Paintings of the dead,
organized by hue and shade,
grouped by color,
in all different arrays.
Alphabetized,
books stacked on a shelf.
Blank pages,
read aloud to oneself.
If you shed a light,
on the synchronized,
human lives,
we are living,
you will see we are all one being.
Dead bodies aligned,
in a mile long row,
how those people died,
nobody seems to know.
Flowers in a field,
pushing through the soil,
crushed under the weight,
of drills drilling for oil.
If you shed a light,
on the synchronized,
human lives,
we are living,
you will see we are all one being.
Waves crash softly,
into a weathered shore,
only to recede and repeat,
dragging sea shells to the ocean floor.
If you shed a light,
on the synchronized,
human lives,
we are living,
you will see we are all one being.
The weight of the world,
rests on the shoulders of man.
And trust me, I know,
we're doing all we can.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
Paintings of the dead,
organized by hue and shade,
grouped by color,
in all different arrays.
Alphabetized,
books stacked on a shelf.
Blank pages,
read aloud to oneself.
If you shed a light,
on the synchronized,
human lives,
we are living,
you will see we are all one being.
Dead bodies aligned,
in a mile long row,
how those people died,
nobody seems to know.
Flowers in a field,
pushing through the soil,
crushed under the weight,
of drills drilling for oil.
If you shed a light,
on the synchronized,
human lives,
we are living,
you will see we are all one being.
Waves crash softly,
into a weathered shore,
only to recede and repeat,
dragging sea shells to the ocean floor.
If you shed a light,
on the synchronized,
human lives,
we are living,
you will see we are all one being.
The weight of the world,
rests on the shoulders of man.
And trust me, I know,
we're doing all we can.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
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