Before guns wore make-up,
We used to put pennies in our socks
So we’d always walk on the root of all evil.

Now Wall Street angels frolic through satellite clouds borrowed
from youths educated by universities of smoke and plastic bags.
                  
(The tears of a child are homage to the waning gods)
For in a day not far away,
Over the painted moon of the Morning Son,
The sun will rise wearing the finest war scars money can buy.

And the screams of humanity will be heard from Venus,
Forgetting that the reciprocal of   L-I-V-E   itself  is     E-V-I-L
And perhaps death is the life meant to be lived.

I find it
Unbearably tiring
To continue
Speaking to you.

I saw a picture today,
of a face I recognized,
but couldn't put a name to.
It was a picture of a man,
standing next to my father,
this man was old,
his face had countless wrinkles,
and deep laugh lines,
his eyes were grey blue,
a sparkling grey blue,
full of wisdom,
and happiness.
My dads eyes matched his.
Their faces had the same shape,
and their built was the
same,
everything about them,
was the same,
except one was old,
and one was young.
And then I saw the old man's
hat,
the hat was from
being in the airforce,
and then I realized,
why their eyes were the same color,
I looked in the mirror,
and my eyes,
were grey blue,
I looked at the hat,
and ran to my closet,
I pulled out the hat,
so old,
and worn down,
with age.
I stared at it,
and my heart tore in two,
I can't believe I forgot,
it was you Grandpa,
it was you,
in the picture,
and I didn't realize it was you.
It's been so long since you passed,
but every time I think of you,
its like the wound opens up,
again,
and my tears,
are the blood,
that seeps out,
of the wound,
flowing rapidly,
with no signs of stopping.
Till I feel i'll bleed out,
and die,
and then join you,
but I know you want me,
here,
on earth,
or you would have come for me,
by now.
Oh Grandpa,
why did you have to go?