History is god, the founding father that made and graced us.

The future is heaven, one we must be good to earn.

Hell is the time in between, grovelling to make sense of it all.

Scripture does not compare to the power of imagination that made it.

How many men have died for peace ?
Bullets leave shells of brass and flesh, shattered like glass.

Martyrs manufactured by lead waiting to be dead.
It doesn't change, it's all the same.
Slain in the day, no pity for pain.

War games aren't won with a roll of the dice. They're lost with the packing of the board.

Tears of widows plunge deep wells.
Fathers without sons and sons without fathers.

Martyrs die defending the name of martyrs. It doesn't mean a thing.

I'd take longevity in life over longevity in memory.

They say blood is thicker than water. But oil is thicker than both.

Thicker still are those who burn it all, the blood, such a crude waste.
There isn't ever peace, there's just the reloading of a magazine, the fattening of an army.

We can spend wealth we don't own on lands we don't want. Won't want after boots bounce off bones.
Can feed battalions but not children.

Just know your car runs on blood. Built of fossils made yesterday.

Just know there is no such thing as fighting for peace.
Just pieces of peace, the spaces between graves.

But we’re good at digging graves, after all, we’re told to dig trenches to live.

I wonder the frontier,
Its veneer polished with insides out,
Harrowed are the hollow words whispered out of chapped lips.
Death rattles its bell, dragging those to hell who did not mention it in the time before. The four four beat, once in my chest now in my ears.

A time before is what put me here. Here, governed by the choices of the dead, the weight of history bares nothing but misery. My mystery of free choice leaves me but with one. To wonder the mind or to wander the dirt. Both will hurt and all will desert, leaving but more weight on those whom wait to blossom out of the manure of such a petty lure.

Remembered in great cruelty, cast in chaste, bronze and steel, steals the truth at the root of all pain. You can turn the leaf, but the roots under your feet will only continue to grow. Dig deeper, cut the strings and pluck a new melody. Forget our wars as glorious and paint them as deplorable.

Who will be left to applaud the frontier but the clapping of crow's wings, when they peck at your last fibre...

Scores, organised in rows like coke on a mirror is the reminder.
In that time of youth, bleak, weeping through the week,
too weak to seek help,
Too helpless to bring health.

The voices rise in stealth.

The marks of shame,
Long calls with people who can't hear anything other than their own worries thrown back to them, not knowing where to pass the ball of confusion.

The look of anxiety on your creators,
The apple of their eye, drowning in cider.
When you're addicted to addictions, substance abuse seems to give your personality some.

If I hand't blown my mind on LSD
I'd have blown out my brains.

Time is relative.
Then surely experience
And if experience is relative
It’s cousin reality is too.

So many spinning plates flicking our fates
The wheel of fortune
The whispers of angels
The silk of devils and deities
So many gods to cut through the fog

Just another cog is I.
Ey
It’s true, we know the pieces just not how they fit.

A puzzle without corners,
A room without walls
Dwarfs ten feet tall and giants looking up at blades of grass.

Reality is relative, reality is profanity.
Reality is sight, but a blind man can still breath.
A deaf man sing.

Don’t worry about clipping your wings, heaven is for those who fear the devil. And if you fear you feed. Fear the fearful, they don’t get it at all.

No is one outcome,
Not.
No is emptiness,
No is devoid,
No is a void of possibilities.

I did not go outside
I did not ask for their number
I did not play guitar.

I am not in the sun.
I am not skilled.
I am lonely...

Don’t frame a canvas
It’s not art yet, nobody asked what if?
Why not?
How come?

We know what no is
Yes is the thrill
a blissful pill
Easier to swallow than “truth”
“Truth” is that I know that I don’t know.
Everything beyond that is a socially agreed contract so we can live in the same world and operate in it.

But we can still cooperate and push the pen,
Who the **** changed the world by not looking?
No is one thing,
No is a personal prison and you head is the key. Turn it the right way, and you’ll see what I mean, the doors open anyway, you just gotta——-..
Say yes.

As stardust silhouettes, we stroll the rock that made us.

Sparkling out as quickly as a passing comet.

Leaving nothing but a burning memory of beautiful indifference

To those left below.

Returning to the dirt we'll still exist, the blacksmith of time has but reshaped us, and soon, once the earth is scorched and the sun melts away, we'll all be stardust again.

Who wants to know forever?
**** heaven, I'll be passive dust. there are no limitations when expectations do not exist.