Found an old poem that I'd written in my notebooks. I thought it was interesting, so here it is:
Fatalists tell me that you cannot win the world
Without winning the gods.
fatalists tell me that
you cannot live for yourself
without first living for
the Gods.
Ye Gods, I scream,
whose gods darlings, you poor souls
whose gods are they, those you talk about
What kind, I sk
(illegible) they be your gods
or be the be mine?
Here's something else I found on the same page. Not sure if it's the same poem.
I climbed a hill and digged a hole beneath
the ground my feet.
There were times when I stumbled
and I crashed
Ye Gods, did I crash.
Originally posted on March 26. Backdated to March 20. Poem written somewhere in late 2011-early 2012.
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