Ask questions later, answer the cries.
The echo of teardrops from a thousand good-byes.
I've seen the world passing me by
and I've seen the wake of untimely demise.

Step this way soldier to become a man
Out of the open flame and into the pan.
You're born on the fourth, born just to die.
Beware Johnny War-Boy there's a storm on the rise.

The dark side of freedom is measured in regret.
White-wash a memory now we're taught to forget.
They come 'round the table with labels in line.
Come if you're able with hope on the side.

Pacifist practice tends to fall by
a kiss on the cheek and a wink of the eye.
Strikes like a match, struck like a chord.
Scissors beats paper but the pen beats the sword.

The shove off the wall was the fall heard by all but the call
of the king's men couldn't mend them.
The blood on the hands of the clock can be washed but the hands
of the hangman remain stained and
the ticking of time-slot life-lines counted down...counted down
to the time of the rise of these hypocrites.
Hairs crossed like fingers from the fear of the misunderstood.
Lovers...seek out...shelter.

The burning itch...of a candle which...is polar wicked
Begins to twist intentions from both ends.
So quick to chose the shortest fuse,
When different views are misused to prove who is right.
The claim of faith of Holy Wraith
is all erased when patience is out-weighed by debate.
A war of stone in a stained-glass home
When blame is thrown the claim of faith's as brittle as bone.

The market's a target for the fundraiser fight.
Mothers and children and fathers alike.
Red runs the moon with a sack-cloth-black sun
Red *** in the spoon for the soup to be done.
Red *** in the spoon when we're done, when we're done.
Red *** coming soon and we're done.

Searching for a sure thing in dimensions of uncertainty,
discover distance between...
Sedation brought on from the boredom of the day-to-day
and the need to change up the scene.
In the ovation of a centered silence, sun dance in the beams.
Turn away from touch then you turn toward violence
Return to reason in dream...in the dream.

Walk in the shadows...walk in the sun.
Walk in the shoes of a stranger and then we can
listen for wisdom and listen for change,
listen to the voices of the voiceless, the poor and weak.
I've wasted!
For granted taken!
Reminded remembered forgive is more give than take!
Fallen footprints, forgotten non-fiction!
Fate may be vacant until you step in to place!

I don't wanna be...I don't wanna be...
I don't wanna become the ghost of a lonely dream.
I don't wanna be...I don't wanna be...
I don't wanna become the ghost of a lonely dream.

Drifting along back and forth in between
The awake, the aware and the essence of insight.
Through the transparent causes conditioning choice,
Through the winding of walkways I wonder into a communal room...
Where a girl walks up to me and says she's half-angel
and the answers are found in the tears of the dead
and there's more than one way to get back to the garden.
There's more than one way to get back to the home we don't know.

I don't wanna be...I don't wanna be...
I don't wanna become the ghost of a lonely dream.

There once was a man who just lived to do business.
One day on his way home while awaiting the train...
As he bent to to tie his shoe he noticed a little shiny coin
Laying on the tracks just awaiting his grasp
And he goes with such mission that he can't even hear
all the shouts and the whistles that beckon him back
Now the clash of commitments comes down on the question...
Is it always so noble to die for your deeds?

I don't wanna be...I don't wanna be...
I don't wanna become the ghost of a lonely dream.

Don't "take" action...it doesn't belong to you.
Don't "take" action..."make" it instead.
Radioactive Reaction...I, Radio Re-Active
We make, Radioaction.
Iconoclashing against a faction Hell bent on Heaven sentiment.
Fictional filament tethered to the Town Hall Square Circular non-secular content.
Stitching Supra-stitious suspicion.
Weaving away, in the name of good faith.
Imperial pillows to suffocate  un-resting heads
blankets of banners-it's story time to go to bed.
Yet here i sit...reaction-ing in script.
Creating activity...through creativity.
Cre-activity.
Recreational reaction.
Revolutionary open-caption inking passion with a digital pen.
"Make me"...such a passive statement with such a threatening proposal...a posing promise...a convenient conviction to tend.
A submissive request to influence choice over chance.
Change over circumstance...situational aggressive targets
subjectively objectifying a marketable stance.
"Make" action...don't just take it
Only then will it be yours to keep.

there's usually a sense of "hey this is what i do, this is what has happened to me, because of me, in spite of me", etc.  for most
for me, comfort zone can be a major issue.
So, i'm new here...or sometimes it's, "yes, i am".
struggle can be keeping it together
other times it's getting it out.
most of the time it's making it up as i go along.
other times it's repeating what i've previously made up.
not in a nonfactual or lying sense, necessarily. not in a laying sense, necessarily.
duality divides me though it's more of a choice, i suppose.
sometimes cynic, other times scenic. mostly both.
So, i'm new here...about 2 hrs. or 31 years. or for  an immeasurable blink of thought...i'm new here in the speed of ligh-deas.
there was 9 of us growing, 11 with my parents. now their is 8 of us still growing at the same individual rate and 1, i believe, expanding beyond what i am currently able to connect to. i miss it all, including the possibility of never knowing in the end.
my parents still growing.
the seeds of my own, blooming like rain drops turned snow ***** aimed at the desert floor. crashing with laughter, imposing their spirit and sky-packed piercing frost  to the desolate detail that awaits the on-coming wave of a background made of mushroom clouds.
so, since i'm new here i can be blatant in, yes IN, the surface and a bit more cryptic in the subtext.
it helps to **** out the weeds...at times me being the ****.
like a self-aware filing cabinet, collecting dust, holding on to perceived archaic attractions like faded paper, record players and the sound of giant stones sliding across one another. the option of a lock. the reality of a handle.
is there ever such a thing as "rambling"? who defines compromise? is peace and non-violence the only thing worth dieing for? do we only act when given the promise of reward? blah blah blah. i genuinely ask these ?s but it's hard to stay unpretentious when you're talking about yourself so much...but hey, i'm new here and i'm trying my damndest to not give a ****, however i am writing this to share. perspective.  take it...leave it...put it in to...pull it out of. awaken. sleep. and awaken.
so please and thank you. and welcome.