hollow bones
its hard to think of this
without some solemn isolation
to dwell on thoughts, that like wine
ferment with age...
i question...
seeing all these people i know,
seeing all these people i knew...
aimlessly letting fate decide their own destinies
as if fate could be bargained with
i forgive
even if i must die in doing so...
from this dead body comes new life...
in the grass and things that grow from it
and the fertilizer it makes...
and yet...
i feel the cold up my spine
like winter frost atlantic chill
enough to hollow bones
a spirit from a long time ago
is calling me...
Apache blood on american soil
enough to hollow bones
i dream
of those who have
come before me...
those who have given
its no course
to die for a noble cause
just to see that cause die with you
i wish i could share a vision or two...
but who listens anymore?!
i wish i could make a change
but who reads my words?!
its hard not to become too depressed
in a world that betrays my sense of justice...
and the people with the power to create change
are too content and afraid...
maybe i should give up...
and lay down for a long sleep...
friends backstabbing friends,
my bro looking at 25 to life
i feel too much for his strife-
whats worth living
when even blood will betray blood?!
why go on fighting for change...
when no one wants to change
no one really wants to elevate the mental
beyond the beast...
no one wants to see...
what everyone else already knows...
we are doomed, forever,
to repeat our mistakes...
unless soon we learn-
the stars fill with tears...
rain drop from the heavens
like early morning dew
the trees, blow triumphantly in the wind...
the sky grows dark, like the most evil heart
thunder rolls off his tongue
as the giant opens the skies,
screaming the names of the great Norse gods,
and the forgotten ancient ones
sleeping mortals coward
under fragile roof...
which will surely be ripped away
with his angry breath...
but soon... the giant tires of his chore
and makes sleep in elasian fields
of ambrosia and honey...
where night is turned into day
out of meger houses,
small figures
pick up what is left of their lives...
fear is turned to dismay
as thousands prepare
to clean up after the storm-
c mysterious productions for Creators of Intense Art
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