Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Floyd Alsbach Jun 2013
The tribes trapped by a paradigm pair
A parasitic co-dependent braid
Ever dance the hate minuet so fair
And the dank hollowed halls drink the noise made

Cast as evil those who would break the spell
Powers fell curse upon you whom it rules
In patience we await the dead hand tell
They bank on that ancient snare, kindly cruel

To one day break that bank is our intent
To see freedom ever free is our goal
Too much control is our most fond lament
With bread and butter you would steal our soul

The mob owns the mules & they their riders
A ball peen hammer, still the anvil rings
For each Goliath there comes a slider
Tho’ framing hammers bang the 16’s sing

Since only you matter, then here’s the deal:
If it’s all relative, nothing is real

… including you.

Floyd Alsbach
Floyd Alsbach Mar 2013
Pterodactyl tech in the firmament
Prophets dare speak in invisible ink
Leaders conspire to make average permanent
Long lines form the sweet pink Kool-Aid to drink.

Faint white rainbow in winters’ dull bone sky
Say can the blind see dysfunction’s junction?
They whisper quit, and we can’t though we try.
Tarot cards tell of death and destruction.

What did you expect, believe or aspire?
Master politicians play right the wrongs.
Feigned respect the cheap price of desire
It don’ matter ‘cause they pick the songs.

Black market work, lost dreams silent shout
Walking in star shadow, power is out.

Floyd Alsbach
Floyd Alsbach Mar 2013
In my bad dreams I see my son trapped
Tall within razor wire he lives silent.
Burnt out power transformers juice napped,
My daughter now carefully compliant.

Long forgotten fire, memories forbid.
Everywhere at dawn, lines are formed
And mothers do what they must for their kid.
Temptations to fear enforce the new norm.

Freedom became a foolish delusion,
Conform in silence or be sorrowful.
Your rights, a labyrinth of illusion,
Beneath posters of the great and powerful.

Still in those dreams I note the price of bread.
Stale remains the trade of belief for dread.


Floyd Alsbach

— The End —