Flesh Is Heir - The Amenta

Frail flesh is heir

To a sea of troubles

And the human condition

Impaled upon the horns of choice:

To linger, twilit

In fringes of oblivion

Or to bury hardened heels

Stubborn, in fallow dirt?

There is nobility

In the vacance of the vessel

The dirt smeared beast

Spine bent under burden

Struggles through the muck

And is reborn in the mud

To struggle, beaten

Bloody but unbowed

Or to buckle at the knees

And draw mud into lun

Now the second:

The obliterate’s nature

And invertebrate mutt

Or self-contained god?

The quietus of cowards

Or a divine transcendence?

There is nobility

In the vacance of the vessel

The flesh is heir

To a pale cast of thought

To a bare breast to whips

Or by ignoring, end them?

All that matters is struggle

The third question;

The nature of the realist

A worm feeding on mud

Or human in excelsis?

The ceaseless trials of Sisyphus

Or a noble struggle?

Every absurd query

Deluged, deeper in shit

The slate-eyed god:

An addict of transcendence

Grins madly in the grip

Of a selfish junky zen

Unhinged mind unmoored

And heels in tug’s tide

Empty, vacant, useless

Listless, in opiate voids

The nature of man

Is thought before the answer

A struggle

The nature of man

Is constant internal battle

All that matters is struggle

The flesh is heir

To a pale cast of thought

The mind rotten with

Whips and scorns of doubt

An internal struggle

From which humanity stems:

To bare breast to whips

Or by ignoring, end them?

All that matters is struggle