Artificial stimulation zapping all imagination
Any creation or sensation lost in a noise of falsification
Cry to the nation so the population will rejoice with elation
That it is time to remove the isolation caused by the simulation
Simulation of free vocal amplification
Illusion and contagion of the authority’s rules and regulation
Solidification of these false ideals and therefore separation
From should be and what is- it’s horrification
The consumer’s attention faces new redirection
Guided meticulously by the producer’s invention
So our ‘choices’ aren’t choices but some chaos prevention
An anarchy intervention
An eluded operation executed by the organizations
A silent one sided war already won by associations, corporations and cooperations'
Verifications of strict policies and legislation
Followed of course by a strong litigation
What a celebration!
For select thoughts and their determination
Then the glorification
Of these upper class suits with some reputation
The voice of the people silenced with their unification
Stifling imagination
Essentially middle and lower robbed of vocalization
De-individualization, crumble fortication
Fine, its come down to this expectation
Of this twisted experimentation of freedom and selection
We’ll Bind together to form a protection of creativity, originality and our own perfection
So let us make this correction:
The one sided war is short lived and our individual minds will prevail, there is no question
For the minority majority will make a distinction
Between the choices given to us and our choices made with intention
Apr 15, 2011
Apr 15, 2011 at 9:31 AM UTC
He cut down the rope
So they’d stop swinging
They came one by one
To hear his singing
A line would form
Up his lane and back
Children and parents
Painted in back
The streets were cold
And nothing moved
Nothing alive
With nothing to lose
They heard his melodies
Carry on through the air
As they all bowed their heads
No one wanted to stare
Slow, soft and melodic
His tune did tell
The story of two lovers
Who’s union brought hell
Self-destructive and powerful
Their energies rumbled the ground
Yet on two legs, they stood strong
For each other’s heart they had found
The bond, unbreakable
Cliche, but true
A dangerous love with fury
Until finally, it blew
Too much emotion
They couldn’t handle their hearts
So to end all this energy
They chose to die together before apart
The man with a song
Cut them down from the tree
As the mourners in black
Bowed their heads to not see
‘Sing with me!’ the man cried
And the townspeople sang along
To pay tribute to a love
That had ended all wrong
Two bodies lay next
To the great old oak
Eyes open, hands limp
The product of choke
Still, as they lay on the ground
Still wet from the dew
Their heads faced each other
Eyes saying ,’i love you’
Eternally they will pour
Their hearts to another
For that is the result
Of the dangerous lover
Apr 15, 2011
Apr 15, 2011 at 9:29 AM UTC
Sick so sick so lost and tired
Need a new place with air and sky
Tall buildings aren’t and people smile
People with other people being people
My heart murmurs
Murmurs to me that I should be somewhere else
Somewhere fresh with real air, real sky, real people
I won’t know anyone but I will then I will leave in time
To get new space and new air, meet new people
Salt is the life that gives
Hair whips round the faces of citizens from the wind that blows
Blows the oceans waves to peaks
That causes roars at night and creates catastrophic crashes
Hear me roar hear me hear me
I can’t hear over the whisper the murmur
My heart
Tells me and demands of me something new
Salt and wind and new and new
Fresh so fresh not lost or tired
Apr 15, 2011
Apr 15, 2011 at 9:28 AM UTC
The scent of metal, a metallic vibration, a slam
A cushion, disturbed by many tragedies, this cushion, I know has stories
A circle that steers these stories’ beginnings, middles and ends
Oh, the ends are the best from the narrator’s view
The narrator who has control of the steering of the stories
Who knows all the tragedies the cushions have seen,
Has even been the one to orchestrate such a beautiful scene
An unwilling but manipulated snapshot of a wrinkle in life
There’s no point in trying to see out, the glass is too foggy
Symbolic- the characters can’t see what is waiting for them, the other option
It has been steamed up by the narrator who used his circle to steer them to a parking lot
A metallic vibration felt buzzing through their bodies on the cushion
A pang of uncertainty, but manipulation wins…
A slam as the narrator progresses the plot and the glass windows begin to fog
The metal machine, seemingly unmovable and monstrous becomes victim to his heat
To his desire to have the plot progress as he wants it to- every tragedy is the same
Used, and disposed in the most brutal manner
He is serial, predictable
Once the car stops rocking and the cushion has gained another tale
The scent of metal fills the vehicle
But it’s not the smell of the vehicle, just the metal
Apr 15, 2011
Apr 15, 2011 at 9:21 AM UTC
Don’t love me she said in her head to the dead
For I can’t love you back, your soul is in bed
Whether it is up or its down, in the clouds or the flames
I can’t love you back and it’s an awful shame
I feel you here, there’s fear and tears
I should be scared but your presence steers
Me somewhere I know, I trust, I go
Somewhere where there’s both friend and foe
You make me feel sound, soul round, mind bound
Strange that up or down you put me on ground
Ground that is solid under my shaking feet
I may sit in a chair but you are the seat
You hold me, console me, control me
You presence will grab tightly and have me wholly
You whisper you love me when its dark and I’m in bed
But I can’t love you back, for you are the dead
Apr 15, 2011
Apr 15, 2011 at 9:18 AM UTC