Crying out

In The after life

To just live

Crying out

After life

To just be dead

Crying out

For all the tears

That anyone has ever shed

I won't feel so bad

When there is nothing left

Crying out

David Eugene Edwards
Said his banjo was
A work instrument for God
That's some holy confidence
Yet it doesn't seem that odd.

I sit in a crowd, but I feel alone,
A stranger in places I should call home.
Their voices blur, a distant sound,
Like I’m here—but never found.

I laugh on cue, I play my part,
Hiding the cracks inside my heart.
They see a face, they hear a voice,
But never the thoughts I drown by choice.

I wish I could say what’s trapped inside,
But every time, I run and hide.
Because what if they don’t understand?
What if no one holds my hand?

So I keep quiet, nod, and smile,
Pretending it’s okay for a while.
Maybe one day, the noise will fade,
And I’ll no longer be afraid.

Hopefully, the doors will open wide,
And I’ll step inside, full of pride.
The scent of sugar, warm and sweet,
A dream that started from just a beat.

Flour on my hands, a spark in my heart,
Every recipe, a work of art.
Late nights, early days, endless tries,
Turning failures into highs.

They’ll walk in, drawn by the smell,
Of vanilla, cinnamon—I know it well.
A cozy place, laughter and light,
A little café, warm and bright.

Maybe they'll say, "I love this place,"
With smiles that make my heart race.
And I’ll know, through all the strife,
I baked my dreams into life.

i am afraid that
if i were to perish in a car accident
and they see that
i am an ***** donor
and a doctor examines
the vessel i call a body,
he might say;
"none of this is any good"

i would be too dead
to be devastated

Headlong to the Rift

Headstrong fool, heedless rush!
Doubt is cast aside!
Madmen cheer, they love the crush—
Frenzy is their guide.

Crave success? It's a dream,
All your hopes will rot.
Every effort feeds the scheme
Of those who raze the lot.

Duped again—what a joke!
Fiends will twist your fate.
Every impulse—rash and broke—
Drowns in lies and hate.

Greed and fear take the lead,
Drowning truth in mud.
All that’s left is filth and need,
Flesh and soul both flood.

Charge ahead—meet the fall,
Sink into the pit.
And beneath that lowest wall,
They’ll make you the nit.



---------------------



The Cure for Crisis

"No day without a line,"—a plea,
Though nerves may snap, just let it be.
No flattery for fools—stand tall,
Or sink into the worst of all.

No crisis comes if you stay true,
Face your own depths with honest view.
Thus, you shall keep your spirit bright,
And let the Lyre blaze with light.

This cure is bitter—hard to take,
But saves your soul from false and fake.
Its fire burns the waste away,
So creativity can stay.



---------------------



"Titanic" in Filth

Through fascist foul waters
The Titanic will drown.
Not ice slits its quarters—
But lies drag it down.

The best in all people—
That ship, torn apart.
No hope for a savior—
No "Chosen" to start.



---------------------



Soviet Nomenklatura

Culture and power—worlds apart,
So art is shackled, forced to fade.
No food for soul, no food for heart,
As thought is left to rot and jade.



---------------------



Personality: Hysteria

Reason’s lost, emotions flare,
Logic? None—it’s norm to err.
Cycles feed the wicked prize:
Rot prevails, and virtue dies.



---------------------



A Cat Won’t Wag

A cat won’t wag its tail around—
It holds it high with pride.
No barks or howls will shake the ground—
Just dignity inside.



---------------------



No Shelter Left

No more burrows—doom is near,
When the mind is dull and drear.
Burrows plenty—"science," lies,
Fake religions, greed in ties.

"Economics" built for slaves,
Rage and rudeness—empty waves.
Blind obedience, stubborn stance—
None will give a fighting chance.

In the end, there’s no defense—
Solar Doom will claim us hence.



---------------------



Breeding Idiots

A question—wrong.
The answer—dumb.
And all along—
Another numb.



---------------------



Rumors and Media

Like flies, the rumors swarm and stick,
Dumping filth on fools real quick,
Layered thick to cloud the mind,
Crushing thought in dirt confined.

And through the media they spread,
Each one dumber than the last.
No way out—just burn it dead,
Watch it rise again as fast.



---------------------



Wishful Lies

Desires and lies are tightly entwined—
"For fools, the best!" the fiends proclaim.
Yet all that they spawn is brutal and blind,
Just one more step in Hell’s own flame.



--- Total 10 poems. ---