Welcome Home
Alone,
out cast in the in crowd,
heart beat,
beats through the break beat sounds,
leading me home,
war chants peace chants,
more drums lead me home,
home,
more of a fantasy,
than a reality,
haven’t had a home,
since I left my mother’s at age 14,
as we,
all march to the beat of corporate war drums,
poetry,
makes the madness seem more bearable please spare another poem,
Instagram hashtags,
the first lamb gets the last laugh,
epigrams and blood baths,
emojis and Adobe,
cronies as goalies,
bad math makes three halves,
empty proteins faux pas homies,
and ceremonies that feel phony,
see the hokey is pokey,
and *****’s all smokey,
7 Dwarfs one princess,
no support or precepts,
just for sport we shot at a bogie,
because the radar blipped,
life’s a trip,
let’s go half on a hoagie no baloney,
if you say you’re my homie then act like my homie,
don’t Facebook friend me then see me in reality and act like you don’t know me,
as we,
get lost in a narcissistic virtual reality,
where we are all voyeuristic spies,
I post a poem about all of this in totality,
and only get like 50 likes,
she post a picture of her face on a date,
and she gets 50,000 likes,
I don’t get enough respect for the words I write,
but somebody has to keep our words alive,
as the walking dead,
march to the corporate war drum,
I write a poem about it all,
nostalgic for the futuristic postmodern,
oh pardon,
did I offend your common sense,
well then,
you must be off balance with your oxymoronic opulence,
we are all narcissistic voyeurs,
voyeuristic narcissist,
caught up in polyamorous politics,
Demicans and Republicrats,
it’s dirt poor and filthy rich,
and that’s a fact but enough of this,
let’s get back to that,
let’s get back to that,
to you and me and that heart beat,
that beats as the orchestra’s score of our Soul’s soundtrack,
out cast,
in the in crowd,
heart beat,
beats through the break beat sounds,
leading me home…
I am already gone,
writing in the zone,
see,
we will all be free eventually…
Just give me a sign,
that there’s a Soul inside that shell,
Ghost in The Sea Shell,
Devils in the details,
so professional even when we’re wingin’ it they can’t tell,
oh well,
times up,
and I’m down,
your Highness,
so show me a sign,
that you’re still alive let’s,
see a wave of the hand or a sparkle of the eye,
so we can make this time the time of our lives,
as we dive free into thee divine design,
all thee preexisting lines are redesigned and redefined,
life,
in the prime,
high,
and alive,
alone,
out cast in the in crowd,
heart beat,
beats through the break beat sounds,
leading me home,
so say goodbye,
and Welcome Home…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
The Sydney Sessions available for FREE here: www.scribd.com/document/367036005
available on kindle and paperback here: www.amazon.com/Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps/dp/1981605932
New Book is FREE! Check the link in the poem. But can ONLY download/read it on a computer not on a phone. Much Love!
