You know what would look great on the library wall?
Maybe, perhaps, a wrecking ball.
Who needs real books when we have the internet and e-readers?
Who needs live action plays when we have movie theaters?
Are you wondering why there isn't any shade in the park?
We needed to fill the playground with shavings of bark.
Who needs ideas when we have technological omnipotence?
Who needs a savior when we can be saved by our ignorance?

If you're shaking your head, let it be in a mirror,
until the mantra of this generation becomes clearer and clearer.
Consume. Materialize. Deceive. Repeat.
Gain it all for ourselves, it's Mother Nature's treat!
You don't have to believe our intent is for peace or procreation,
in order to confess you've contributed to the world's condemnation.
We were made to be stewards and by sharing, will thrive
if not in this world where the fittest [and fakest] survive.

Who are we to at folly jest
when folly is at our behest
seek we humour at anothers expense
whilst all the while we sit on a fence
grass being greener on some other side
now folly in us shall reside

i am a glacier icy and white
the color of frostbite dark in the night
if you want to catch me it will take all your might cause ......
i am a glacier icy and white

That I know..

You are very much hurting everyday
You feel like you just can't get away
Tears of blood cloud in your eyes till you can't see
Hurting and hurting longing to be free

Tears congregate and form into a puddle
Silently you are masking the pain, the struggle
All these while you are suffering in silence
Quietly resisting the emotional violence

You lift your eyes, but dimmed with grief
Your sorrow lends but only weak relief
You die everyday, you are wearied
It's like you're dressed at the funeral of regret, not yet buried

The stabbing pain you don't wish to bare
Nothing could make you feel better even if you share
You are gathering the strength you have in your soul
To beat the drums, feed the fire with coal

You are dipping your pain in inkwell heart
And scrawling out what you are feeling
Those words becoming the tourniquet
You don't know when your heart will stop bleeding

There was an Old Man of Peru,
Who watched his wife making a stew;
But once by mistake,
In a stove she did bake,
That unfortunate Man of Peru.

I'll sing of all the ways I miss you
and how this sorrow came to be
the verses, lies I should have whispered
the chorus, truths in harmony.

The melody will break the silence
and call your broken heart to me
to be repaired by love unyielding
to broken hymns in minor key.