They say to keep your eyes open, but your mind closed,
leave your thoughts unspoken
and your body exposed.
We hold such value to anyone who holds a heart,
and when all is said and done we rip ourselves apart.

I've never been one to wake up in the morning,
I love living my life to look at the stars.
You experience complete peace without any kind of warning,
and if you look hard enough you can sometimes see Mars.

If you go back to the year 1944,
sixteen year olds were coming back from war,
and now in today in 2017,
an adolescent is a child and an adult a teen.

We're so far from our natural state,
our entire species is cursed with cancer.
When we were hunter-gatherers we were doing great,
But we thought preserved food was the better answer.

Most live their lives now in a camera,
forever looking for one more person's approval.
Trying to reach a standard of Marilyn or Pamela,
but a step forward would be technological removal.

Let's look back to around 1970,
when people were still struggling with equality,
And most likely by the year 2020,
we'll be oppressed and depressed by the plenty.

Invisible water is filling up a lung,
constantly drowning in an everyday world.
No words to every song that has ever been sung,
we are born and we die the same; body curled.
Trees grow but leafs fall, a barren way left to display,
Seas and breeze call, it's said that night is the one true love to day.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
With the beat that's in our chest, we're fooled to think that we are tough.
Language was made to communicate, but we quarrel in pettiness.
Still we can all relate to an elegy of emptiness.

There's a dark room in every home,
and each closet holds atleast a single skeleton.
Our feet recognize the path we roam,
and you're not surprised that you fell again.
Puddles gather for us to splash, separating each drop from kin,
I know I'd rather just ask for the water to let me come in.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
We all need to take a rest, our strength is now merely a bluff.
Distance is here for us to jump, but not many know readiness,
everyone has some sort of slump with an elegy of emptiness.

Lives travel on, and many paths become split,
and we all prattle on, only our feelings do we acquit.
Life doesn't stop for any one person, no matter the benefit.
But you listen to a different version, that much you have to admit.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
Each day now is just a test, truth mixed in with the fluff.
Souls were made to connect, but most care only for prettiness,
not realizing the effect and then the elegy of emptiness.

Maybe Tomorrow

False hopes of a generation, tell-tale signs of a broken nation.
Tower blocks decayed and grey, different types of vermin hide away
In the shadows, in the cracks
No one around in case of attacks
Monoliths of misery reach for the sky, where poverty lives and the forgotten they die
Hooded teenagers like outlaws of old count out the money from the powdered death that they sold
Scarred burnt out vehicles, faded police tape a constant reminder of ****** and ****
Violence is hidden behind every door, bruised ***** faces the badge of the poor
No food on the table, no shoes on their feet, for love and affection they have to compete
Girls on street corners sell love at a price and for one fleeting moment life feels so nice
Time rages on and bodies grow old, nothing to show for the dreams that were sold
Men with no prospects sit and decay, on broken sofas they watch the TV.
Where people and programmes have nothing to say
Old soldiers sit and dream of before
Storming French beaches and fighting a war
Remembering old friends who forfeited their lives, for this now septic country where misery thrives
No police presence in this modern Gomorrah, things will surely get better I’m not sure just when but maybe tomorrow.

Inside out
Collar frayed
Ragged at the hem
Stitches showing through the thin spots
The cloak of civiliztion needs a laundering.

Buttons missing
Flapping in the wind
Dragging in the rainy mud
Sliding off stooped shoulders
The coat of civility needs a skillful tailor.

Hands disappearing
Sleeves way too long
Holes in all the pockets
Faded plaid in last years colors
The jacket of humanity is now on sale at Goodwill.

when
your
black
freeze
means
run

They stand with their hands in their pockets.
One man adjusts his mesh cap, an excuse.
Something tiny, precious, real bleeps furiously through cargo khakis.
He types expertly with one finger and smiles chapped lips to himself.
Leaning against the uneven coffee counter, he reaches for his latte
and walks out the door with his fashion twin and best work friend:
grown men who assimilate in substandard choices to fit-in
years past high school.

Because your life is short
I thought you should know
about lawn bowling and polite clapping
by women in summer dresses and white gloves
and men in white shirts with club ties
and black trousers who we called the other
and who stood on utter green grass that day
and played the game with dignity
in summer’s late perfect light,
and all was well,
all was very well
the day before we went to war
and killed them all.
I thought you should know
because your life is so short.

That's what we are now,
A land of extremes
A place where it's all my way or no way at all
There's no attempts by anyone to work in concert,
No bridging the gap type thinking.
And that's what's sinking us
Into a hole we can't dig out of.
We refuse to see from another's perspective lest we "lose respect" for religious beliefs or some other command or directive

Don't you get it? There can't be a yin without a yang
There wouldn't be coke without Pepsi,
So the two sides must work in never ceasing concert
In order for us all to survive

we are angels
with cathedrals,
prophets, and poems
to prove it  

other species  
are not endowed
with such gifts:

the ceiling
of the Sistine Chapel
the pyramids, loosing
the bounds of earth
to walk on a moon...
psychoanalysis
the atomic bomb
Anthrax, dioxin
and gunfire
gunfire  

we are maggots
on rotting fruit, sated now
looking for a place to hop off,
to escape before the fruit falls fast  
to the ground

before the oceans rise
and the skies fill with ash
surely we can fly away

but we are wingless
angels, killer angels  
killer angels

the movers the shakers
the doers the bakers
the candle stick
and rocket ship makers

a race of captains
setting course
on circles of pyres
bereft of remorse

parsing madness with words
in reasons on reasons
giving life meaning
against inner treasons

founded on tissue thin
mental accumulations
biases and ticks
and vague assimilations

with subconscious shadows
over Palimpsest traces
we are convinced
we know our places

building the self
on struggling riffs
captains of the dual
navigating ships

occupying armies
assassins lens
horrible secrets
terrible rends

are we not in control
making choices
weighing and calibrating
hearing whos voices

thinking there our own
between good and bad
but outcomes are crazy
dragging mad

do we choose thoughts
from shrunken forms
from rotten gods
in darkest storms

or perhaps possessed
by invisible believers
pulp hearted  creatures
pulling our leavers

that possess our soul
choose for you
what you think
and what you do

emanations from spheres
through our core to our brain
ephemeral forces
a patinaed, puce stained

skyway of cruelty
kamikazes dread goon
gods crossing each other
poxed ash moon

can we stop reflexing
with brazen compulsions
can we stop lying
with wrenched emotions

can we defy the elements
make someone care
transcend all that harms
and bring love to bare

can we shed
all we know
choose to move on
and choose to let go

are we trapped
in space and time
will we not struggle
Sisyphean blind

or are we mere avatars
in a game from x box
acting out our program
like a hunted down fox

we have five senses
to get through the day
with infinitely more
we could smooth out our way

brains like thumb stumps
form violence and hell
hooves of dragons
we buy and sell

what is a puppet
it moves as its pulled
by forces beyond it
is that why we are fooled

are we deluded
that we are the doer's
could we be puppet souls
of gods that are losers