The waves rush forward in wide blooms Kicking upward white pollen.
The
cold dark blue hurtling against the grainy flesh of earth.
How could
such an aggressive presence look so inviting.
Even the more resistant of
stones find themselves broken here.
At the shore. Two worlds meet.
Fate is speechless at the inevitability of it all.
We are all stuck
here, now we decide-
To sink or swim
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Untitled
It's running in mud
Talking like Elmer Fudd
brain is putty
in a rut and keep slipping
And tripping on the drip drops
The small tears of bullshit
Barriers that keep us under bullet
Sitting in fear at red light stops
In the dark untying knots and ripping
Scars from the knife cutts
Silenced by blood
It's being the last bullet, but being a dud.
Talking like Elmer Fudd
brain is putty
in a rut and keep slipping
And tripping on the drip drops
The small tears of bullshit
Barriers that keep us under bullet
Sitting in fear at red light stops
In the dark untying knots and ripping
Scars from the knife cutts
Silenced by blood
It's being the last bullet, but being a dud.
E Pluribus Unum
E pluribus unum
Taxes piled up
Grateful patriots grinning
An illusion made solid in blind faith
The war doesn't touch our beaches
That storm is elsewhere but the blue angels still roar in our skies.
The news stations gleam freedom and happiness for all, but the streets tell a different story.
The unclothed, unfed, unworked masses stand in the street and cry out at injustice.
Their echo's silenced by the ever turning cog of industry.
Our boys retuned from the desert surcomb to a insatiable thirst and wake from tremorsus nightmares in the sole comfort and silent regret that they defended freedom.
They are victims too.
Out of many one
What does it really mean ?
Are the wonders of the world not drenched with the blood of slaves ?
The staircases of kings are the backs of poupers.
Out of many people one may live happy
Out of many families one should be strong.
Out of many colors one is found better
Out of many nations one remains guiltless
Out of many masses one will survive
We can make a better world
Out of many efforts
One creation
One thought
One dream
Taxes piled up
Grateful patriots grinning
An illusion made solid in blind faith
The war doesn't touch our beaches
That storm is elsewhere but the blue angels still roar in our skies.
The news stations gleam freedom and happiness for all, but the streets tell a different story.
The unclothed, unfed, unworked masses stand in the street and cry out at injustice.
Their echo's silenced by the ever turning cog of industry.
Our boys retuned from the desert surcomb to a insatiable thirst and wake from tremorsus nightmares in the sole comfort and silent regret that they defended freedom.
They are victims too.
Out of many one
What does it really mean ?
Are the wonders of the world not drenched with the blood of slaves ?
The staircases of kings are the backs of poupers.
Out of many people one may live happy
Out of many families one should be strong.
Out of many colors one is found better
Out of many nations one remains guiltless
Out of many masses one will survive
We can make a better world
Out of many efforts
One creation
One thought
One dream
little thought
Sitting in the bliss of an endless smile
I exhale the untainted morning air
Listening to calm ballads from a black box glued to the table
Around me on all walls the framed images of my life,
the last two decades
and the sun of summer on a golden beaches.
In this moment I'm just happy to be here, alive.
And love that what happens next is still a mystery.
I exhale the untainted morning air
Listening to calm ballads from a black box glued to the table
Around me on all walls the framed images of my life,
the last two decades
and the sun of summer on a golden beaches.
In this moment I'm just happy to be here, alive.
And love that what happens next is still a mystery.
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