Two minutes, we sacrifice.
The value of a human life.
Not to work two minutes harder,
or push ourselves 2 minutes further.

Not enough to contemplate
the pain and fear, the spite and hate.
Not 2 minutes to reparate,
our broken world, our shattered people.
The ones we left, who've grown so feeble.

We give 2 minutes for those who died.
Who died in wars so many times.
War and again, over and over,
and louder, the silence,
and longer, the violence,
so dilute in its gunfire and sirens.

Silence, 2 minutes, for those who died.
Yet silence eternal, for those deprived,
of human rights, and chance to live,
If only 2 minutes were all we'd give.

My neighbour's hand is on my porch.
The porch that's on my neighbour's land.

My seat is in my planet's sun,
its fun, to play out in the heat.

This summer home upon the roof
the proof you need not be alone.

The garden's through my landlord's study.
My landlord, who's my buddy's buddy.

I've got the time to call and chat
but that I need not do, in fact.

I live five paces from my friends
no calls nor sends, I see their faces.

Our little city, above the street,
up thirty feet the world is pretty.

I do not crave the land below
I'm high up on my magic meadow.

A muse to darkness, candle that frays,
the bud of the rose plant
sullies the brave.

A kiss under veil, decorum deceit,
the seed has been planted
and curdles beneath.

Like vines they entangle
the voice of the saint
thy soul they shall strangle
and crush, a
restraint,
chokes
the wind
of

breath comes back for a moment,
the wind howls wild for it has been defiled,
the fiend persists with ashen words
but howls protect from unholy verse.

Your wildest dream, hearts desire.
these things you've seen inside my fire.

You walked away and yet
she stands before you
her words still trickle in,
and then they floor you.

Just one breath,
of unpublished air.
One organic despair.
One step to repair
my damaged window.
My misled gaze.
My programmed eating,
ate my days.

One word to pull me
from my habit
While I claw at the walls
like a mindless rabbit.
Trapped in my whole
endless war, an
obligation
to my spirit
drowning in
the need within it.
I'm drowning in
the human image,
the crafted icons
and social spillage.

I search for rescue
in nail-scratched writings
in the wall of the cell
I've spent my life in.

A mind, I'm trying to find a mind
to read to help me get refined,
so that my guise may come to hide
behind my shallowness of mind.

But friends are few, and far between
a while it's been since I have looked upon them,
so I'll love the world
a little less while I'm without them.

Still I'll push on, borrow a breath
to test the mind out of context
to get to know someone I've made
but I will slow with each delay.

And now I write in Jic and Saw
my people are in pieces
I might just try to talk about
completely different species.

For those you know cannot be faked
but you can take a part and break
the pieces off until you have
a species for the minds you make.

What's wrong with this? I'm used to it.
Doesn't mean that it won't fit.
But I want more, something obscure.
I want to tell a story.

But I'll set out on that journey
only to arrive back in my world
I blame myself.
It's not so bad.
This world's fantastic.
Its just, you see,
you know, I'm lost for words.
It's good, but blurred. Absurd.
You'll only hear what's intended. You get life's blurb.
You're given freedom of winding cages.
Take this fruit, It's just for you!
I'd like a different set of rules, roll again.
We talk of chains, but who's to blame?
So take them off, have a dream. It's not such a pretty scene.
Unfold, place of mythic founders, and beasts that sit at limits passed.
Make a world that's twice as fast.
Draw my maps and hoist the flags.
Make a world and let me stab.
Boil one up back in my lab.

Sadly, the crew's out. No flags are sailin.
Gladly I bring her in, but she's thin n failin.
Turn on her side and see she's flat, my world, you'll say.
But I'll get better for that.

It's a strange reget I fear,
that I might look back on my years,
and regret that I'd been kind,
when finally comes my time.

That I might look back and revere
the times when I was selfish.
And well, this was never meant to be
a contest of who was kindest,
I think in my absense of mind just
pottering around,
avoiding the risk of being
a bad memory from another human being,
but in this incessant kindness,
I worry that I'm seeing
an increasing list of costs
and a shrinking window of feelings
and asking in a voice
quiet enough to never be heard,
I ask the world, "have I been heard?"

I am no ******* of gilded sentiments.
Purchasing my fortune in currencies of kind words.
Settling my debts to the harbinger and the reaper
by my endeavor to never been seen alike them.
I seek the gentle will of the world we built
by calling blindly for salvation
within a nation of those who cannot see
and hoping that they'll somehow see me,
If I devote my life
to being something someone else should have been.