See badness and drabness as signs of unfaltering instability,
Righteous infertility,
Oh the humility.

When the magic of the mind disappears into explanation,
We lose true art,
Art is pure and unyielding.

To howl an unending song to an unmoved matriarch,
Move the wolves to the moon, move the tides too soon,
waters ebb and swoon to their nightly doom.

You. Are the flooding river of bludgeoned virginity,
The ancient ceremonies of children to the sky.

We. Are the Sun, we are the sons and daughters of not the Earth,
But the Universe, born from specks and stardust.

You injure us at mass, we cry, and we bleed.
Our mountains are scarred but they won't shed a tear,
They pretend they were born that way,
But birthmarks mark more.

Your metal monsters,
They hush us to sleep with sweet, sweet lullabies.
When we have been quelled,
They bite at our flesh and tear pieces of our gentleness.

As I fell into the immaculate spiral of being
I found, in light, the stunning sensation of meaning
I lacked only the need to articulate
For I was the Love, the Pain, the Hate.

I was rocked, gently in a morphous womb,
Swayed and cradled by the room
She held and sung me lullabies,
To my fears, I said my goodbyes.

I opened my chest like a double-door,
And absorbed the sunshine, evermore.

He stands alone, but I'm the one who's lost,
The bitter melancholy stains my lips.
Upon his turbulent ocean I am tossed
The tides, they tear and rip.

When I did think we were two parts of one,
Two words thought I, on one collective page,
Then one of us was bounding to run on,
And leave the other in a righteous maze.

And of the good that I have thought to teach,
He looks away, for he'll have none of this.
The happiness that I do love and preach
But pain, he finds, is bliss.

Now he, alone, in dark will stand
Stayed by the immovable man
Cursed now by his flippant air,
The nature which had led him there.