Contemplative silence is his name,
and while he sits there, perhaps
the world passes him by,
but does he care? I think not.
Does he think what others think?
I think not.
Does he read as others read?
I think not.
Can he know himself?
He thinks not.
But he tells no story,
he answers no questions.
Passion is lacking, or so it seems.
But convention is unconventional,
to him, at least. He follows his
unconscious self, into immortal darkness.
No outside light does shine,
and no other can see, but
the hope of his decline does
burn the wick of his heart.
Answers are far too wrong;
Questions are all false;
Human condition, he says
is his own impulse.
So he still sits in silence,
not caring but wanting to;
But presentational emotions
are by far much too few.
Jez Wence
V. Emo
YourHumbleNarr...
How, exactly, is it emo? I’d like to know what made you think that.