Banality reins supreme

In our children’s dreams.

What do you expect

When principles defect

And brand names

Mark the scene,

When rock stars sell their souls

To executives in suits,

Make perfumes

From their dance room sweat

And wear expensive boots,

Then slap their name

On random ****

And sell how nice and cute

Their clothes look on baby girls

They know we can’t refute.

As if they write their music,

Or pen their awful hits,

******* souls for millions;

Tear integrity to bits.

When art is lost for money,

And the formula is the norm,

When thousands gyrate madly

To aural chloroform,

When children posture wildly

In photos with no shame

And send them to their idols

Who don’t care to carry blame,

When all we know is taken,

Corrupted and perverse,

And all our keen philanthropy

Is squeezed into a hearse,

When there’s nothing left

But adverts on our doors,

And mindless dancing robots

Falling to the floor,

Then we might just notice

How much we had to lose

When we turned our children loose

To tie up their own noose.

No matter how steep the cost,

There’s always room to climb

As soul-less music moguls

Wrangle for a dime.

Around sunset it happened,

While I was sipping coffee from my gilded cup,

Staring through glass at my own reflection,

A virtual image with a hint of refraction.



I remember I frowned

As I saw with dismay a hair out of place,

Curling from my forehead in a tidal wave,

Like the deliberate flick of the coiffured knave.



This won’t do it all, I thought,

Placing my cup with delicacy aside,

Lining up my face within the glass,

Imagining the image this morning past.



I gently nudged the hair aside

Checking that everything else was right,

Turning my head from side to side;

A trifle vain, I don’t need to confide.



While I perused my hair with care,

The light grew beyond the horizon,

A surprise I most heartily confess,

And provided not a little stress.



For I saw the sun set not a moment before,

As I stared at my face and the irritant hair.

It usually goes down to the west, don’t you know.

It flashed in my eyes like the white glare of snow.



Thankfully I wear my sunglasses at night,

But it didn’t protect me at all that well.

I cursed at the light as it lanced through my eyes,

It pierced through my soul and unraveled my lies.



The ascending rumble began, shaking the walls,

Cracking the glass, reflections recursed.

The first shake of God’s great roar never stopped

As the towers of Babel shivered and dropped.



The last thing I saw before I met you

Was the rise of the flame racing the wind.

As I was consumed, I noticed the wings

Of the angel of death and the end of all things.

Legs like lead,

We trudge through Monday’s trenches,

Carrying a pack

I’m sure weighs too much.

We shoulder the weight

And push forward onto Tuesday,

Gritting our teeth,

Feet sore to the touch.

On Wednesday,

The time falls like shells,

Carrying payloads

That detonate hour by hour,

Until Thursday,

When the guns are spent,

Cooling their muzzles

As they nurse their power.

Friday comes round,

And finds us alive in the trench,

And we’re ordered home

To replenish in peace.

Of this war we keep fighting

We prepare in retreat;

The glorious charge

For the generals gold fleece.

I smile and shake hands, it’s not so bad,
Just pull a bit here and stretch a bit there,
But as the small talk starts my muscles ache
And I go quite quiet beneath their stare.

I pull my mask off with relief
To feel the solid mask beneath.

The talk goes on and I don’t mind,
This face is far more stronger in design.
Even still, as time goes on,
The mask slips slightly; a clear sign.

I pull my mask off with relief
To feel the solid mask beneath.

This one’s better, and made of will,
Built of fears and childish names,
But also sadness, anger, hate,
And all the ways they are to blame.

I pull my mask off with relief
To feel the solid mask beneath.

I’m running low on faces now
And the others start to pick it up,
Gently, slowly, the chatter halts
And people drink from wary cups.

The silence in a room of noise
Tells me that’s my cue to go.
The faces that I brought with me
Are packed up for another show.
As I grow old, they age with me,
Some thicker skinned as time goes by.
Others shatter with a blow,
And one is my face, by-the-by.

We touch the bark, blessed in ignorant knowledge

That what we feel is the extent of reality.

The learned man nods, trapped in his own hubris

As he opines from on top of the tree in the valley,

Declaring there is nothing beyond the forest;

All he can see are trees as far as the eye can see.


We scuttle across the ground, looking up in awe

As the wise man is joined by another.

They nod to each other, trapped in their hubris

As one, each man sharing his small secrets.

They climb higher up the tree, quick to point out

That of the forest there is no end to guess.


Satisfied at last, they climb down to our questions,

And patiently answer, without hesitation:

There is only the woods of the forest you see,

We've seen it all, we demand you believe.

Don't look at the edge, there's nothing for you,

Just tree upon tree, we've seen it, it's true.


Downcast,

We scuttle away,

Our tails tucked between our legs.

We think some more and go back to them

Who, being learned, are known as wise men.

It mustn't be true, we're sure you're mistaken,

It can't be just trees...


We plead for some sign, and without hesitation,

They growl and declare with words we're forsaken.

We're driven away to a home far from home

And left to die in the woods all alone.


We pick up children and wander away,

Cursed to walk through the forest and cry.

We wander for years, heading due North

And the forest, it slowly changed as we walked.

The trees, once so dense, revealed fields of grass,

And rivers, hills, mountains and sky.


Oh the sky, what wondrous vision is this?

So wide and filled with lights, what bliss!

We've only seen the branches of trees above.

We must tell the others, I'm sure they don't know.

We choose to return on the path we can't miss.

We turn back our steps, heedless to peril.


They greet us with spears and declare us begone.

We try to tell them, but they will not listen,

They scream forsaken and call us the devil.

We demand they look up to the sky up above,

But the wise men, trapped in their hubris,

Fling words like arrows, too many to count,

And we sadly retreat to hope the others get out.


The wise man watch us turn back our steps

And declare in a rush that those who repent

Can come back to the woods

Where's there's nothing but trees

And the lies that we've said?

Well, they were never meant.


Some others turn back and scuttle away,

We watch sadly as their backs turn south.

Unsure, I look up, and the branches cover me,

Green upon green, tree after tree.

But just there, flashing between leaves

Shines the sky and the stars and

I'd rather be free.

Step from the pews
And rise up against the storm
Growing from our past
As lies become the norm,
As truth is lost to ego
And accused of vanity
By peddlers of human souls
And false humanity,
Who sold their God for silver
And passed along the blame,
Abased their infidelity,
And insist we do the same.
Stand up against the rising storm
Of bitter ignorance,
Take up a sword of thought and deed,
Forsake deliverance,
Fight for your right to have a thought,
Before it turns to crime,
And know your soul is all your own,
From now, and for all time.