Who am I
Who am I supposed to be?
Is it fame and fortune I seek? Or a life of simplicity?
Attention turns to disease
but my soul wishes to preach, to speak this sermon
Am I weak?
Afraid to grab hold of my dreams? Simply of fear?
The thought draws tears.

I never thought I was going down the wrong path
I desire to feed my brain but can I do the math?
Now I feel trapped
by the choices I've made

Am I an a cage?
Or is it just a maze?

A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
Feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
To admire their deity,
with empty smiles
Lives on trial.
Lives in denial.

From people to clothes
movies and shows
Communication stripped vacant of what we all know.

A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
Robbed of beauty.
Blind to earth.
but what is there to see,
when all you see is dirt?

A society of replicas march
heads bowed.
Feet that grind heavy over concrete ground.
eyes magnetized to their devices,
pulling their faces to their vices.
With glossy eyes
fueled by bitter lies
internalized to home.
But still to claim
no better relationship,
Than between man and phone.

She begins to sing,

Voice Billowing,
Like the breeze,

As Sweet-gum tree's prepare for war; anticipating the winter-tide.
Bleeding red complexion,
like great armies retreating; petrified.

Her soft, cold, breath
canters across my crimson face,
Electrifying the skin with pipe dreams of summer fantasy.
The moon pale with pumpkin pigments in autumn twilight,
Chanting songs that bring the still night scampering to life.

She sings,

With taciturn tunes
and mindful musings
Calling to frigid spirit's softened screams for freedom

She sings

And with the breeze she freezes time
and see's
like the wind
She is free.