Catching teardrops
In my brand new cup
Hoping that it will stop
So here I am lifting my head up

Do you find it satisfying?
Watching innocent people dying?
Do you find it amazing?
When people dies in bombing?

The world isn't cruel
It is the people!
Life is not a battle
Don't treat it as a duel!

Here I am closing my eyes
Silently praying for those who die
Curiously asking Him why
I know He's listening up high

A wonderland we once knew
Is now a dark color hue
But He's watching you
He knows what do

What's happening to people? Humans, yes but humanity? No.

Rabbits scurry and frolic,
Always living in perpetual peace, and Fear,
They know something,
Of the cruelty, this world has to offer.
They have seen comrades rendered piles of meat,
Upon the hot barren asphalt street.
No longer able to frolic and play,
With their friends of the day.  
As they have become,
A mummified disc of hair,
And bone.

Dubbed the king of kings,
The messiah of man,
Who has such a lofty title?
No longer a living creature,
Most fables and stories,
Hold the only messiahs and martyrs,
Men of god and satan.
Vishnu and Mohamed,
Names of men and gods,
Who may or may not,
Have lived amongst the humans.

What holds eternity at bay?
Another breath to pay?
Inside armies too small to see?
The blade or bullet most flee?
Full feasts,
or taming violent beasts?

Time is just the common guide.
Death is the messenger to confide.
But with any fall,
it's actually eternity who claims us all.

© Derek Devereaux Smith 2015 - 2017

Don't be afraid to
come into the backroom.
Part the curtain first
if you think you need a peek,
but honey, I've been waiting
here with all the answers.
You'll see.

What do you seek from this trans-trash
patch of bleached grass? Underneath,
infinite versions of me/my design holes,
tunnels in mud searching for sunshine.
But I want to ask you, who claims the noose?
Who gets to rise past the others in the end,
but then gets the knife so as to start again?
All ants, all ants, pull all but two legs loose,
and you're dancing in pants, wearing the tune
of the long, last living human in blues.


Inspired by the various works of David Lynch and Die Antwoord

They say that when you grow up,
The world will be in your hands.
Yet, small phalanges cannot affect such diversity,

The thought is comforting,
However, disagreement tugs me.
This simple body part
Functions in ways that could
Destroy or kill.

Fingers dance upon
Passionate melodies
Or provide
Soothing caresses
Assuring you that you are in peace.

But some are stained crimson
With marks of sin.

Callused, rough, and
Ignorant about a
Tender touch.

Nimble and agile, they create
Illusions the human eye
Cannot follow,
Letting them have freedom to
Manipulate and control
Weak minds.

Yet they also spring delight in
Children's eyes.
Their imagination beholds
Tales of magic and fairytales with each
Flick of the wrist.

When you're in a void,
Consumed by your thoughts, just
Doesn't a spark light a
Fire of desperate hope
For a savior to pull you out?

Unpredictable movements of doing the
Wrong things for the right reasons,
Or vice-versa,
Who can you really trust?

Unpredictable movements of doing the
Wrong things for the right reasons,
Or vice-versa,
Who can you really trust?

Human hands hold frail things with
Care or recklessness.

Human hands  share
Fear or love.

Human hands display
Favor or hatred.

Take my two cents and tread carefully.
The globe is but fragile glass

Entrusted in your hands.

Raegan Meyer May 19

Air fills my lungs but
You no longer fill my heart
I don't know what does

Vexren4000 May 19

Scars upon mother earth,
On open wound, that festers,
Humans the bacterium.
Thriving and carving away at her,
To pry out precious metals,
Glorified rocks and stones,
Mother nature forever wounded,
For some impotent human creation.

Yusof Asnan May 18

I will kill the spiders,
And if you fear butterflies;
I will kill them too.
I won't kill humans,
But I will stop them from hurting you,
Same as I would patch your wounds;
Every single time.


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