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May 14, 2007 Meandering Walking down the pathway he could hear noises on both sides of him. It sounded as if thousands of small creatures were right there, under the leaves, running around. He thought it must be his imagination. Then he stopped walking, and the noise trickled off. Then he began to walk and the creatures started again. Then he stopped, and they stopped. On it went like that. He thought they must be mice. He hoped they were only mice. He walked onwards to a bigger path, and soon came upon an area where the water went past underneath. The water came from somewhere far up the hill, and meandered. Along the path after the small bridge was a yappy dog that went yappy yap yap yap. The walker thought that the small dog was from a sprawling yard up the way, and had gone under a fence, trying to mark out more territory than it already had. Yappy yap yap. He could have growled at the dog, to see what would happen, but he just walked past. Not all dogs were what dogs could be, and many fell short. Now more along the way, there was the sound of traffic, and the traffic was steady. Dusk was there, and it was time to turn back. The walker thought he would come across the yappy dog, but the yappy dog had disappeared. The talk of the Evergreens was better, because it was silent talk. The Devil Scraped His Bones The devil scraped his bones with his nails; the way some people itch, and sent out the intention to make the world a mess. He flew around hell, and lurched and perched and watched the air. He knew that harmony was the enemy, and if he could throw enough badness into the mix, harmony would not succeed. The devil scraped his bones again, and parts, small parts, from his leg bones, fell to the ground below him. It was too bad that the evil could make itself again and again into a form, into the form that was his body and bones, those itchy bones. Something so backwards should cease to exist, but instead he continued along. Fires were raging, and they had red, orange, yellow, and blue in them. The devil scraped his bones again. Days Of The Weary Seekers
Bad days for the weary seekers With spirits in the basements Claiming territorial rights What bullshit some people Have to put up with
Bad days for the weary seekers When the sweetness of life Is no more and the lackluster Moon is there frowning By misplaced energies
Bad days for the weary seekers When the churches can’t assuage And it’s not the innocent time But it’s not the wisdom time either Even the rivers frown
Bad days for the weary seekers And the priest is too old The books full of mold The energy too cold And their guru is dead------------ Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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