Winter night is long... also, you remind me very much of an old KMC member who I became quite close to. Unfortunately, he was misunderstood and consequently banned permanently. But I appreciated him
Gender: Unspecified Location: With Cinderella and the 9 Dwarves
Im raging, ripping up the stage and
Dont it sound amazing cause every rhyme is made and
Thought of, cuz its sort of...an addiction,
Magnatized by the mixing
Thomas was an obsequious porcupine
Who was the subject of envy and scorn.
His quills were longer than a cubit
And much sharper than a thorn!
One day while he lay sleeping
His porcupine compatriots plotted
To do him quite ill, yea, to trim down his quills
Until his pride wavered and rotted
Upon this Brutus of a gathering
Came a grisly and green-plumed hunter
He raised his two-barrell, and with ironic feral,
Shot the animals asunder
Thomas rose from his nap,
And trotted out from his abode,
When he came upon the sight, so bleak and so blight!,
His trot waxed and the porcupine slowed
“My poor friends,” he shrieked
As he viewed the crimson mound.
Disregard to his inane ostentation, in commemoration,
He decided to make a vow:
“As I have not the biological means,
To bury them with appropriate funereal garb,
I shall do something bold, that I shall remember ‘till old:
I shall humbly clip my barbs!”
Thomas was an obsequious porcupine
And the subject of plot to meet his end.
Yet for all his pride, though thick as a hide,
He laid down himself for his friends!
__________________ Where is the Horse and the Rider?
Where was the horn that was blowing?
They have passed liked rain on the mountains.
Like Wind in the Meadows.
The days have gone down in the west.
Pella i amoni tenn' lumbule
KMC Community Forums
Aug 1st, 2006 11:22 AM
! your work is beautiful! 
