The Story Goes On

A new work that went back to basics. A little angst, a little disbelief, a little philosophy, a little math, and a lot of rhyme.

Pounding the pavement, his cancer stick ashing
Every moment in his life is fleetly passing

He's captivated by the concept of anarchy
He's rejected all of the heavenly monarchy

Because he's a prisoner for no reason
Born into this life during a certain season

The liberal tells the conservative to accept
The Great Society and The New Deal precepts

Even though he pays in without consent
And he wonders where his money went

Like the moments of his life falling away
He has to face it, life was made that way

Opposition is useless since he always serves
Somebody here, no matter how life curves

Parabolic, exponential and the like
Called on the carpet, right at the mike

Being born of broken men is his crime
His future actions will be coated in slime

And the Living God already knew this
No wonder the prisoner is pissed

Thrown into a reality he didn't want
No wonder he passionately flaunts

A disbelief so angry and so vial
But his opposition makes those miles

Hard to travel and hard to bear
No wonder he never gets anywhere

Beyond the insanity and beyond the depression
He falls faster than a logarithmic regression

And so he smokes, and so he wanders
Just feeling stupid, all the blonder

Driving him perpetually into the ditch
Because the turn signal's on, what a b***h

And this why the Living God invented Hell,
a place where the immolation can't be quelled

That's what it takes to keep the flock in line,
and that's why he'll gnash his teeth and whine

Heaven is minimum security, while Hell is the max
Occam's Razor should really be called an axe

It's a corollary of that pesky Pascal's Wager
It's obvious the wrong choice means danger

The danger of being forever locked
In a place that's a sweltering box

Like the one in The Longest Yard
No wonder the choice isn't so hard

And yet he persists, his coffin nail
Smoking upward beyond the pale

And yet he resists, his rubber soles
Strolling past the cracks and holes

But he'll fall into the oblong one
When God says his life is done

And when he does, the story goes on
Because another person goes along

With the anarchy and opposition,
his choice will put him in that position

Reviews

[OT]

ooo this is good! superb flow - and I agree with Liza your passion shines through and we can tell you had fun with the write - I loved this line - "Being born of broken men is his crime" - it was the idea - to bloom from the pieces of others who had broken and fallen - I also thought the and yet he persists... resists was very clever too! and all with a strong rhyme too! nice!

[KATHY SUE SILLS]

Excellent flow of words that express living the way we should to get to Heaven or go down that hot path to hell! Great imagery

[Liza]

wow, i really enjoy reading you. your passion for language, contrast, sarcasm and raising awareness of behavior through cold yet hot wit is evident. the piece is calculated, creative, telling and clear in its transmission to the psyche of all human experience with its influences, need for blame and moments of destructive escape.