They say that the truth is a hard thing to take,
but maybe it’s time that we see
that we as a people are nothing but fake,
ensuring that’s how it will be.
 
We stand up demanding there’s tolerance,
doing so with our fists in the air.
It’s truly the oddest dance ever been danced,
hypocrisy beyond compare.
 
We claim we want peace, but we seek the next fight
as we keep our guns close to the door.
Convincing ourselves that we stand for what’s right
when the truth is we’re actually just bored.
 
We say that we want to be free men,
while we ride our past into the ground.
We claim that we run from our demons,
but we really just keep them around.
 
And we live our lives waiting for the next offense,
needing others to kindle the flame.
We’re a common collective without common sense
like the scarecrow not having a brain.
 
So, let’s go on pretending we live for the truth
but the truth is we’re living a lie,
for each soul who actually lives for the truth…
we find a way to crucify.

Stand atop
your                                                            ­                                         dunes
manifested
Dreams
from infallible convictions
Eyes — open
with pretentious ecstasy
Gawking
Your waves — in a waterless sea
Stand
facing the winds
permeating
your pedantic desert
Eyes — water
Assurances — seeping in
Indifferently
ravishing your                                                             ­                      dunes
Lie — buried
The sand’s absolute
Like sediment —
manifestations overlaid
Eyes — close
against the winds righteous pursuits
You wonder
how you missed the direction
whence they came

I’ve stepped again into my old life.
I know it’s nohow and nowhere.
I lived there, yeah, I was there long.
But I don’t pick out it, however.

I keep in mind my love to you.
I lost myself, chucked wildly and fouly.
My life was ruined and I was nowhere.
I swapped myself for you blindly.

I was cheerful for you and gloomy,
Freaky and as a gold itself.
If you wanted, I could be a dummy.
But I’ve never been just myself.

I always was near, but you didn’t sight of.
I left one day, but you returned.
And I’m here again. Again it’s all here!
And what is needless is simply crossed.

I’m like a kitten, blind and lost,
I’m crawling out at sounds or light.
I’ll hide in this life for now perharps
As if I’m not here for quite.

Us All

In hunger, my belly aches,
of clawed darkness, I’m afraid,
to forsee what is to come, I’m blind.
—just a reflection of all else.

On damp paper you may sit,
on thorned cushions someone may,
to the vast universe, insignificant.
—just a reflection of all else.

To linger, is in the hands of time,
but as the rest, home waits as death,
merits mortals with same eyes.
—just a reflection of all else.

Fields of wombs
grown on unsteady soil,
the ides of May, harvested
and cast into the fire.
The brand is seared
into the soul,
yet we scoff and sneer,
while we dangle on the branches
hanging on for our dear lives,
of the same burdened trunk;
of the same root that sired
us all.

—just a reflection of all else.

Listening to the future
Sing a song, sing a deeds our
In the stark and relative promise, we cure
With hugs and kisses, the toil of anarchy in all power

Cherished time...
With imbued lips, the chastity of sorts
The wind to live once more, in world and chime
To know a clash with poise, these tears are yours...

Rights risen, to voices of callousness...
With the claim of sincerity as a tool, that becomes
A harrowed force, we have never seen without bless
Of a seclusions kindness, though even a hate may be some's

Risen rights, to voices we care
Forth a heady Christ, the trade of a lifetime?
Walls of avarice and heed of a monstrous appetite to fare
Is here and now, beloved, even in the eyes of barren lives?

Burden in sight, brief as a war with silence is
Evermore, the turn of chastity into a problem for needs
That burned a charity's flames, a grant of sin to substance
That in the spoken drive to see another become, living seeds

Welcome home
The vanity of surmisal, and its hurry to question the truth
Has added, has asked the vestige of powers, has life atoned?
For the notice of speed in the vices we spare, from even the risks of poorness, so aloof...