Against Fate

If I could strike at one, I'd strike at thee
I'd end the tyranny of measured threads
I'd end the cruelty of bitter ends
I'd end these things that bind us, and be free.
And how indeed they bind us. Always there,
These meticulously measured little pains,
These wispy, dark, and inconsistent chains
Woven into one another with such care.
Which I have borne reluctantly. No more!
I refuse the poisoned warmth of your embrace.
I refuse the hope---how false!---that lights your face.
I refuse to be corrupted by Time's whore.
But the will is not enough, when you are trod
Upon by cruel and nonexistent Gods.

New poem, obviously. I really should post more of the things I write here.

Bookshelf

There is an "Honor Library"---basically a public bookshelf that works on a take-a-book, leave-a-book kind of principle---at the coffeeshop I frequent. I noticed today that there were a few textbooks on it, which I found surprising. I mean, I live next to a university, obviously, so they'd be more likely to appear here than anywhere else, but they're still fairly expensive and there are at least three stores on this street that will buy used textbooks. I've come to the conclusion that they were left here by some disillusioned university student who made the decision, sitting in one of the armchairs and staring out the window, that there were things more important than degrees. He left his books here for someone else to use and went off to pursue a career painting, singing opera, or writing the Great American Novel.

Of course, the fact that that right next to them is a copy of Twilight makes matters a bit more troubling.