Confused conjucture breeds many different lies

It becomes the screaming banshee of our time, wicked as one can see through our rose colored glasses

It is like a pocketwatch that has been wound up too tight, the springs have sprung on the inside

Demented through the years, they become uncertain with time itself, grey and cloudy

Pressed against the center stage,  a voice rang ill-fated truths to all ears, but no one was listening

Pushed out of the seat of demise, we stare back at the crimes, allowing a dismal approach to our self conscience

It is to say four be six in a different view only to sit below the compass of the operators

We can imagine many things forfeiting who we are, bleeding rituals of cultural disbelief, we turn around and see

So be the right or wrong, it becomes a sense of our moral code, when do we pick it up and put in our pocket though

Words are just carbon duplicates
of intertwined shapes to insinuate a specific instruction

Trying to make sense of it all, intricate complications seem to follow the very next sound

Wrapped in their secular meaning and internal definitions, we don't know the true pieces inside them

Does it mean light, dark, weird, crazy, confused, red, green, or gold?

Left, right, or upside down, who knows.
Its a guessing game of sorts. What do you see? Is it the same as me?

Linguistics interrupting unusual interceptions of crossing patterns within mixed mediums

See Jack Run, Red Fish, Blue Fish or 1,2,3
What does this all mean? Is it all free?

Signs of simple or insane complexities
surrounding mental restraints.
Turning the page, what do we see next?

Oh ok, now I get it !! Letters of different languages placed within the confines of a verbal, visual, or audible prison

"Call me Ishmael"

The sunflowers are in full bloom as we see
scattered borders crossed over with bomb filled broken dreams

Now, stop and think
We may never hear the raindrops fall again, while the lost children lead us through the scorched fields with their soft spoken pleas

Their desperate sighs rise from across the airwaves left depleted in uncertain scriptures, the forces pull back and a shattered town breathes

The sunflowers are in full bloom surrounded by visions etched in our minds of destruction and death dissolved

Now, stop and think
Sitting on burned out rooftops, we see the tortured fog of war covering up the lifeless soldiers that tatter the streets below, no more bombs or sirens blaring
One confused soldier yells, "Why are we here?!!!"

The sunflowers are in full bloom negotiating through peaceful serenity, identities clashing with unrestrained intensity

Now, stop and think
Open your eyes in the time of a desperate calling, unite as one and let the sunflowers continue to grow wild and free

The bed is my kingdom
Either it rules me or
I rule it