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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -The Worthily Beloved William Shakespeare

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Tricked heart

The heart was love and lust,
but mostly selfishness.
And when love it was given,
the heart devoured the delightful dish.
But the heart yearned for excess,
for all love that did exist,
but the heart was granted no more,
but torture in place in the blissful dish.
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