I seek you where in I live,
but to find you here is as hard as finding an exotic bird,
you allow true light to flourish,
you are our window to the stars,
our window to see ourselves as small under the majesty of the night sky.

It seems your natural domain is decreasing,
for man seems afraid of you,
though you ages ago,
were mans master,
humanitys' inspiration from our poetry to our myths.

Tis a life of profit and gain
counted loss innocence slain

love measured in gold
Passion an entertainment sold
Poverty humanity to hold
labor of innocent child sold
hunger pains in famine unfold
to the needed food for profit sold
nations war, borders to hold
profited by guns sold

Honor and pride humanitys pain
love of innocent souls sold in vain

Nature her teasures doth hold
Destroyed by greed and sold
beauty of flowers at day unfold
Withered in poison its home sold
beasts born free a zoo doth hold
forest to factories sold

nature by human deeds slain
Sold to us suffering and pain

tis

When I was a child
I would walk into the forest,
and wonder how so many things
could remain untouched
and unsullied by humanitys
outstretched hands.
"They must want to."
I'd think,
but there must be strong magic here
to pervert those tendencies.
I didn't feel it then,
or maybe didn't understand
what I was feeling.

When I was a young man
I would walk into the forest
and wonder how ancient
the universe was,
thinking,
"It must be a wise and thoughtful entity, that preserves such places."
Some great magnitism that holds
these places together.
And maybe magnitism
is some sort of preventative magic,
or last resort contigency,
when things grow too desperate,
or too important to lose.

When I was an adult
I would walk into the forest
and wonder why
I didn't come here more often.
The poison of modern humanity
had settled deep in my vessel,
unwilling or unable to reverse
the natural course of the pathogen of time.
Alarmed, I sat thinking,
"Maybe the magic here now works against me."

When I was an old man
I would walk into the forest
and wonder how many more times
I could come back here,
before the void reclaimed
the energy spent on my creation.
It was a simple price
we all paid
for the time
we've borrowed.
And all at once,
I didn't have to wonder
why the magic hadn't faltered
on its duty in preserving
these ancient woodlands.
Because I knew then,
that I too
would soon become
part of this magic.

-Kevin James

When our sad old world becomes aware,
Infinite love and care we all can share,
Infinite resolutions and solutions.
The end of control and mind pollution.
A Distant reality, the end of the system
Seems so clear.
Just one life here better unite
Merge into one and see the truth.
And if you can please understand,
This life is yours so take command,
And if you see the power we possess
We could all save the world if only we didn't self obsess.
Save each other, save each other.

When our sad old world becomes aware,
Infinite love and care we all can share.
Humanitys struggle for eternal peace
Exists because we fail to let go and release.
And if you can please understand,
We have command don't let them demand
And if we rise above authority and control
Hate and suffering will no longer taint our universal soul.
Be free again, be free again.

i see this face
this face i see
is tortured and at peace
it speaks for all
and all it speaks
the language of a sunset
beauty burned into its words
strong and full of reason

i hear this face
and no one else
the world has gone dead silent.

i see this face
this face sees me
its eyes tatooed with wisdom
dipicting tales of past and present
the future of this generation.
caution creeps behind its eyes
warning and protecting
yet leaving all to fight alone
the miseries
of blind beleiving.

i see this face
who has no face
lost in realization
crumbled and contorted
by a selfish
oblivious civiliazation
it crys without a tear duct
releasing from the heavens
a pure and noble life preserver
contaminated by humanitys freedom.

i see this face
disintagrate
befor my very eyes
collapsing into space and time
i feel the heart
the soul the source
of my humble existance die.

Cataclysm at its finest is it?
Catastrophe galore
Crisis & calamity
Beginning of  
humanitys' war
Great nuclear holocaust,
Mother natures devastation
Festering with inhabitants of the era of degradation.
Where we are the parasitic infestation
numbly oblivious to backfiring ruination.
Our world is a gas chamber
with poison - being suffused & saturated.
A toxic wasteland for our toxic souls
heartless ghouls ought to be annihilated -
obliteration sounds tempting...
'mass suicide of this vicious nation'.
Black death couldn't quell us malicious beings
No virus contagion in existence ever would -
eradicate a species, this selfish & grim
Should we blow the world up if we could?
All the Atomic & Nuclear could be put to good use
Escape the mess we made & ignite the fuse
As the grotesque & gory go up in flames
vanquish every origin of mans evil games
Watch Earths inferno,
much better than Hiroshima or Chernobyl
Lamenting on the barren face of Mars,
Of the spectacle 'it' could've been but never will.

Society doth draw a line
status of people to define
learned and rich welcomed with delight
the poor despised in sight
Sucess bringforth affection and fame
the failed left alone to bear the blame
doth a childs heart draw a status line
color and creed in his heart fine
clothed in rags human not a criminal
dressed sauve human deeds animal
lines drawn an image to uphold
lines drawn dreams are sold
doth society breaketh the chain
status quo societys gain humanitys pain

I know a girl.
Stunning.
She could **** and get away with it.
Imagine humanitys mother,
And then make her care a little more.

But she has a secret.
She thinks she can fix everyone,
But she cannot fix herself.

She thinks she is broken
Because life told her she was
It struck her down in her stride
And shes never been the same.

So shes singing herself the blues
But only by the sunrise of a new day
Another sleepless night
She does not want you to hear.

But if you listen closely you can hear her song.

In every word she speaks
In every look she gives
In every kind, loving gesture she makes
She hums her song

And it is beautiful
Though she does not know it.

Her song is the song of the broken
Of the ones who are brought to their knees
With nothing left to do but stay there and pray
Her song is the song of the valiant
Who do not look down at the ground
They look up at the sky
Undaunted. The world
Cannot hurt them.

Her song is her song.
And if you're lucky,
One day she'll sing it to you.
You'll know it when you hear it.

By Arcassin Burnham



All my thoughts away tonight,
i guess they lay to rest,
wanna make the great escape,
i might,
My heart went to cardiac arrest,
For your love,
it was choosey,
make everything a bliss,
ignorance is also in it,
but we dont need all that pitch,
for a song,
that will never , ever , ever get to play,
you were wrong,
when you said i wouldnt pursue someone like her today,
too many of the critics,
wanna bash around your name,
but when it came to her,
i needed to talk to when i was ashamed,
to show my face,
to the rest of humanitys nest,
feeling out of place,
am i stripped at the power of torres,
do i give up,
and let you take me under your wing,
dressing up for a play,
when i knew i couldnt sing.
All my thoughts away tonight.

i want to live in a world of thoughtfulness
one where every action having an opposite is remembered equal
where we admire the different and accept its importance in keeping life interesting
and where its difference is admired simply for being
whenever two the same congregate a sliding scale is created
and the different become separated to be judged by one mans thoughts amplified and affirmated
and then lossily disseminated
i want to live in a place where we think our own thoughts
where in action or inaction we decide for ourselves that what is right is what is law
i dont want anarchy as a political congress
i want anarchy inherent and dominant in the whole of humanitys thought process

So beautifully untrue as my reactionany state is documented for the endless see saw. I stare back into the void for a more recent dose of reality at the speed of creation.  
Ambition is just another of the auxiliary emotions that fuel this post moment mentality.  **** energy cache that drive human innovation simply for the simplified reason because a jazz drum beats obscurity. Trying to hash out a plan in the observer's nest... Where all the new futility is being beaten into a push for life once again... So often we forget what were really living for in the transfer of notion through physical.   Empirical evidence is needed.  But then alas a solution for fruition. I will make a choice of conviction and through myself into the void and give purpose to action on an elementary way. A marksmans circle of perception steams up in the machinery of the greatest question that will just never make sense in the abstract area of consciousness.
Theres many many things i would like to fix or hoist into the arena of
public opinion. The high court of the land that cast final judgement tabloid contraptures a device so absurd in nature it immediately is stamped valid and passed
I retreat as those word create these paradoxical platforms that make me the version of me i know right now
That acts as governing official of the redundant office as the very unfortunate state the one who am i in the dawning man you have become. Im constantly searching indeed ive had to make the motif of intent a kind of burn after reading
To find yourself in the obscurity of the void.  That which all must navigate. Like a star map made attractive to others lost in the records of human recall. The question with the answer absurd but wait these words feel too real when theres nothing else to say at all. The end all to end all to appear. You just push on til the day that you dont. I cant give any other resonance of the day where the atoms chain out into the sun. Where the last stand of its death will occur and no trace of the ones who walk tall, lost in the tall brush of conscious relating parades. Some men called by names by former to resolute the sound of surrender. A trumput sounding nobel as distinction in the throes of the mighty but this is humanitys mysterious capsule of illusion stuck deep in the throes parting passions like a truth that can be pass in illusions, hung in the halls the service corridor that leads into palace of permanence. The transitory place oh man sit down another thing again. Stop now follow sounds that make you feel the wave of the infinite loom the place at the end where theres a room to the place where all commiserate. So another stretch of time passed and abundence...