"Our life is a false nature – 'tis not in
The harmony of things, – this hard decree,
This uneradicable taint of sin,
This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree,
Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be
The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew –
Disease, death, bondage – all the woes we see –
And worse, the woes we see not – which throb thought
The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new"
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General Information
- Last Activity
- 04-10-2009 01:40 AM
- Join Date
- 03-30-2008
- Referrer
- Epicurus