INFINITY

a Hannibal poem by JetNoir

CANTO I

Silence.

It caresses me to the point of infinity as

I lie

here

alone for there is nothing

and

in our hyper-omnipotent magically

realised desire to connect

we forget the passion of

nothingness

I walk I scream I fight I love I kill I die I live

if only for those few precious moments of

uncorrupted blissful serenity

Then it starts again. The Rat Race

scurrying about in our maze we named

Gaia

Wake up the night, push back the light

and

Scream for me

CANTO II

Prince Myshkin smiles as I walk past, a limp,

well realised

is my only defence against the

madness

and

cruelty

of this sick, sick world.

And then a flower,

Nasturtium,

restores my faith in the Human Condition

before it withers away to ignorant nothingness

A cut

The cruellest cut shows

that there is no place in this world for the goodness

of the Idiot.

CANTO III

peut briser mon existence en deux

the sad fact remains that it's true

CANTO IV

Some of our stars are the same…a

Fisherman calls out to me

from his restless sleep and bitterly

sad, yet

surely there's no shame in crying out for

HELP?

thunder & lightning CRACKLES & SPITS

overhead

hateful poor flesh

progress to dump the

unworthy…

that is society's burden on us all

a disposable, expendable, population…

CANTO V

one tin soldier rides away

over the hills and far

perhaps he has something to say

a wandering lonely star

CANTO VI

What happens when you cross the line?

When I ask you to cross the line?

Ladies and Gentleman, please fasten your seatbelts, and place your seats in the upright position. We are currently flying over the river Acheron, and if you look out of your windows, you will see Tia and Aeonis. They are of course tributaries of the river Styx, which we will be approaching in ten minutes time. In half an hour – it's the big one.

The plane continues its journey pf the dammed

to meet with a Moth. Seek the light.

One way.

Non stop.

Straight to Hell.

CANTO VII

"Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me...'stop. If you loved me, you'd stop'?"

"Not in a thousand years."

Beauty is only skin-deep, for what is beneath, entrenched is what the true one's seek.

We may live in a dark and cold world,

but we don't have to make it worse by choice.

A cautionary tale.

And perhaps all that is needed is

(blissful serenity sheer joy happiness)

Love?

"Not in a thousand years. That's my girl."

fini

Note: Well this was written at half three in the morning, when a strange idea wouldn't go out of my head! Hope you enjoyed it, and as always, please review.

Disclaimer: Hannibal is copyright to Thomas Harris; and the poem to me. This poem has been written on the understanding that you may read it and print it out; but you may not pass it off as your own, hire it out, or sell it for money. You also may not put it on your own or any other web page without my express written permission. Thankyou!

JetNoir