2009.07.01 July Morning Erotophilosophia

-(just another) erotophilosophia-

Moto (sic!): love is more retarded than blind

again at little hours,
when the stream neurons devours

I am the blind who finds himself
In cages of deep locked damnations
Putting true love on a dusty forgot shelf
By never thought abominations.

I am too deaf for caring,
I mute the cares that start from their very root,
It's just that I cannot recall
how to care.

The blind who doesn't see the ocean from the tides,
Who seeks emotion when emotion hides,
Who sought black widows when widows cannibalize,
Who'll never ever learn their dirty prides.

I must be too me,
When I look at ye,
I must be too decayed,
A moth ever hitting the glass
Through which he knows he ain't gonna pass.

The moth just felt the glass oh so intense,
That when he hit the glass he thought he'd get a recompense,
He never learns the voltage could be harming to the wing
He'll always masochistically swing
For the volupty on love's string.

I'm overburdened with homework poetry
Cause, after all, I'm still alive!
And absolution is not a way to be,
It has to follow a decay

I got the license for the feelings firewall
Remember:'God told me I don’t deserve a licensed feelings firewall because I'm too young and I've got to learn from them'?
__________
Or not? Ain't I lying to myself? OK, that's really the end... of this chapter. When will the thrill be over? I hope this not be an original way of saying something typical.

Again, the stream. I guess the thrill is gone... for now

The thrill is gone. The creeps are in their bed.

The final question(s) for you: don't you need a philosophy of love? And haven't you felt at times the vicinity of love and death, when you feel in the same amount that the beloved one needs your love and death at the same time?