Red trims the floor like some sort of
Bloody labyrinth in Sanctuary,
Where underachievers will falter,
And overachievers get lost in their own excess.
Hedonists, undoubtedly. That’s okay, though.
We’ve maximized pleasure finally,
Thank the Mill!
Now we can act as enlightened as ever,
For those who feel the best must surely be the best,
If we’re to trust our roles as barbarians or druids.
I would surely drink that wine if it were offered.
Partially because these fleeting pleasures feel
Like being loved by a lady who is my type.
Under that warm washing feeling I can be a saint.
It’s not enough that I be one for myself,
Oh, no. I must be saving a lost soul,
Who wanders and abuses as if she has
Looked the city-life in the eye
And proclaimed herself experienced.
As if she has
Looked the country-life in the eye
And proclaimed herself satisfied.
But she may only find satisfaction there
Because nobody else is there, and thus
She is allowed to be vulnerable before the world.
The poison that resides in the bushes will not kill her,
For she is immune to those sorts of things,
And even if they did, she would be okay;
She told me many times that she was not afraid to die.
But I have seen her true face,
In those moments in the car when I was not so great
At driving, for I am no Han Solo, though I try my best.
I have seen the fear that she hides.
It must be fear because,
It could only be courage if not fear,
And there is no courage in dying like a fool.
I will ask for help in my time of need.
I am not so proud as to turn down the pleasures
That we have finally maximized.
(From November 2012)