Anarchy disturbs the freaks


Who am I to wear these clothes and tell you of dishonour
A man whose fought so many fights that night and day can wait until tomorrow
Colours seep inside my head and make pictures of Autumn when muddy fields run water
To take a mans maiden fair of hair is a brother who makes a martyr
To run with wolves instead is part of manhood but watch here comes the farmer
Two barrells I look down now but always stay one step ahead and keep it safe to barter
The casualties of war are all around with bars upon and society has rats to catch yah
I live a life that's had it's deaths and friends along the way boy and so I say to you wear your colours to your chest and tomorrow is ever after.

when our mind is full of great ideas
we want to write them down
yet there are times when we  discover
that there is no connection from our brain
to all the instruments we use
to transcribe our flighty thoughts
    to give them shape on paper, screen, or in the sand

sometimes it helps to pause a bit and reconsider
what we do really want to say  
    focus and concentrate
    articulate precisely yet suggestively
our indomitable urge to formulate
    the turmoil of emotions we may harbor
    our wild ideas of revolution
    the overbearing pain of loss and separation
    grey landscapes of depression
    attractions of dramatic suicide
also the joy and pleasures of deep love
    of unexpected friendships found
        where even angels fear to tread
    the happiness of our children
    the love we recognize
        often too late
    our parents have bestowed on us

et cetera  et cetera

the catalogue of our themes
expands through our lives
so do the challenges
of how to tell the tale

it helps to aim for clarity
we have to  let our instruments of writing know
which of our turbulently swirling thoughts
should earn the privilege
to become words
    and be communicated
to people who
    before they read our verse
have no idea at all
    that we exist