Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Climate control

When the world ends,
What use will I have
For these computer skills?

I've sat on sandy shores,
Allowing the wind to
Rush past me, almost enraged
While I kept mostly to myself,
Peering at the sky and
Watching the clouds race by.

I questioned God,
Existence, and the worth
Of the world, while
Holding seashells in my hand;
Oh how they glistened in
What little light was offered
By the stormy skies.
The shore washed up closely
And kissed my feet before
Receding back, as if bowing
To I, like I was an empress.
 
Wind so strong the gulls
Couldn't fly forward, so they'd
Glide in the sky, in one spot,
Their wings cutting edges in the air.

I swear I'd never seen anything
As pretty, as bird and breeze
Fought against each other.

I only held my seashells,
Gripped some sand and
Dug myself deeper into the
Rut I managed to be placed in.

There was no time. Time
Was just a myth. Night would
Fall, whether it was noon or not.
Dawn would break, whether
It was twilight or not;

And I would be seated at the
Edge of the shoreline, some
Small smile stitched upon my face,
Whether it was storming

Or not.

November 4, 2005
Suge


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Climate control

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