Every trumpet across the sky,
was a call for all to awaken,
but sleeping is a Rosy red,
that covers the scent of death,
and waking is now a sickness,
where anyone can lose their ‘breath.’
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Between the calm of falling,
and the grace of losing sight,
we have all become the mute,
clinging to the machine’s device.
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Fighting for this, supporting for that,
everyone is the punch line,
dancing feet and rag a tag hats,
juggling falls, hitting walls, forcing stalls.
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The meaning to the point was…?
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Catch your breath
little wind,
little cloud among the sky.
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You deserve it all,
all among the blue,
flutters and flybys too.
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Catch your breath,
little bird,
little soul within a sail.
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Grasp it by the tail,
seize it by the horns,
hold tight among the storm,
the wings they thrash and scorn,
be steady within your stream,
white knuckled and stifled scream!
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Stop.
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Catch your breath
little wind,
little heart within the moment.
Catch your breath.
I took a walk around the bend,
it took me to a craggy end,
the more I looked to seek,
the less there were to meet,
then some day came to a close,
my body old and weak in pose,
I struggled for that final breath,
and there he was that cold hand, death.
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Soon I knew I had been wrong,
when I saw how weak they were, the strong,
screaming and crying for more life,
for this was much much more than strife,
all the pains were of no matter,
because here the world was just a spatter.
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I should have taken head,
picked up that book and heard its read,
my seeking should have been more true,
for here are many and his are few,
now I suffer and have only sorrow,
the world was day to day a borrow.
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Death here my friend is forevermore,
bones are crushed and flesh is torn,
gnashing of the morbid kind,
for him I call but will never find,
darkness eats my very soul,
and my eyes are burnt as hot as coal,
this agony begs for you to look,
find the truth within that book!
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Hush.
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Lest the world finds solace,
lest the wicked find triumph,
lest the darkness replace light.
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Hush; sleep child.
–
There is no good reason,
there is no decent action,
there are no words of calm.
–
Hush; little one.
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Layers upon layers of lies,
have set everyone to slumber,
watchful has become sensational,
and truth is what’s left of that.
Every ear is bent and distorted,
every mind a branded scythe,
when a generation sells its soul,
everything comes to this.
–
Hush now useless eater,
We have saturated the pure,
lay down and kiss your grave,
for you there is no cure.
–
Our legion is rising fast,
on this you have been told,
you will bow or die to the last,
for the future does prove the past.
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Gentle.
Ever so gentle.
The nudge became a push.
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Had one enough to struggle,
enough to curse the way,
unworthy to escape,
broken fingers entangled to pray.
–
Pierce me and kill me,
suffer me no more,
unlike the hundreds dead inside,
I wish to leave this shore.
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Tolerance is a broken vessel,
where people try to care,
but zombies are the rule now,
here love is turned to glare.
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Color holds no value,
only sway among the dead,
where any form of thinking,
is shunned and put to dread.
–
Lay me down to disappear,
to go away; so far away,
till none of it is anymore.
For good among it all,
has gone so far astray.
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One cannot see the sky through the clouds,
something along those lines.
The details have you so caught up,
small doses, small issues, small crimes.
The masterpiece is ever unfolding,
culling down the seed that spurns.
Till the vine turns on its own fruits,
and the chaff avoids the burn.
It’s so easy to turn the faces,
from this way to the other.
And finally civil is in the wrong,
where cracking eggs will kill another.
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Designers at every turn,
creators for every sale,
influence caress thine ears,
sipping curd at the dining pail.
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Nothing to see here folks,
set your simple mind in tune,
for the time is not a watch,
but some still plan too soon.
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At night the dark comes in,
rumored to keep you still,
a window in the moonlight,
more and more to fill.
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Till fullness weighs you down,
keeps you from taking flight,
ever the sparrow tied to a string,
now is the time to fight.
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Slumber sleeper unaware,
everything is normal,
weaves of webs upon one’s heart;
check the light for some do depart.
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Not all that’s gold is mining,
even mountains fall to waste,
your soul is up for the taking,
Pudding will mask the nasty taste.
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It’s not new the succession of division,
when mounts fell into vallies,
where every cloud had sprung to dust,
and the riotous became mute.
–
Here values have dried and unrooted,
governments pursed their purses in smiles,
flags got waved to death,
and the minority choked on pride.
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Death has come to claim its prize,
tidying up each bed,
the devils all chime with baals,
where ears are tickled and bled.
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Readily,
my heart races to its end.
–
I have had the love,
that churned to bitter,
and the calm that became the storm.
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Sincerely,
my mind sets into cumbersome.
Toiling at its weave.
–
Dust devils whip their tails,
singing to deceive.
My very soul entangles ease,
with every falling tease,
of endless nights
and sorrowful days,
that embody the being
I will die in.
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This is where we stand now,
afraid to expose our souls.
This is where we are now,
hiding from their bitter cold.
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No more wandering freely,
exploring the open world.
Cowering to take a walk,
dread and caliss, their convenience.
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Can I do this, can I do that?
These are the internal chant.
They stand with death at hand,
pointing and saying, “you can’t!”
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Now we walk in tiny cells,
waiting to be brow beat,
unable to afford oneself,
among their vile heat.
–
Color does not make a man, or woman,
truth in action speaks,
if not, you lie within,
and the worms will continue to feast.
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