Contraditions

Laughing Sadness
Pretending truth,
In whose blinding light,
We move, paralyzed,
Nailed to forms of freedom.
Existing substance,
A singly combined mass
Of useless spawn.
Thriving here, ant-like
Similarly different,
Pointlessly living,
For dreams
And conceived idea's.
Whose answers lie,
Whose facts.truth,
Which is refused,
Pushed aside,
For fear of universal nothingness.

What lies we live,
As though shamed.
Breaking silence
Never-ending,
Conceived - again again,
Cells multiplying,
For deaths meal
Whose knife is licked,
By life's trap
Laid by nature
Whose unbroken law
Slowly cracks,
Becoming transparent
Clouded complications,
Whose complexes become religion,
Invented for mans purpose,
To hide from the indignity
Of being just spawn
And of death's guillotine
Shamefully slashing
A pointless substance
In anger
of being humiliated..

Chrissie Nash 1973 (aged 19)