.

And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again? Archilochus

Monday, April 27, 2015

Nothing but Flame

I watch this flame pass
from match to wick,
gently stepping over
a great divide.
This flame and I
are not so different:
it comes into being from nothingness;
it eats and grows, smokes, and rests.
It gets angry,
destroys homes,
consumes flesh.
Sated, it becomes calm,
retreats into coals,
smoldering through the night.
Domesticated
by a piece of string,
it makes its home in a cave of wax.
It chases the shadows away
and stands watch through the night.
It sways
and dances in the darkness
before it is extinguished
in the blink
of an eye.
Karah J., "Flame"

4 comments:

FreeThinke said...

The film appeals when I turn off the sound.
Luxurious train interiors inspire
Hope that all is not yet in the ground
Moldering, as though consumed by fire.

Images of purpose-driven moves
Dockside 'mongst the workers and bystanders,
Seem healthy –– something us it well behooves
To turn away from menacing grandstanders.

The careless mewling sound, and sloppy diction,
However, only serves to evoke dim despair ––
Whining, sickly, pale –– like Poe's worst fiction ––
It haunts as it befouls good clean air.

Why has this dreary penchant for malaise
Come to smother, and thus enervate our days?


~ FreeThinke

Joe Conservative said...

Isn't malaise representative of the very height of civilized society?

Petronius Arbiter, "Satyricon"

To go into details would take too long. We entered the bath, finally, and after sweating for a minute or two in the warm room, we passed through into the cold water. But short as was the time, Trimalchio had already been sprinkled with perfume and was being rubbed down, not with linen towels, however, but with cloths made from the finest wool. Meanwhile, three masseurs were guzzling Falernian under his eyes, and when they spilled a great deal of it in their brawling, Trimalchio declared they were pouring a libation to his Genius. He was then wrapped in a coarse scarlet wrap-rascal, and placed in a litter. Four runners, whose liveries were decorated with metal plates, preceded him, as also did a wheel-chair in which rode his favorite, a withered, blear eyed slave, even more repulsive looking than his master. A singing boy approached the head of his litter, as he was being carried along, and played upon small pipes the whole way, just as if he were communicating some secret to his master's ear. Marveling greatly, we followed, and met Agamemnon at the outer door, to the post of which was fastened a small tablet bearing this inscription:

NO SLAVE TO LEAVE THE PREMISES

WITHOUT PERMISSION FROM THE MASTER.

PENALTY ONE HUNDRED LASHES.

In the vestibule stood the porter, clad in green and girded with a cherry-colored belt, shelling peas into a silver dish. Above the threshold was suspended a golden cage, from which a black and white magpie greeted the visitors.

FreeThinke said...

Malaise of the kind I've referred to is a sign of DECADENCE pure and simple.

-FJ the Dangerous and Extreme MAGA Jew said...

And civilization is the "decline/ decadence" of culture.