"dredging" poems
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago,
ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific
without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories,
but not histrionics
fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished,
powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a,
age
and yet
renews as of,
at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not
for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom
they even now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of
If not now, When?
Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking
But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up
tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg:
Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered,
now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more,
the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened
heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the
outrageous misfortune
of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago
freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity.
Enough whining:
*I wrote those poems to
eject out those pains,
and I write this now, once more,
to realize that so so many still face
uncertain and unrelenting similarities,
doing their own sums,
and I wish them easing,
strength to compose and
thereby dispose of
the ineloquent
and eloquent
words of staining suffering*
3:30am
Thur
July 10
2025
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
These are the hard times,
the long stretch of coal-shed days,
the corrugated nights of the antinomian.
I retch at the old doubts and the panoply
of dustbins clattering bright,
their watchers simian in the morning ****
I dress as though dredging up greys,
monotone deep in the GB tradition:
now sandpit tea with oil stain floats
silt dreads the mass of a seven year clay.
Four weeks of shadows drown wind in a storm.
And dreams of my cottage
in days of such calm and late summer happiness
as brought cut corn and strawbs
and horse manure in hugs
until like Zulu tribesmen the birds appeared.
Hunched with expectation
Spears smiling like baddies they rushed me.
I woke pouring sweat like a workhorse
the weakest of defences laid up
my face pulling cellophane over French windows.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
lotus in a mirror
its roots clutch crepuscular slums of dredging mud
deep dark stagnant
thick with worms and milk flower petals
we remain nourished
wisdom expands into darkness
all of us students in the school of shadows
irreverent desires reverent
wise children of light bathe in waters
of cimmerian shade
*** death and regeneration
are celebrated in ******
of feral lucidity
souls are soiled by devils
the bog swallows bones
to bloom seraph's and cherubim floating
the third eye open
a cascading light
secret kiss
a breathless eternity
at the root
flames lick
open orifice
of ripples silk
empyrean *** magicians
weave
hips voodoo
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
i.
In the shower under cold water, I scrubbed and scrubbed
I wanted to rid myself of my own skin
Escape into a mine so I could live among the coal
A fuel almost as ***** as I felt.
ii.
As he pulled away from me
As he broke me into pieces
Shattered glass lay upon the seat of his car
I know what it's like to escape into a stranger's hot breath
The weight of a warm wash cloth upon my back
Pressing down again.
iii.
I prayed my wings would grow back in time
For me to fly to places I could never see
Before, my vision was black in white
Suddenly, I could see in color
His memory continues to pluck the feathers
But once again, I see the value of bone.
iv.
I tried to move on
Forget the thrashing of your memory
Like a gong, clanging symbol
Leave my mind alone
Leave me be
v.
Free me of broken pieces of the years I lost
Minutes, I lost bleeding from the inside out, razor eloquently in hand
Hours, I lost to purging myself of your uncleanliness
Days, I lost dredging my soul in therapy, hoping to dig up something that would do me some good
Years, I lost to the talons of PTSD
Depression
Anxiety.
vi.
Finally, some hope
I taste it on my tongue like raindrops after the drought
Sunlight after the storm
I find myself
And lose the taint of you, heavy laden upon my skin
You are a cavity
Filled by love and support.
And finally, there's beauty in the struggle
It's anything but brief
Because the fight goes on
Forever.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
In retrospect,
dredging up past events
that led to the here and now.
Pending course of actions in which to exact...
Reaching as far back as the mind would allow.
In retrospect,
studying the reflection
in the rear view mirror,
as the present freezes itself intact.
Sifting through past images...
Second by second,
frame by frame.
Identifying overlooked pitfalls
and margin of errors.
In retrospect,
straddling the realm...
Where my current state of mind
lapses into a minute-long sleep.
Sights on the future... Folded blind,
discerning the treachery
of impulsive thoughts and actions.
Diving up from oceans deep,
painting the backdrop beyond paths at
unmarked junctions.
In retrospect,
every detail deconstructed...
Deliberated against the yardstick
of what's done and the supposed.
Refracted memories snap back clean into place.
Over and over...
Layer upon layer...
Time and again forming
the looming weight
that pulls me to a stumble
into the stagnant puddle...
Of long gone days.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:10 AM UTC
• Old dresser drawers reopened
• silly, simple T-shirts back in style
• confusion of how the last 5 years of fashion
• abandoned honesty and compassion, straightforward presentation
• he swims into the swatch
• it fits perfectly, but what to wear with it?
• total mystery; his sleek, **** jeans?
• his soft, comfortable shorts?
• maybe this would be easier if
• he owned less costumes
• silently noting that nudists
• likely feel quite comfortable in T-shirts
• shuddering @ the thought of such vulnerability
• he sorts through another stack
• faded reds dredging long drowned days
• eyes closed, sun bleeding crimson, thoughts lofty
• wondering what the sneakers he used to wear
• really said
• long sigh, less than hopeful
• but these things are cyclical, you know
• what goes, eventually comes
• old pictures always met with "what was I thinking"
• with fashion, you never can be sure, not even later
• besides, one day you'll just wear a suit, so be simple now
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
1.
Late-spring's dilemma
Is unabridged and sweet;
Beardtongues and fuchsias peer through grass blades:
Blotches on the bristly canvas.
Camellias? Still in April.
2.
Slices of rye shift on my plate;
Miramar’s war machines whip overhead;
My mouth opens into the Gulf of Kuwait;
The toast becomes
Moldering lips of Pendleton.
3.
There’s a single-story house on a hill
That to helicopters
Looks like an easel.
Great canyons open
To the south and west; the street clings to time—
A pianist’s metronome
Waltzes crosswise on an eardrum.
4.
The eucalyptus bends the deafening breeze.
Are you still dredging Coronado's cradle?
(The tide
Disintegrates the illimitable skyline.)
5.
An unlit Anza-Borrego beats about my ears,
Stars piggybacking the horizon.
The cacti shrivel:
Glitter in a hurricane.
6.
End-of-spring guesses
Prey upon a betrayer’s conscience.
Stilted, they flash ephemerally.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
Ever had a teardrop fall out of nowhere?
Like you aren't sad or anything; it's just...
It's almost like
Someone you lived as
In a past life
Still reeling over heartbreak
Or a dredging loss
Breaks thru for a
second.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 6:04 AM UTC
Dredging up memories
The past comes back to haunt me
Feeling so badly insecure
I'm starting to lose my composure
Why me?
Why be so friendly?
I'm fearing my destiny...
This endless, painful cycle
Finding myself caught by every obstacle.
The truth hurts,
Lies are worse...
I must be cursed.
I'm unworthy of love
Cause me, you didn't think of...
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
I'm not usually like this
or so i like to think
my thoughts chase in the direction of you
when hope begins to shrink
as long as i can remember
I've only wanted a few
the funny thing is that I'm picky
but i compare them all to you
when i sit here all alone
making excuses for your lies
i start thinking to myself
how many more tries?
i know that i deserve better
but my hold on you is so firm
and when i think of letting go…
i start to itch and squirm
maybe its the idea of you
that keeps me dredging on
because i still whisper to your shadow
when i know that you're long gone
and when i picture happiness
your image blinks and skips
will you be the one by my side?
or slip though my fingertips
its seems that all we've got is time
I've already waited years
and although I'm trying to better myself
i keep confronting my fears
am i good enough for you?
what will it take you to commit
you tell me that I'm the one for you
but here alone i sit
so ill pull another petal off
he loves me, he loves me not..
and someday ill see if its worth it all
every battle that I've fought
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 12:29 PM UTC
The old man sat on the Stone of Knowledge,
He called the boy to him for the last time.
As the lad approached him he saw a tear drop,
flowing down the old mans cheek.
“Why do you cry?” the boy asked his master.
“I cry for you,” said the man “for you are a poet.
Your richness will be your description of poverty.
Your banquet will be the bread of the begger.
Your tears will flow with the blood of innocents.
You are like the windmill dredging words of hope
for the deaf ears of greed and the souls of despair.
This is why I cry. Sit with me before I leave.”
The old man stroked the boys hand and spoke,
“You will need to become the petal of a sun flower,
the scent of a rose and the strength of a tree.
Dream the fall of a raindrop, the drop of a snowflake,
climb mountains and slide down rainbows,
Swim with the shy platypus and the playful dolfin.
You will not see my face again, except in your dreams,
But you will always hear me whispering in the breeze,
be still and listen and you will hear me.” He finished.
“But,” cried the boy, “where are you going?”
“All these things I have asked you to do,
I have done, and more, my time is over,
I must go now to the Land of All Knowing,
There I will hammer my fist upon the gate
and a voice shall call out ‘Who begs entry?’
I shall reply in my proudest voice,
I AM THE POET!"
21/02/2010
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 4:12 AM UTC
You walk a lonely path old man but now and then you show us
you're alive
And maybe when you've had a few you'll shed a sorry tear or two.
That's fine.
But if you really must insist on dredging up this ****
Each and every time.
As each new fact's learned don't mistake horror for concern.
Cos it's a lie.
I'm happy. My eyes are dry.
I can't feel pity looking in your killer's eyes.
So chin up son, don't you cry.
The things you did were unforgivable and I'll never sympathise.
Lying just beneath the skin there hides a multitude of sins
That wait
For a ear that doesn't sneer or recoil sickened
Cos they can't relate.
Seize any opportunity; for you've so many agonies
to share,
To unload your woes but that cross you built
is yours alone to bear.
Each sacred tet-a-tet where you might vocalise regrets
makes you renewed,
But don't forget that as they peer at you it's one-way glass
their peering through.
You look through misty eyes - your little heart is opened wide,
but their's are shut.
They can't return your gaze of hopelessness and shame,
They've heard enough.
If I thought there was an afterlife
I'd be concerned for what's coming your way
And whilst I don't believe in evil
You and him came pretty close I'd say
You can repent until your spent or
Flagellate your sorry self to death.
But if your just trying ro tell the world your sorry
Well, you can save your breath.
Leave flowers on his grave and promise that you'll never
misbehave again
Curse the wicked heart god gave you -
If you had the chance you do it all the same.
Mount another charm offensive
Show them all the side they think you lack
But know that no amount of
Humility will ever bring him back.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
at curiosity’s urging
he found haven in haiku
a safe place where people listened
without judging
a thread to test truth’s waters
and tell his story
a 5-7-5 sequence as larynx
giving voice to childhood horrors
beaten regularly with a rubber garden hose
that left no outward evidence
bleeding so badly
he lost a kidney
too terrified to tell the doctor
with his father standing right there
it was a secret kept in the family
her verbal belittlement inculcated
“you should have never been born”
“we can’t afford you”
when he brought home all A’s
they said, “your classes were too easy”
his older brother mercilessly joined the chorus
and the torture
with parental approval
still, his eyes saw beauty
they saw river rocks as hippos
submerged in a backyard creek
they watched in awe at the flight of owls and hawks
swooping down on their prey
they described a “sapphire lake”
“so blue it was almost black”
“a jewel in the belly of the Sierras”
they captured trees and blades of grass
and fallen giants in petrified forests
they found a wife who loved him anyway
despite alcoholic binges and blackouts
his poems told of years of loneliness she erased
they spoke of her as sole reason for sobriety
he found peace in poetry
and used the internet to vent his wise *** ways
at times he even spoke of his family
as if they were decent
but every November remembered
his birth month dredging up the past
he wrote of whispering demons haunting his heart
and scars on the soul that never heal
I can’t imagine his pain
or sense of normalcy
they killed this kid when he was little
but it took him four decades to die
last Friday my friend took his own life
he called me a gentleman and a scholar
and formally thanked me
for encouraging his writing
he defended me in the face of trolls
even though we never met in person
I hope he knows how much we all cared
and I hope there’s a heaven
where he can rest in peace
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 3:43 PM UTC
It was probably in Dubai at the Hyatt when I met her
or it may have been in Dresden at the Steigenberger,
I
can't remember,
am I just dredging up old memories trying
to keep some flame alive?
but there are lots of things I don't recall
in this season of my fall
and more things still
I left unsaid
Bedrest
so the Doctor says
what a way to end my days
and then it came to me as
these things usually do
I met her down in Sussex
just outside
Drusillas zoo.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
How would I know it was her if she tried to hide in disguise?
As clever as she may think herself to be,
With a mustache as thick as a Redwood Tree,
I would hardly need wits to peg her identity,
Because I have learned a few truths that require her to be,
And they are as follows:
She is a herald,
Of inspiration and joy,
Moments merely mundane made miraculous by her being,
Make me write and smile.
She, a vision, floats again into mine,
Simultaneously sitting beside me she turns every jagged edge in the world into soft colorful things with all the warmth of a sparkling room filled full of familiar faces and old piano songs,
A girl whose eyes talk more than her lips and say things like, not so fast,
So just try and say that to me.
Thinking back now,
I have never seen her walk,
She seems to glide, to float, to hover, like she does in my mind,
And I would consider myself a fool,
A green, spontaneous, pup of pitiful perceptions,
A flight of short stairs without poignant reflections,
If not for the wild burning inside,
Caused by my dredging artist bathed in light,
I lose my heart from time to time because she gently leaves it for me to find at the bottom of the ocean,
A place where distance has not yet been conquered so nearness is still cherished,
In these depths I often see cankerous beasts swimming slowly among me,
Orbiting lazily like planets in space,
But I do not writhe in the deep,
And the beasts swim away, always onward to other prey,
So in the dwelling that I feared, I now want to stay,
Until I remember not to leave myself in such a dark place,
Without the presence of my perched herald there to say,
That even though the push and pull of the tides above are much to bear every day,
There is still the moon to calm the Seas,
And to light the thoughts of the men who will dream,
Of her.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:38 AM UTC
i'm dawning
i'm dashing
i'm dancing
i'm dwelling
i'm dying
i'm digging
i'm dishing
i'm diving
i'm dozing
i'm dragging
i'm dabbling
i'm drawing
i'm dropping
i'm dosing
i'm dredging
i'm dreaming
i'm drifting
i'm drinking
i'm driving
i'm delaying
i'm drowning
i'm dumping
i'm drilling
i'm dandy
i'm doleful
i'm delicious
i'm dapper
i'm daring
i'm dangling
i'm dangerous
i'm damaged
i'm ******
i'm daily
i'm david
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 6:53 PM UTC
I don't care anymore what people think
which oddly, I've found, isn't the same
as not caring at all. Now it doesn't really matter
what transpires between you and I
Sure, you've held my head in lap and *****
I think of it often, sweet embrace and tired faces
Your laughs mock strings of heart I'd kept in silent places
Like the one I saved for "us"
Dredging anchors I'd dropped long ago
Though the chains were broken now
I'll never know how you knew
It's one secret I keep for us,though I know you don't know it
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
It's 2 o'clock in the morning now.
I'm on a late night drive to the Acme pit mines.
With muddy thoughts in a midnight mind,
a mound of gravel in my guts,
I'm churning up
The last 4 years
and knocking back a cocktail
of wins and losses.
Wyoming night in the early Autumn.
Do you wanna come for a drive?
Take me back to that Winter night
when we walked outside
and filled cold air with our voices.
We set the icy, empty streets to rights,
and just talked all night
until our frozen throats thawed out.
3:10 a.m. It's still warm outside.
The gravel speaks, with each step, under my feet.
Tally up the feet and miles I've gone,
the feet and miles we have lived.
A memory walk
is vignette stops:
Those nights we spent drinking wine
on your rooftop.
Wyoming night in the heat of Summer.
Do you wanna come for a drive?
Thinking back on that April night
when we stayed inside
and hid from rain in the Springtime.
We let our favorite records spin all night
while it soaked outside
until the red wine sky dried out.
An empty ghost town. 3:45.
Imprints of gravel on my legs are a star map
I'll follow back to the times we had
through mounting years and empty space.
A distant place
I'm dredging up.
The one laid down; woven thick
in our fibers.
The map is laid out but I know my way.
So do you wanna come for a drive?
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
Oh don't go deep into my waters baby,
for I run cold under neath,
Stay close to your life line baby,
don't go where you caint see.
For I can be refreshing to you baby,
or sweep you out to sea.
No, No, don't go dredging in my dark waters, baby,
got no control over what you will see.
If you let the foolish side of you take over,baby,
you not going to like what you find in me.
I'm like the ocean waters, oh so much uncontrolled energy,
I can give so much to you baby,
just got to know there is no controlling me,
I'm not in charge of my dark waters baby,
so you'd be a fool to not believe........
Don't go deep into my waters..........Baby.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 4:08 PM UTC
When you are on the Pill
You should be off a lot of things
doubt, fear, surprise
but this is a different drug
a numbing heart warming
thundering ton of fun
slip sliding down
into another world
where you feel less and less
here is my take
you give up the best
when you fake it
upsetting, dredging, crushing
you figure you made a mistake
panic flares and the cramps assail
oh god, he said whining
your heart shivering
i thought you were
on the pill
Jul 27, 2010
Jul 27, 2010 at 1:15 AM UTC
Little is known and less is appreciated about the geographic, strategic and political significance of the Spratley and Paracel Islands situated midway across the South China Sea.
Disputed historically for ownership by Malaysia, Vietnam the Phillipines and China, amongst others, the islands are situated strategically across the major commercial sea lanes of the region and atop an ocean of vast, submarine deposits of untapped fossil oil.
China has used her muscle to occupy and claim these islands, together with unspecified, adjacent sea way area. She has claimed them as sovereign territory of the People’s Republic of China. Until this occupation the islands have been largely unpopulated and have had little or no military significance. Recently, however, Chinese constructors have been ruthlessly dredging the surrounding coral reef and building a 3000m long concrete runway for military purposes on the hugely expanded artificial island area created.
Chinese troops, in divisional strength, occupy and defend the new territory.
It is significant that all parties in the region are watching China and gauging her intentions. None less so than the United States Navy who have an aircraft carrier and supporting military vessels, stationed permanently nearby and conduct over flights of the island airspace testing sovereignty and Chinese reaction.
To date reaction has been muted….but this will definitely change.
China is frantically building to be the world’s next superpower, economically, industrially, politically and militarily.
...And, as this development comes to fruition in the very near future, it is inevitable that this distant, remote set of South China Sea islands shall become the next global hot point of international confrontation.
China and the United States of America will go eyeball to eyeball, bristling with hostility, resolute and immovable, each waiting for the other to blink!
…..and we, the rest of the world, shall, again, tremble in our boots, breathlessly awaiting the outcome.
Marshalg
22 May 2015
AUCKLAND.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
Before the UK Election
Those Tory Trolls slagged off
The Labour Leader
Jeremy Corbyn
Unmercifully –
Dredging up his distant past,
Turning his heroic quest for Peace in Northern Ireland
Into an act of alleged “treason”
And much more.
They painted a grim grey scene.
But like King Arthur and his gallant knights,
Corbyn unsheathed his own Excalibur:
That mighty thing called “Hope”.
He offered us all a brighter future,
Except perhaps for the greedy rich,
To sweep through the enemy ranks
Upon his horse, “Momentum”.
Once more to the breach…
And as the opinion polls swing
More and more in his favour,
Victory for Labour
Is only a matter of time.
Paul Butters
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
These women, they are old
in touch with ancient ways
the dredging of deeper points
they've come to know
and show, without hiding
Their faces are worn weathered maps
lines and holy roads
with soulful eyes
smiling they settle
and sit you down
beside them
In their circle of fire and knowing
these women of the earth
serve milky tea and mirth
their laughter resounds
it pounds the heart
grounds you there
in the fervent pureness
of your tears
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 12:56 PM UTC
Running through the forest,
Beyond the intruding trunks,
Over roots that reached from the soil,
I've been snapping twigs,
Only to leave a trail blood,
Staining the forest floor crimson green,
But it is his nature to go his own way,
To tear through the pain,
To become the greatest thing he can perceive,
Draining the decadence from his veins,
It isn't like he is a thief,
Just a minuscule entity,
Till he solidifies his being,
So that others can learn of him, even by turn pages on three rings,
Dripping,
Drooling,
Confident he will be confined to the history books,
Despite being destined,
Despite living with the acceptance,
Dredging the evidence,
Of being fit for a grave someday,
Staining the leaves,
We might as well strive,
To leave our mark,
To sight our sites for the sake of a dream,
Whatever helps you and me sleep,
Not seeking violence,
So bless you all,
I wish there was a god,
Because I’d pray,
I beg,
I’d follow the one who could tie the unknown fray
Uniting us all
Bring the silence to my lips,
And peace during your stay,
But demanding an almighty beacon will not help right now,
It is just us my friends,
On a world siphoned from stars,
So we must insure the change,
Because there isn't an chance a deity could save us from our social decay,
There is no need to cover up your granddad’s scars,
The pillars of our personal rise ,
Not a loss cause but on course for an evolutionary delay,
That is why he’s running through the wood,
Stumbling over roots,
Spattering chromosomes all over the place,
He's you and me,
Just sprinting through an existence,
Only to be sliced by those that brought you into this natural cage,
Captives unable to escape a fate,
Invisible stage, my arrival was set to a predetermined date,
Pleading pity, I was conceived without a say,
We must avoid those twigs they consider the vines of divinity,
To show them your just another human,
Potentially the ending to our plight through a naturally nourished might.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC