I make my peace daily with the voices pounding (blazing)
in the mad terrific silence of the morning hue
Shooting full loads in an opus ,
killing already dying ink from pen well to prison cell,
in my own personal crafty design of "Hell"
As my head rages on in a full frontal assault , i shower, get around some,
and shout to myself "Wake Up!"
Inner demons play chamber music and dine on my soul by fire light
so i watch the world turn and feel my insides burn
As everyday and night washes wreckage ashore
hoping everything turns out better than before
in the places that i don't visit (and wouldn't last a minute if I did) anymore
Places where life is unfair, people don't care,
and "boys" are made "Men" every day .
A Place where a son or a daughter's face
cries helplessly for me to save . .
Where fathers outlive their kids
and Money & Power is ALL that there is .
Where people pass away almost daily
[unless you've completely gone crazy]
.... (then you'll splatter your own matter when it's all over anyways)
In that Place, it doesn't matter who's "wrong" or "right"
only who's Bigger and Meaner in a fight .
[It's a place where there never Rests In Pieces
the evils of life]
* This was "made" by a poet
with no words to say
a builder
with no tools to create
an artist
without a pen or paint
a potter
without water or clay
trying now to transform what holds deep
to outside from within
wondering if feelings can fall true and clear
[to see and fear]
with imagination and color and hold
the chance to be
"Brave"
or Slave
to
his heart
and his trade .