All day and all night,
No darkness nor light.
a world without nothing seems interesting enough,
with no light at night it gets kinda rough.
we fight for our food and freedom too,
We fight for our friends and family we do.
every day a person dies,
Being filled in with these horrible lies.
what did we do to deserve this?
were we bad on Santas naughty list?
its time my friends its time we are Free,
its time to let go and Be who we be.
lets stand together and face them all,
for cowards in the end Will always fall.

It doesn't matter how so plain
Or rough the crust may be,
The kernel is what truly counts --
The part we cannot see.

A piece of land perceived as good
And ripe for human toil
May yet prove unproductive
Without the proper soil.

Can we appraise the saber
While still within its sheath,
Or comprehend the ocean
Unless we look beneath?

Sights we often fail to see
And thoughtlessly pass by
May be those that satisfy
The palate, not the eye.

This plainess that I feel right now,
is really quite an art.
The people yelling feverishly are all but just a part.
A part of this humongous ocean tide called life.

It seems like just a day ago, I felt I needed more
I needed visibility, love, and more, more, more.
It feels like just the purity and carelessness of life
is that what I so needed in my attempts at living life.

It turns out you dont have to worry
you don't have to think
about your looks, who loves you and about what you should think.
Apparently this stillness, this plainess that's inside,
this easy going carelessness that you don't have to hide
is just what people notice about you wanting more
about you craving love and attention and what's for you in store.

They'll crave for your attention
and will want to be with you.
It's funny how instead of you
They're the ones craving more.

what have i to do with these grips,
these squared, white knuckles
holding tight to handle bars?
what have i to do with these empty stares,
eyes void of truth?

these "fill-in-the-bubble, A B or C, music only reaches the ears" types of humans
attempting to tell me how to carry out my existence,
attempting to tell me the most efficient
practical
mindless ways to die?
attempting
to tell me
to show me
the most rewarding ways
to die.

what have i to do with these sculptors
who try and quantify the rain,
who try and evaporate
the sun?
what have i to do with these ideas of perfection, of what is best?
these assumptions of false fulfillment,
these preludes to orderly, institutionalized chaos
and contempt?
what have i to do with all of these cardboard boxes
which cannot differentiate between being filled
empty
open
closed
soft
rough
dry
loved?
what have i to do with those who cannot detect their own storms,
their own energy waiting to explode?
what have i to do with one shade of blue?
what have i to do with feet that cannot move,
knees that cannot bend?
what have i to do with white houses
black cars
trimmed bushes
a front porch?
what have i to do with stationary?
what have i to do with these wings
unless they are free to flutter?
what have i to do with structure
with corners
with average
with plain?
what have i to do with boredom
with settling
with insignificant breath?

what have i to do with waste?
what
have i
to do
with waste.

you would think
a ferris wheel is fun.

you would think
a ferris wheel is romantic.

you would think
a ferris wheel is scary.

but you should know
a ferris wheel is plain stupid.

because it is just a huge wheel,
that spins round and round,
not making a difference.