I measured my madness,
Subtracted any sanity
Divided by calamity
And what was left, didn't add up.

haste the winds of change
Which blow with the sands of time.
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity.

A narcissist would gaze upon
any large body of water
And tell you, they often take a larger ****.

Our final hour draws near
As the pillars of the earth
Are raised above the threshold
The human condition
In a hideous state
of primeval primitivity
It's tribal, and civilized devices
Our cherished, but brittle
and unstable societal constructs
Have been refined and pondered upon
By wisemen and great minds for a millennia
But they remain all the same.
of gold and jewel hoarding merchant swine
Or the Lord of the land which still
Holds in his hand the peasant lives
have existed Since the days of Christ.
Fortunes and prestige was made
On backs of the slaves of man
No longer slaves of one color or origin
Be it the blindly led masses
ready to be molded for purpose
like ***** of clay, or those
Who exist to fill a pair of Jack boots
To crush any who oppose the will of few
Imposed upon the liberty and lives of the many
Kept in listless contention
Cattle cargo kept calm and in comfort
In the moments before slaughter
No use for livestock who
no longer can be soothed
By the noise of the static which has kept them subjugated for many thousands of years
Slaves, by whatever name designated
As a product of which the era produced for them
Today still remained shackled
Even as they no longer have chains  
To bind the spirit or flesh
The forgotten
Will not be extinguished
They writhe in ancestral rage
Their enemy oppressors
Shall be cleansed as pennance
In the fires of retribution
The end will be swift
with haste the winds of changes
Which will blow with the sands of time
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity, that reads
"What hope could there be, for us, when the light that we possessed
Our compassion, the goodness of man,
is something learned in preference of morality and not inherent in our soul'
And bring the torrent of uncivilized upheaval
Tearing us like weeds from their earthly respite
Grinding and rending us in our vessels
back into the soil and seas.
Relinquished to the warn embrace
of our celestial mothers womb
As she plants the cosmic seeds
Sowed in the brilliance of her aeons
And which grew the bountiful harvests
that fueled our creation
And let us to thrive
as we found our way
through a cruel,
but natural order of selection
The anomallic flux
In a fluid plasticity of
Biological machinations

Whats there to show for every breath I invest?
Crowned king of the ashes, from a fire I've set.

A man, 20 years of age, another man, 40 years of age

The young man in his inexperience asks the 40 year old man
"You've lived twice my life, whats your advice?"
The older man pauses
Reflecting on his own life, in hindsight..
He says:

It is said by many
The best teacher is experience
This statement is true, but experience
Does not equate to intelligence, or intellect
As both do not equate to experience
With every word from spoken by a man in his youth,
It is received by the senior with a grain of salt
Though in reality, they are both adults



What distinguishes a person whos lived longer?
Is years of learning beneficial if they accomplish little?
A decade spent listless watching days blend together
Carrys more wisdom, more growth than 5 years of struggle?


To believe this I refuse.

Adults of seniority are not always mature,
They bicker and argue over frivolous things.
Talking over the other,
Neither letting either get a word in edgewise.
Their bodies mature, years experienced,
Yet arrested development has left them
Adult children.

The fresh face child who endures struggle
And is given responsibility,
Experiences his growth as man
A man who never has had to struggle and grow
Is stuck in his adolescenc

Mortal bonds, the chains of flesh.
Shackle a weary spirit,
to a crushing forlorn succession.
Of a failing in the means to find answers,
any action, is bound to be.
A fruitless endeavor.
Disquieted passerby,
one gaze into a jaded pair of hollow eyes.
As if viewing through a pair or stained windows
Of ornate painted glass.
The visage, like the empty pews,
of a magnificent cathedral,
of agonizing sorrow.
Oh that which never ends.
Blunting the edge of indescretion,
I will find no relief.
Ceaselessly lamenting.
dismally spiraling.
Into loathing self reflection.
Catatonically stricken,
by the crushing weight,
of divine calamity.
Ironically symbolized,
to illustrate a trend.
Bending will, I broke it.
I chagrined in disbelief.
Mortality, transcendence