
Please read the following poem, brought in by 3rd hour's Matt Tharp,
We're the unmended, the untended,
Cold soldiers of the shoe. We're the neglected,
The never resurrected, agonies of the few.
We're the once kissed, unmissed and always refused.
Because we're the unfinished
And feared and we're never pursued.
And just that easily, on my behalf,
I come around. Because I'm buring.
the beasts of war feeds only on the meats of war.
And now I'm for the carnage.
Here's how my anguish frees.
Destroy everyone of course. Because I'm unwanted
And unsafe. And I'll take tears away with torments and rape,
Killings and fears not even the dead will escape.
Encircling the guilty, ashamed, blameless and enslaved.
Absolved. Butchering their prejudice.
Patience. Their value. Because I'm without value.
I'm the coming of every holocaust. Turning no lost.
Rending tissue, sinew and bone. Excepting no suffering.
By me all levees will break. all silos heave.
I will walk heavy.
And I will walk strange.
Because I am too soon.
Because without her, I am only revolutions of ruin.
Because I am too soon.
Because without you, I am only revolutions of ruin.
I'm the prophecy of prophecies past.
Why need dies at last.
How oceans dry. Islands drown.
And skies of salt crash to the ground.
I turn the powerful. Defy the weak.
Only grass grows down abandoned streets.
For a greater economy shall follow us.
And it will be undone.
And a greater autonomy shall follow us.
And it too will be undone.
And a greater feeling shall follow love.
And it too will blow to dust.
For I am longings without trust. The cyclodial haste,
Freedom from Hailey forever wastes.
Dust cares only for dust.
And time only for us.
Consider this poem while answering Kyle Burton's (3rd hour) question,
"With the loss of Catherine, Heathcliff becomes a cruel and vioent man, showing no remorse for his atrocities. Does Heathcliff truly have a conscience or is he, at heart, a psycopath?"