His beautiful voice!

Could he perhaps be gargling --


honey every day?

Channel the grace
Feel the pace
I stood in their place
I thought I recognized the space.

Shiny isn't always gold
Or so I've been told
And death truly is bold
Grabbed my soul and turned it cold.

Got sold sins painted as dreams
Had to have it by any means
I let him have my soul
Only one of us is getting old.

My voice as a weapon
Loaded guns with demons I couldn't let on
And I'll show you hell and fire
It's now, not just a desire.

Maybe my poems
have fallen on deaf ears
to a point
where
they lost
their
voice

Where is the sound
            That once gave meaning
To my name.
It seems lost in the echoes
                    The sound of a
Crying shame.

                     I try to pinpoint the time
Channels I was
Passing through
                    When I could interpret pre-echo
When each syllable
Rang true

                   When my offspring was purer
Relative to
Innate impurities.
                    Girl, boy vastly interrupted.
So much for blood
As a surety.

Belly fire lessens with years.
                     Caution blows back
In the wind.
Flirting with status quo delusions.
                    Slogans & logos
Slowly rescind.

                 Pure thought tainted with church & state.
Leftist & Right Wing views
Scientifically spliced.
                  This new world creation seldom takes sides.
Calculates the outcome & always
Dresses nice.

I’m halfway there, queasy still
                    Rhetorical views beginning to
Make sense.
Cautious malaise on either side.
                       Starch chaffing neck  
Outcome offense.

                       I occasionally hear my voice
That blew with caution
In the wind.
                    Volcano dormant still pushes the crust.
Delusions sicken me back
To the fringe.