I grew up in a city of wealth and prosperity, I grew up with two parents who loved me, and the environment that surrounded us fostered creativity, Now I watch it all crumble beneath my feet, in a crumbling economy, in a land of uncertainty, and fear makes me believe that nothing is coming, nothing better is coming and even now I watch Rome burn slowly.
And they all told me to pick my chin up, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off my own two awkward feet.
To fix our problems you gave us a uniform and watched the bodies pile to the sky, a youth so violent, so loyal, untrusting, self loathing, satisfaction seeking, self serving, and wasteful human beings. What do we owe them when they’ve given only their lives.And what happens to old fathers, their stories and tales, forgotten.Can we not learn from them?And what happens to old mothers, who’ve already seen their sons come home in a pine lined box.
So to rid myself of these pains, I buried myself under the dirt, and committed myself to the earth, waiting for flowers to grow.
WHEN HAPPINESS CEASES TO CREATE STABILITY, SEARCH FOR THE MOMENTS THAT YOU WERE ALIVE.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Spit and Piss
these depths,
curling up inside,
already burning on crosses
they've built of dry timber,
etching out the means,
to feed humanity.
God give me the will,
to perish before I get,
to see the innocent rot.
I doubt my wishes will be granted (I've already seen it).
these depths,
hold secrets,
funneled into the darkest portions
of small intestines,
clutter the mess,
in piss and shit,
only to be revealed,
in the vowels rolling
off your tongue.
I hear the voices,
trembling spirits,
giving ghosts,
haunting sermons.
and in our darkest days, you'll always have complaints.
in these depths,
chastised servants,
bound by intelligence,
hands tied tight in knots,
un-bow their legs
so they may walk,
un-bound their mouths,
so they may speak,
lift the weight from their chests,
so they may breath,
or do you fear the,
plagues they would release.
I feel the hands,
grasping for the sun,
digging at the earth,
howling at the moon.
it's a daunting task to live a life of captivity, servility, sterility.
in these depths,
darkest trenches of war,
we pay to cum,
we kill the seed,
we spread freedom (?),
no atheists,
in foxholes,
no fear of death,
in the forgetful mind,
and I hear them in my sleep,
screaming through the pain,
and I hear that loud crack,
to ease their way to oblivion.
Even in my dreams,
they're their,
waiting for,
meaning.
Goodnight dear, Goodbye, to the smell of spit and piss,
overtaking me.
curling up inside,
already burning on crosses
they've built of dry timber,
etching out the means,
to feed humanity.
God give me the will,
to perish before I get,
to see the innocent rot.
I doubt my wishes will be granted (I've already seen it).
these depths,
hold secrets,
funneled into the darkest portions
of small intestines,
clutter the mess,
in piss and shit,
only to be revealed,
in the vowels rolling
off your tongue.
I hear the voices,
trembling spirits,
giving ghosts,
haunting sermons.
and in our darkest days, you'll always have complaints.
in these depths,
chastised servants,
bound by intelligence,
hands tied tight in knots,
un-bow their legs
so they may walk,
un-bound their mouths,
so they may speak,
lift the weight from their chests,
so they may breath,
or do you fear the,
plagues they would release.
I feel the hands,
grasping for the sun,
digging at the earth,
howling at the moon.
it's a daunting task to live a life of captivity, servility, sterility.
in these depths,
darkest trenches of war,
we pay to cum,
we kill the seed,
we spread freedom (?),
no atheists,
in foxholes,
no fear of death,
in the forgetful mind,
and I hear them in my sleep,
screaming through the pain,
and I hear that loud crack,
to ease their way to oblivion.
Even in my dreams,
they're their,
waiting for,
meaning.
Goodnight dear, Goodbye, to the smell of spit and piss,
overtaking me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)