jwhite@wpi.wpi.edu (The Wandering Wombat) (01/17/90)
Making wishes out of all the thoughts; How many may come true? Walking out onto the asphalt, The field of diamonds reflect the fire Of the lights put there For our safety. Why be safe? Wandering up to a place of power, Armed only with some orange juice And eclairs. The safety brightens the fog And hits the tower, Making streams of cold white. And the blood of those who would not be protected Stains the horizon, As the furnace labors to rise Through the mist To be seen. Paleness as the blood sinks into the earth, I stand in the shadow of the tower, Basking in the fading light of morning's blood As it grows And chases away The false lights. I walk down the hill before the spectacle finishes; I don't want to know the outcome. I still struggle with the fear of ending up A stain, like those I saw moments before, But I have been safe far too long. And now I must risk losing myself, Or else lose myself for ever. The blood congeals into a ball and banishes the pale vapor Back into the night, where it belongs. The sun stares me in the face as I type what I feel, Encouraging me, Warning me, Telling me to follow By burning away The unneeded safety And fear For good. I win, safe in my risk. - Wombat 7:35 AM Jan. 17, 1990 Copying allowed for appreciation only. All others will be shot. jwhite@wpi.wpi.edu Nyaah.