Feeling Bob Tonight

Musings

The little poets sing of little things:

Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings;

Lovers who kissed and then were made as one,

And modest flowers waving in the sun.

The mighty poets write in blood and tears

And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears.

They reach their mad blind hands into the night,

To plumb abysses dead to human sight;

To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled,

Mad, monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world.

-R.E.Howard

Feeling the black abysses yawning behind me tonight, can’t catch me though, for my keyboard is made of silver and in my strokes lies the power cosmic.

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Published in: on February 24, 2011 at 8:30 PM  Leave a Comment  
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