when i had no age
when i was a light ray through the window
i was born
pulled from a prismatic prison
all thanks to a vision
they had
of a son

now, i am here
and what is here?
save for abject misery

is it right to subject nothing to something
to pluck out stars, from the sky?
more of us are birthed everyday
and more of us see themselves buried
and the world keeps spinning
and it would if we decide to all die
or if we decide to live
the former and latter have no affect

so why are we here?
***
and what comes after,
death
black

They say there's pleasure in pain,
For me it isn't the same.
I find the pain in the pleasure,
Go too far without a tether.

From a dark place,
To this heavenly space,
Then back again,
Lapping in this hellish race.

I break free but it doesn't last long,
Soon I fall in love,
Try write another song,
But I no longer get surprised when it all goes wrong.

There are steel shears
in your lying hands
and a dress of hedges and thorns
that are my shielding woods.
In the back of my mind, as you hack
away at my limbs and marrow,
cut through bone and sinew;
I pray your blades grow dull
in what is left of me,
for steel simply rusts,
while I simply grow.

I want to write, but what about?
I have nothing to say, no words to make.
Every idea is just a half bake.

I want to learn, but how?
I can't focus for long, my attention span fades.
Every idea it forbades.

I want to love, but whom?
Who would ever have feelings for me?
Doomed to loneliness for eternity.

I've put little effort into this,
But maybe that's ok.
I don't need to work hard every day.

Batteries of the skies;
booming thunders, and so are you.
You, the whirlwind the most ferocious,
befit such name ever notorious—

    ever in a strife of your own
    seemingly unending.

The whirlwind strikes hard
and fast, and as such; angels of death
descending, striking from the faint heavens
to accomplish its sole purpose, destructive in nature,

beseeching its everlasting glory
that’d evoke the sun’s jealousy, even.
Alas! You carry out the task
that spares none of the land,

taking away the dearest one from another, weeping,
flipping cars and engines from where they're standing,
while plucking out the road signs once robust
and even the trees once deemed so ancient—

none is spared but wrecked
before the might of the whirlwind
the total annihilation being its sole identity—
the one that destroys in the name of thy honor

    and in the very name of glory in vain.
    You look around—

only to see none has survived
or has been left alive; spectating
the empty earth and the water
while being dispersed, scattered amidst the air,

lifted by the hands of thy maker
disappearing—joining the void specters,
and thus befitting the word, truly,
the vainglory.