The White of Sardegna
Knowing the good of it all, having tasted it before
Half crippled, a broken piece of meat soon
The Deceiver lays on his back, mind full of wine
Thinking back on days when tomorrow was shining bright
Went to see the dead today, stacked and piled high
Had a plate of Lasagna and 2 glasses of white after
Our living memory of the dead neglected
The grandiose will and want to be remembered in full bloom
Covered in dust and time
How foolish of man to believe the life as an immortal
When all is left are letters on a stone
Carved for profit
How shortsighted of man to believe that ones family will live forever
Man is looking forward, not back
All neglected and forgotten now
Only the Observer Vagabond paying attention
The grave diggers smiled and turned their backs to the grave they were filling when I took the picture.
A picture of an unreal reality, last man to see the remains of a life, now nothing.
A box in dry soil, The box.
With a precise cut I too can join these lines of small gatherings of buried remembrance.
It will take close to nil effort to become a forgotten.
Yet one must gather all strength and power to be alive.
Was it worth fighting for it, Immortality?
Walking the steep cramped streets of the old maritime city the mind is racing to the sound of liberty
Liberty as we know it, freedom is never free as all comes at a cost.
Be willing to pay and it's yours.
I chose to struggle, pain as liberty and a free flow of unrestricted love for whatever, whomever I choose to lay my slowly failing eyes on. Only a living man lives.
Aug 4 / 2015