You think too much
and you wish
for the impossible

Your dreams
come at you
like a bludgeoning

It is time to wake up

It is time to face up

It is time to realise

You must realise
that it hurts
to think the way
you do

You must realise
that repercussions
happen to those
that take action

One day
you will find
that the best days
of your life
are the ones
with regret.

They cry for Nationalism
and they seek purity
but all they will find
is ****** and pride

We all want our
individuality

We all want our
sense of being

However,
these fanatic imbeciles
do not realise
that in order to achieve
individuality
we need to achieve
understanding
in being
an individual.

The rocks are whispering to you
with a rough truth
that only the cliffs can teach

Close your eyes and listen,
the wind is carrying the sentence
and the trees sway agreeably

It is the sober sound of mans silence
that soothes your worries today
as the hawk cries above your head

Benevolence has no place here
it has been slain to non-existence
along with his brother, malice

Morality never grew here at all
it has no place here with you
the wilderness surpasses such naivety

Within seconds the social venom
will drain from your heart
and you will know what it is
to be free
truly
free.

There is a lack of an artist
in our world,
our society,
today.

Civilisation ceases to be just that
without the genius brush on the easel
or the charismatic words on a page
or even without the sound of music

In arts place, we have sickness

Sickness in the embodiment of
a piece of paper with a numeric

Sickness in the hearts of men
who care nothing more than to get a coffee
and to beat the red light

Learn to love the red light, my friend

Learn to love the wait
for it will lessen the strain
that unnecessary strain
of commitments in half beliefs

You must embrace
the simplicity of every heartbeat
the simplicity of every sunset
on every dormant Sunday

It is within the calm rustle
of the leaves of the trees
that the whispers of truth speak longest,
with words of wisdom
that settle in your ear;

“Stay calm, and be easy
you men of restlessness,
for there is nothing
worth your worry,
for there is nothing
that can harm you,
that already hasn't,
for there is nothing,
nothing
at
all.”

A solitary light sparks
and it begins to consume
until it thins out
becoming a blur

Squeezing tentatively
at the sides
the shackles begin their work
to mould and straighten

The urge to break free
infests consciousness
and is equalled with the fear
of drowning in liberty

The time constrains
and the shackles become heavy
until the light lessens
into the comfort of darkness.

When faced with reality
or when curiosity stares
no one can ever say
dare they fall down
ever more into nonsense
riled in your own disbelief

She's the kind of girl
that craves cylindrical pleasure,
a personality void
of intellectual construction

With a wave that is composed
of a wiggle of her fingers
and a smile,
like a putrid smell,
it lingers

Her words are spoken softly
and their meaning is softer,
the intent is plain to see
that she is as lyrical
as the poorly written poem

She is
the product
of poorly written poems

Thank you Shakespeare,
kudos Kleats
you have all created
the foundation
of 21st century women.

The glistening angels
that serve no purpose
other to drain you
physically and mentally

The betrothed
and the smitten
write their horrid songs
about the angels
(They're called hoes now, Bill)

I for one
will stand my ground
against the leeches

But too bad the ground
is made of wet sand.