I war inside, this ancient habit, where we’ve
realized freedom; such penchant sunshine, divorced from reflection, an alien in
there; stripped of essence, while it becomes righteous, those solitary rooms;
terrific silence, watched by ceilings, communicating one last decision; to ruin
this life, mad at educators, annoyed by go-getters; so honest it debilitates,
or so wicked freedom has a name, where right-doers are cast to the guillotine;
enmeshed in these thoughts, purging this island, rethinking tragedy bliss; so
far into thought, misused so often, while a scoundrel becomes a theologian;
ears perk higher, Wisdom celebrates, seraphs sip liquor; it seems war to destroy,
it is war to destroy, where some have carte
blanche; this carefree accumulation, acclimating with
cause, so innocent pain strikes harder; a watchful few, debating such pressure,
where real men endure silently; this radical tale, this advantageous reality,
while most psychopaths commit that list of infractions; it becomes nature:
manipulation, abusing humans, intimidative-violence, mega-control, and a host
of other violations; so sung a loser, a person pushing harder, while reality
becomes those things that fit; annoying buzzards, arguing in vain, while
deep-sense responds to its nature: for example, a lady ignored me, I walked
away, flamboyancy approached and they left for coffee; they already knew this
essence, this real ghost, this underpinning spiritual tether; but life is
measurements, and life is facial, while some require a little jive-talk; but
more to irony, despising and killing, while wondering concerning those
officers; or lying so often, one acquires a nickname, where one is want to know
where it came from; this list goes on this way, while some are angered by
calmness, where they rely upon chaos; or such as self, this small confession,
we appoint ourselves as ambassadors of justice.
I’ve asked for little, I’ve received as such, while
hankering over pure illusion; designed by genetics, outwitted by circumstance,
while remaining too hopeful; such defeatist language, in this world of ghosts,
while many of us have hell to redeem.
I fly gently or harshly scraping up against
experiences; some are quite cruel and others unsteady but nothing like tragedy;
as never a person, claiming remorse, but wondering about displacement; those
deep gazes, peering into motivation, where one opts out early on; those
familiar clichés, this ground of mastiffs, or one never fully investing quality
time; this choice we make, somewhat primordial, while attempting this American
dream; to force a man his life, for that man to acquiesce, only begrudged and
destroyed; this tenfold irony, this cemented experience, while goblins eat at a
man’s aura.
Eventually, left to silence, while nothing changes,
for many were not equipped; our words bounce, unless revealing, and then, truth
is irrelevant; this pedestal of screams this ironic eraser where most such as
self, ignore the obvious and hope it shall change; or running into battle, a
cruel consensus, where, despite rightness, we are damned to listen; such
impressionable habits, such rebellious souls, while seeing clearly hurts.
Devoid of this thing, settling into this reality,
where treason becomes listening to truth; as a young creature, walking those
bridges, reading those Proverbs; spatial and relaxed, looking at images, where
something compels to go further; this light in souls, this fire in seekers,
where father’s exponentials are not enough.
