Molten lead fist
Self justification
Slap the face, the maker
Your bleeding heart
For your own penny thoughts
Slap the mirror, the maker
Society isn't the threat
Just your sunken shadow
and your molten, righteous, fist

his emotion, the matter of which
had long been permeated too deep below
under a bedrock blanketing of masculinity
he had carried deep below himself
from youth

he didn't shed a single tear
when they buried his father
early this same year

it was in this emotion
he had held at arms length
where he didn't see himself in how
he felt
but in the product of a reserved character

his generation had worn no cross
rest laurels on the working man
he saw his peers as no great loss

in seldom shedding a tear
he saved face, in some amount
of personal self restoration
and

*it was only in his love had seen
some inkling of inner working
in his longing perchance to dream

Born a shade of a red
In the house of a blue
When guidance of purple
Was it's proper hue

It took dashes of orange
It had droplets of pink
With no one colour
Could it find it's sync

It dabbled in browns
It dared in the greens
It knows the spectrum
But not what the colour means

the fog finally frothed
boiled over and bent
its way, in lapsing waves
covering it's covet
seizing the single morsel
it foremost famished for

Only felt a moment,
a moment in a dream.
Suckling neuro pollen
The solstace of this minute
The magnus mental stream.

I found the new oasis
I saw the new serine
I found the new oasis
I saw her in a dream

Faded paint on the wall
Dust in my keyboard
Watch energy drip through my fingers
Into the keys
To drainpipe emotion
Through electric superhighway

When white-caps broke the Winter shore
The dirt had loved this tree no more
Birds who lost their taste for fish
Peck the wood bugs as succulent dish

"I hold myself above the sand
once overseer
baron of this untouched land"

Wind ran through his friends stood frame
Whom host less life, who's bark more tame
Lost count of rings decades ago, busy
Holding small ones from the snow


"Only once did man touch this land
In this, in us, they came to understand
We're small ones, we're trees
We're all the sand."

Nothing is always as life, not always in it's time
Nothing is always as death, as I gave the forest mine