It is a tiny little box
To write a poem in.
Like a frame before
The painter begins.
But such as it is.
I am but the guest.
What can I care
But hope for best.
In starched white
Blessed chair
I sit the *** of my
words down here.

While plucking, prodding, pulling
Defacing the nature
Of our own wildernesses

Laced betwixt each knuckle
Of hardened, crafted hand
Villainy laid buckled
Etched in ink and sand

Hostile thoughts, now yearning
Against each ***** so new
Till each hand left burning
Everything left was you.

When you think the battle's ever won
By hundred spear, sword, or gun
In slashing, pillaged mortal right
Come together, for now we fight
Think not upon your mortal dread
Will fail you even when you're dead
The battle will for ever clatter on
Praised in joyous kinds of song
By gruesome men in drunken seige
The fight for the end is your liege
Not your pitiless sacred stone
Or the loved one left back home
But to fall upon the largest stage
The coming of the end of days
Honor and sacrifice is what will tell
The lasting sequence, the final bell
So stop ye now your idle chatter
Sharpen that what really matters
Try to remember what was done
The Sword, the Spear, or Gun.

O'er lakes and ponds, skyscrapers too
With lashes, hooks or skyward beam
Furious synapses sparked and they grew
Systems of masters and slaves team
To recreate what the earth already knew
As told by the heavens and the seam

As cool rivers flow and airy winds blow
The lights and the sounds reverberate here
Calling to us in broad spectacular show
Til it is no longer the darkness we fear
Blades of leaves and the grass bellow
But what they say is no longer clear

On, forth, the improv of our sale
We trudge onward with no regrets.
Now each connected by our grail
Lost, except within hearts of poets
The stars still shine and tell their tale
Obscured by the lights of our sets

There is a never ending toll
Down, in the deep pit of our soul
In a constant, trembled churning
A house-fire e'er brightly burning
While we, trapped scramble inside
As the smoke and heat, they rise
We stand to face the black smoke
Move forth, stumble, cough, and choke
Eyes squint in blearied raging reds
Yet we must shuffle on ahead
With our loved ones right by our side
Together press to find the rise
Where the air and heat are clear
To Stop and move beyond our fear
Finally, fresh breaths fill our sides
Til we find, someone was left inside.

It's really a ruse
Not to confuse
The body with
the Mind.
In cold, disparate spaces
In careless, drab faces
Pushing us
to lose that behind
But really it's knocking
what's under that stocking
hat that you wear
all the time
You know who you're fooling
When this drive starts cooling
You can't push this body
without changing your mind.