Eulogy of Optimism.

By Dan Ryder

Mon, 08 Aug 2016
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A granite mouth with dirty shards of smokey-grey, crystal teeth... no province of truth, but trollish and earthen chaos, waiting to de-lamb your flock and unchasten your offspring. Only a fool would bank and plan on such meritorious lies as are spun between events and summary responses. Yet here we stand, our ticket stubs produced, wondering where might be the vase in which to store our stinking piss.
To live always so far beneath the sun...unquenched by dangers’ zest and uninformed by pains’ tutelage. Lives spent avoiding life in favour of an excused atrophy; watching from some terminus. Chain bearers proudly flaunt their glorious crimes, woven into tapestries of elevated debauchery. The boring martyr, tolling from the unattractive steeple, can only whine that they toil alone, maintaining the polish upon their title. That choice holds no glamour, and its lustre is wont to be dispelled by mediated gauzes laid randomly upon their deeds.
The baleful hymns and supine lullabies hold the truth of blind fear in every syllable that emanates from the grand old houses; fatted and faceless, the gods within gorge on a stolen bounty of ripened faith.
Certificate 12
Other
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