Re-touched by the muse of old work
Light reflects on a life I thought forgotten
The rhythm is straighter
The words clearer
Thoughts not nearly as heavy

We are getting older

Make believe
Reality
And see that
Life is no longer fiction

Clouds wet the land
As the swirling sea on the streets
Tides swelling inland
The cities drowned in their own
Routine & monotony

Slaves to themselves
Their demons
Their vices
Vicious circle

To absurd are we to fight this
Fallible vibrations of human resemblance
Neither dead or alive
In low or high conscious states of being

Where is our message,
Dear Generation?

Concrete caked red hot
In the Los Angeles Sun
Moon setting star light whose
Martyrs are one
And a million

One day
We'll all settle
For whatever
Is in front of us

Some
Already have

Their meals set
The napkins folded
The china out
The silverware
All polished and shined

And oh!
That fireplace is
Burning

Now, the mind recoils in
Kafkaesque' style
More paranoid than old Poe
But not nearly as saturated
In His own imaginations blood
As He'

There was so little, yet, so
Much time back then;

Plenty of room for
The mind to play, to rot, to embrace
The absurdity of existence,
All at the same time

We are quite distracted now,
Aren't we?

So many things to keep our
Naturally busy brains busy;
Hiding so many questions
Hiding so many answers
Hiding so many truths to these
Multitude of questions and answers

What I pain I feel when I think of
How much is missed and the reason for it

Ice hot against the fingertips
A child crying for their mother
Though they know not why
The gavel falling on an innocent man
Girls *****, impregnated, forgotten
An eclipse of humanities evil
Broadcasted as reality television
An apocalypse on pay-per-view
(Is that even around anymore?)
A lie in the form of the truth embraced
Accidents accused for spiritual bigotry
Bareness of the human soul ridiculed
Care taker's thrown from hospital windows
The acceptance of our own horrors
As we smile, nod, a glint of righteousness upon the eye

At times
I hope
This time will
Be forgotten in history

Contributions of
Technology

Almost
Forcing us
To be connected

Making life

A Little More Bearable Every Day

An age who
Finds themselves
As they build
Atop themselves

Nameless,
Their fingernails chip & bleed

Aiming now toward space
A holy place

Or maybe
Just a house
With a barbeque and

A view