that only road... once ago. as Y, the lambda we now go...

embarassed, or to put it more wisely: destitute
 -without any worth, vision, or carrier left.

My me: always, too many words already spoiled thy tea.
Or: thou are thee and thy poetry of thine.
-ye pirates of the sea.


* -- * -- *

I'm left in this small hut
 in woods far from the sea
far from the sea of my days
the day I first looked out our
bedroom window, I saw through the maples and pines.
a road the road that came from sea
alone the hut is hidden in countless ferns
 but if I could count them now,
they'd number fewer
than the memories
 I carry.

* -- * -- *
- Rich.P.Gabriel [1]

You see: the many memories of the numberless stone trees?
Thy words are like mighty glue, for us moths to enter
and therein die a very hungry fate.


Take an Ant. Any set number of workers will not be enough to do something (of greater importance)... but if given a continuation of their efforts, they will feel free to experiment. If experiments go wrong, they die; but nobody knows of a dead empire... so the experiments, that succeed, give a greater and more beautiful meaning to the whole. No more action is required and somebody could call himself for this greater importance that he plays a role in: a scientist, to discover its properties or an artist, to remember its inherent image. Both, however, are not as creative or free as they think they are.