Plant Corpses Like Seeds...

Plant corpses
like seeds
and wait for death to grow
Pray to skies
for needs
and wait as clouds move slow
Demand that others
care
and make threats if they do not
Insist it isn't
fair
then cease what others got
Praise a vengeful unseen
gawd
for all the plunder granted
Decry the slightest
nod
declare such gestures slanted

never admit
never atone
others commit
to what you would own

Plant corpses
like seeds
and wait for death to grow
Pray with a hate
that feeds
upon this horror show
Declare and make
decrees
Force virtue to its
knees
then remove with vicious
force
the power from its
source
and resent your own
remorse

never revert
never relent
however disconcert
never repent

Plant corpses
like seeds
and wait for death to grow
Turn jealousy into
deeds
that cause the blood to flow
Steal the world away
from the creators on their own
Cease more than just the day
overthrow the throne
until the mirror comes
and shows you who you are
as kingdoms become slums
and make a martyr of your czar

never admit
never atone
ever submit
to engraving your stone

Gone...

i find it from time to time
this feeling like i've vanished
like my self has abandoned me
like i'm lost, or abducted,
or just
gone

i try to do the things
that i do when i feel
like me
but even then sometimes
it's just an act
 a futile effort
to pretend i'm there
when i know
i've already
gone

 i think
if there's a hell
it probably feels
something like this
this feeling of abundant
nothing
this lack of being
anything
but
gone

sooner or later
i find myself
coming back
and i never know
how long it was
that i was gone
or where i went
or what i did
or even that i ever was
gone

every time i find this
every time i return
i'm glad to be
(back)
and i try not to think
about the fact
that eventually
even this
 this loss
  this gain
will all too soon be
gone

In These Pastures...

In these pastures
there are sheep
there are shepherds
and wolves that creep


The sheep grow weary of their guards
but without them would be torn to shards
for mouths of wolves are always near
in these very pastures here


The shepherds grow weary of the sheep
and the wolves that never let them sleep
but need both in a complex way
to keep from passing like each day


The wolves grow weary of the help
and in nights anguish they will yelp
howling hungers kept by fear
preserved within these pastures here


The shepherds cannot become sheep
they know too well of what might creep
and every leader feigning to follow
learns the depths of feeling hollow


The sheep could never come to be
as the shepherds that they see
for eyes in grazing fall too low
and allow a frenzied horror show


The wolves could never take new places
for no disguise can hide their faces
and wolves prefer to cause the fear
in these very pastures here

And So...

...And so there were those that were outraged
and something had to be done
...and so voices shouted that they might be heard
saying that they hadn't been heard, and that they must be heard,
and that they wouldn't hear of anything else
and nothing was heard except the sound of loud
becoming louder, and louder, and louder...

...And so there was looting, and violence, and destruction, and chaos
and fires burned riot-smoke into a smog filled sky
and what was bleak became horrifyingly ominous
and where hate had been kept inside there was blood gushing out
as hands were stained the same crimson as the faces of rage and embarrassment

...And so mortals that were not saints and not devils
were proclaimed as if one, or the other, or both
and even if they were such things it wouldn't change a thing
...and so everyone said that things had to change, and things could change,
and that things would indeed change
but it never does change, or it does change
but it doesn't matter

...And so no one cares, and everyone pretends to care,
but everyone should care according to the voices that say they care
and all the voices say so, and so, and so, and so...
and so it is written, and so it goes, and so,
and so,
& so...

The Light Comes First...

The way the light hits it
makes the resulting image
explode into view
The way the night fits it
makes the remaining visage
expose its own view
The way the darkness shines
makes these shadows glow
in the wake
The way that it pines
makes these very shadows
tremble and shake

The light comes first
then the dark
They both seem to burst
both leaving their mark

The way the wind passes
makes the rest of things
seem to drift away
The way the mind lapses
makes all these things
impossible to say
The way time elapses
makes it all fade-out
so fast
The way this life collapses
makes it all seem
like one lost past

The way the memories hold it
make these moments seem
like they can last
The moment passes first
then the remnants of some thought
The way the dust will cover it
make things seem
like they aren't there
The way the markers place it
make the eyes lost
to the vacancy they stare

The light comes first
then the dark
They both seem to burst
both leaving their mark

It Is...

It's you
 or it's not
It works
 or it won't
It's good
 or it goes
It's there
 and it shows
It's everything
 and it knows
If it doesn't
 it should
If it could tell you
 it would
When it does
 it's understood
If it won't
 it's no good
It's you
 or it's not

Ashes In The Air...

The temples burned
The bodies cremated
Their spirits charred
By fire's hatred
Leaving almost nothing there
Casting ashes in the air

The winds that never cease to blow
The words that only seem to know
Hold what's left of what was there
Courier to the ashes in the air

As before such will be after
As fades the echoes of such laughter
Nothing less and nevermore
Than what waits before the door
For the promise of some thing in store
Things with ashes in their core
In these depths it seems unfair
To all the ashes in the air

In the breath where words reside
In the aether where the spirits hide
In the breeze these very ashes ride
An air of what love used to be
A sight still there, but not to see
An ache that fades, but never flees
Upon these gusts of every where
Within the ashes in the air

As light marks day, and darkness night
As every noble valiant fight
As birth begins and life goes on
As sorrow sings its funeral song
As there's a right despite what's wrong
As long as hearts still beat and care
There will be dancing and despair
With all the ashes in the air

Abacination Fascination...

Elation reduced to expectation
Achievement relegated to completion
Nothing is ever finished, and it's all over

Anything less than ultimate
Seen as cause to abacinate
Perfection imposed
as an ultimatum
at the minimum

And everything is less
and less is made more
until it's all the same
all just a game
with no middle ground
and nowhere else to stand

Reality refuses the facade
as myth becomes tragedy
though tragedy's restricted
and guilt can't be convicted
all are made prisoners acquitted
confined by what's remitted

The truth is great and rare
and all that's great is rare
And perfection is an abstract
which none may ever contact

And failure's not alright
but can be seen in light
in light that still shines through
in the mediocre things we do
on the way to something new

But the spectrum in-between
is more than just the mean
The vastness of it all
can dizzily cause a fall
though some will still stand tall

The abacination fascination
that plaques much of creation
where blinded eyes have vision
and exalt their own derision
This blackened form of sight
that knows no day nor night
but sleeps while still awake
not accepting all it will take