12.02.2003 :::
Men Age (Josephine and I)
He apologized for dropping his halo down the sewer well.
The angel lost his wings for sudden vanity and greed.
Perfection exceeds the grasps of all those in need.
The goddess, impure she is, with forces of dark compel.
Best and worst, the opposites exist, can we be both?
She says nothing's changed, that in us, gone is purgatory.
Angels don't make mistakes, not humans, but blasphemy.
The gods all play destiny without tearing fabric cloth.
This wasn't meant to happen, Josephine and I remain.
After turmoil, gods created, separates absurd and insane.
We are multiple, Josephine fell into my traps of spiders.
We hid in devestation, cataclysms, quakes and forest fires.
(unfinished)
::: posted by Matthew at 9:53 PM
