All copyright of Rene Horn
(see http://rhorn.unixcab.org/copyright.html
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Lest there be a hint of mint,
Rest shall see the blade of day.
On my way into the fray,
There dust arise, and have its way.
2002


Elegance spurs,
Its way with furs.
Suffer it does,
Suffer it loves.
2002


Entwined in folly,
Half in vain,
The time was nigh,
For Narcissus to know,
The image in the water,
Was his own.
2002


Left of middle,
Right of left,
Where are you now?
What's with the Dow?
2002


Malice, malice, this world of malice,
How do we live, oh dear Alice?
What should we do?  It's all so callous.
Here I shall live, in my safe palace.
Locked away, from this world of malice.
2002


Heaven's awry,
We shall all die,
Where should we go?
What of our deeds to show?
Hell's all bent,
They paid no rent.
2002


I'm completely insane,
But, I did write all of this.
2004


Love dwindles
As it spindles,
Bitterness creeps in,
A cry of emotion,
2004


There
     the leaves fall
Upon the icy ground,
With no one to care,
None to show.
2004


The death knells
of big capitalism
are ringing
Can you not hear them?
They ring loud and beautifully
The age of individuality is coming
The time when we shall be judged by our true place in society
And not by the amount of money of we make
Society will look after the individual
And the individual for the society
We will live to let live
And love to let love
Let the walls crumble
Let our blood be stained with blood
And the new world arise
Out of a sea of ashes
Fresh from the burning
2004


This is not a poem
I put it here because it is the best place for it
I realize now how different of an experience
I have had growing up as a child of an immigrant
You are told stories about their struggle through abject poverty,
And how they were different from their peers
They came to the US and were surprised by the deceptiveness
of American culture,
by the non-idealistic nature of most Americans
which is opposite of what they had believed
when they lived within their own country
They were surprised by how people were judged
by the amount of money they made
Even though they came here to make more money
But that was so they could lead better lives
For themselves, for their families (including back home
in the mother country), for their children
You learn life's lesson's through these stories
Or rather, you "learn" them
There is a disconnection from those stories
You wonder, at first, how it applies to you
But you realise, it's all in context
2004


Immigrant parents...
They're American
Uniquely American
Not like other Americans,
And very much unlike those from their mother country
They can disconnect themselves from being American
And talk about Americans in the third person
And then, immediately, reconnect themselves to their American-ness
2004


I think about what it is that I want from life
Paucity, that defines it
...that is not what I want from it
2004


Spring is coming
Winter is ending
I despise the cold,
and yet...
...I shall miss the winter
There is something beautiful about winter
It pushes people to the edge of their comfort
It pushes people to the edge of their survival
There is something beautiful about that...
seeing people struggle in their time of peril
There is something beautiful in desperation
and in seeing people risk their health and lives
whether for others or for folly
I shall miss the beauty of people's strife
It is through contention that humans truly live
Spring takes that away
People become decadent
and forget about their human-ness
2004


I love Love,
But Love does not love me,
It looks,
But sees nothing of value,
Not that I blame it,
I would not either
(the finding of value,
that is).
The fickleness of Love
Binds me to a cycle
A binding that Love continues to tighten...
...with my help
It tightens and tightens,
And I become more paralyzed
2004


<Revision of previous>
I love Love,
But Love does not love me,
It looks,
But sees nothing of value,
Not that I blame it,
As I, too, would find nothing
The fickleness of Love
Binds me to a cycle
A binding that Love continues to tighten...
...with my help
It tightens and tightens,
And I become more paralyzed
2004


She speaks, but not with me
She laughs, but not for me
She wonders, but not of me
She loves, but not me
She believes, but not in me
She questions, but not I
She is beautiful, but...she is just beautiful
I yearn, but simply in vain
I speak...I wish with her
I laugh...for her
I wonder...about what she wonders
I love...I wish this with her
I believe...in her
I question...myself
I relent, to realize,
that another is luckier than I
09/13/2004