Led by foreign madness, we
- to long expected sleepless graves -
will swim to sink and drown in numbers
weighted down beneath the waves
with nothing left inside but shadows;
no-one left of worth to save

In one end and out the other,
warring with psychotic pride, then
born again and made to suffer
- karmic purpose ill-forgotten -
each new chance at life, a buffer:
"Next time: change..." we chant inside.

Cycles written, history leaking,
sorely weeping through the pores
of growing wombs and offspring born
- another child of soulless form -
to breastfeed lies, imprisoned, shrieking
time again: disease repeating.

Sin ingested (soup for poor)
- the bile of shame and burden lost -
as people starve and lives are sold
and terrors planned to mind control...
and all the while our sickened bodies
hover, rotting, rank with worry.

Toll the bells - it's time to breathe
and **** this horror from our conscience;
steer ourselves towards a pardon,
pave the way, resume our garden
seeding spirit, heart, and mind
with growth to bloom for one last time
or we, the people, incarnating,
won't survive beyond our mating.

Dear Conscience,

Lately I was at war with myself,
What's wrong?
What's right?
My brain contradicts what my heart wants.
I know it isn't right, but it never seems wrong.

Conscience, I know I don't deserve your advice but ......
What do I do?
I want him to stay
But you say its best if he go.
You say to make yourself happy
But I rather stay with him and be miserable.

Conscience please forgive me
Cause I cant let him go

                                                             ­                                      Jonesy 2016  ©

A Man
Taken
From a Bright RED Square
Never to Return Again
March of Ominous Homage
Circle
In a Square
of
Trembling
Prayer

Awakened
Memory
of the
Holy Mother

In the end
you're alone
and nobody cares
except your own
self's conscience
so what's the point?

In my mind
It's pouring rain
And my conscience is
This young yet worn out man
Who stands there, idly getting drenched
And as he ponders the irony of this cruel world,
He turns mad and is overcome by a crazy fit of laughter.

This "crazy" man finally came to the biggest question:
What's the meaning of it all?
He realized the answer pretty quick:
Nothing at effing all.
Yet here he is, in his empty vessel
That I call "me"
And all that's left to do in this storm
Is for him to stand there, being pelted by rain,
Letting his head fall back and laughing loud with the thunder.