the gateway
guarded by your skull
leads many to their grave,
reminds many of the way home,
for the paths burned through
lead to all too familiar places,
and the burns of rage and true way
leave all too familiar traces-
how can we move forward
when the gateway leads you to fear?
how can we move forward
when the road to purpose only faintly appears?
we have our sight
but our mind’s eye isn’t clear-
we lift our bodies
but our mind’s soul won’t make a move,
won’t get out of here.
our hearts burn true to lead us to our destiny
but honestly
we’re trapped inside this hopeless mind, and we’ll forever be
And never leave
unless we change the prison we know, with gruesome force
and change our course
in time-

when the axe is poised above our head
and our foes brandish it with haste
to relieve our necks of their heavy dread
and to bring death, destruction, and shame-
i remember the words a song once said
of seeing a brother in the enemy's face
and will not fight back against my death,
and hope my foe’s soul wont meet my same fate.

faintly it can still be heard
crawling with
overgrown nails
up the creaking ribs
crunching on each bone
spreading deadly poison.
inside us all
lives
this desolated creature
waiting to fill our lungs
and with forceful breath
fly out into the wind-
it can still be heard
gnawing
growing
fattening itself
to spread it's diseases
until the regurgitation inclination
springs it upward
and out toward the air,
to consume
and destroy
all of it's enemies-

a pebble pounce bounces down the deep street
blowing with the brushing breeze
until the undertones of unpleasant winds
bring to a stop the stumbling pebbles steep steps-

listen
catch your breath
before life convinces you
to waist your lungs on a screaming match
with a sidewalk-
you don't know about the wind
little pebble.
all you know about is your pounce bounce
flouncing, doused in doing your daily doings-
yet you don't know about the wind
little pebble.
when your steps are stopped, you must be stopped
and when the breeze dies down, you cannot move-
yet you think you are in control of your movements

listen
acknowledge that you don't know where you are going
or what you're doing with your goings
and maybe
when the goings stop their showing
and tentative winds stop blowing
and you are sitting
stuck
without motion
on a sidewalk crack
slipping through
yet intact
maybe you will not curse the road you are on
but thank the wind for carrying you this far
little pebble.

just an undercooked
distasteful rare
half way there
mouthful of hair
always striving
with underwhelming care
to do my least best
the least that i can
the least i can bare
-
yet that's all it takes
to be standing here
making clear
with joyous sneers
praised for malintent
in how i lead my peers
to do their least best
the least that they can
the least they can fear

there aren't enough blank screens
and entertaining fillings
to make me feel like my words have meaning
and that life is worth taking off the gloves
touching
feeling-
breathing in and being thankful for living.

someone came along
and cut the string-
scissors in hand
with malicious intendings;

its fun to watch things fall
or weightless things float to the ceiling
to watch them crack open
or lose shape at the breaking endings-

and i
run back to see
the things i kept close to me
are destroyed or out of reach-
just a boy
staring at the sky
wondering when that balloon will come back down for me-
or when the rubber will touch the sun and begin melting.