The space between.

A time to sell yourself.

A time for passing.

Sometimes I touch the right.

Too much, the wrong.

Resplendent deterioration
we live by.

With casuistic slogans
and closing doors.

D'you know disembarkment
leads to land sickness?

It does.

And who can then make
heads or tails out of
the qualms of tolerance
and his cousin, ignorance?

I know that what goes up
must come down.

I just didn't think that our love
would decline so rapidly..

like stairs,
it's up or down.
i teeter on the middle,
hand on the rail,
one foot in the air.
the stone steps
are
steep and they go high;
my legs ache and i can't
see the top.
letting go,
do i climb or do i
go down?

Madness consumes the idle mind
Question everything
These words I speak is divine
Yet we follow the masses
Like we completely blind
Hoping to find
Worth in this world
Yet everything’s a lie
This is our time to shine
Break free from the stigma
It’s about time we draw the line
Our morals decline
Yet we think it’s fine
Believe me I know
These words are not benign
Take this as a sign
I managed to break free from the chains
Of this cosmic design
Questioning my motives
Will only bring us down
I don’t mean to whine
The world has declined
Look at this world truthfully
I bet you will see it…..
as I see mine

Not unlike the monster for which it was named,
With debaucherous whims that divide foreign lands;
Here at the briny, gilded portal to our home now stands
A hollow woman with a torch, whose warmth
Has become faded and disheartening, and her name
Mother of Philistines. From her once guiding hand
Emerges world-wide distaste; deranged eyes ransack
The smog-filled harbor that dystopias fame.
“Keep, other lands, your progressive pomp!” shrieks she
With welded lips. “Take our tired, our poor,
Our huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of our teeming shore.
Take these, the homeless, tempest-tost from me,
Lift your lamp as a guide and take them all!”

What of the young Donna
Reclining with book in hand
A sigh circling her lips
A glaze greeting her gaze
Her thoughts bored of days
Endless days
Depthless days
Where every voice and all actions
Are slowly stewed
In rich stock of routine
And people arrive, bowls in hand
Forming long, bending lines
Like the Depressions of old
Where defeat, distrust, damage
Linger and lay
Within the sleepless eyes of many

It's not natural
For beauty
To be factual
Who's duty
Is it to define
So I must decline
Your perpetual
Argument to define
The indefinable

I could feel my decline.
I could hear the call.
I could feel my grip loosen and hers tighten.
So I did something I should have done a while ago.
I left...

A little prototype
So fortunate there was no one alike
A truly remarkable prototype, but after all just that
And as it goes with those, it got replaced with another,
slightly better
Terrified and afraid, it was now sent to the shredder

But before it got there, it was revisited
The prototype thought that was wonderful
Its future was a little brighter, and colourful
It was happy to get another chance, to enhance
It did its best to look good, as it should
It now had an outstanding design
But unfortunately, once again declined

Now crushed and defeated it wandered the testing site and factory grounds, wondering why the world could be so cruel
Just a single approval could be so crucial
And every disapproval so brutal and roughshod
Simply the prototype, must be no good

Suddenly a pair of kind, caring hands picked it up
A pair of hands that understands the prototype
It was carefully looked at and a few screws was tightened
New technology was inserted, and a few bulbs was lightened
New hope rose as the insecurity was broke
Once again examined carefully
Now the prototype was truly a beauty
It jumped up and down, as it was finally accepted
and put into production, happy and relieved as it had now served a real function