The Word Is...

The word is
 welcome
and so it begins
with first words, first sights,
and all the initial grins

The word is
 commencement
and so it goes on
then it goes and keeps going
on, and on, and on

The word is
  intensity
burning hot, bright, and fast
glowing without knowing
that this will never last

The word is
  endurance
as long as it can last
trying to out-live
the shadows growing from its past

The words go on
 like these and many others
not words so much our own
but words as one-anothers'

Then the word is
  over
when there aren't any more
and its time to slip silently
through that final closing door

If there were other words
 words to last, and not on loan
it would be best to keep them quiet
and leave them safe at home

So hush now, it'll soon be
  over
and at the end of this old song
we'll find again the silence
that sang with us all along

And the word will be
  silence
unspoken, but felt so strong
by all those left within it
searching for words to carry on

Listen...

Listen
Careful not to hear it
Listen for what you want to hear
Ignoring words that bring you fear
Ears enslaved to the threat of tears
Obedient to the silent end that nears

Listen
Care enough to hear it?
Listen to what you think you hear
Beyond the silence where you hide in fear
Then dry your eyes as sounds draw near
And face whatever makes it here

Listen
Careful and you'll hear it
A resounding truth that echoes on
Past the dusk and through the dawn
Unto kings, & queens, & every pawn
The sound of going, going, gone-

Listen
I know that you can hear it
A voice inside your head will say
We've all been lost, and gone astray
Where was it that we lost our way?
Wandering towards what cannot stay
What words are left for me to say?

Listen
Until you really hear it
The sound that speaks from deep inside
That depth in which your soul resides
For you alone it must confide
The secrets of your inner tides

Listen...

The Fall & Man...

If there is an ideal of man
it is not only unattainable
it is no longer permissible

No man may pull the trigger
when the devil is in his sights
for every devil has his rights

No man can stand alone
for everyone is in such need
that self-sufficiency is called greed

No man can lead the way
for that would be far too vain
and bring about only pure disdain

No man can be a man
for it is now evil to be masculine
and honorable to feign feminine

As evil men are protected
Good men are not resurrected
As men are made passive
and not allowed to act
Devils are made bold
and extend their pact

If this is the ideal of man
it is not only unsustainable
it is inexplicable

From Glory To The Vory...

Have the days arrived
where there is more honor
among the castes of thieves
than there is in the governance
who's words no one believes

How can it be
that men are more able
to trust the ranks of vory
than the hierarchy of rulers
that feign ancestral glory

Have the noble departed
or become known as thieves
Has man's downfall started
or is it conventions he grieves

Are the upright underground
or overshadowed by beasts
Do the monsters abound
or are these their deceits

Has all of man's glory
been ceased by the vory
What kind of ending
might there be to this story
Will men with masculinity
be caste into criminality
Are there eventual dooms
for the pursuits of banality

Through Eyes Alone...

I sometimes wonder
what the world might do
if it forgot about times
   the times impending
   the times already ending
   the times of distant lands
   the times in others hands

I sometimes wonder
what the world might do
if I forgot about its times
   the people in the news
   the wars men win or lose
   the sights beyond my gaze
   the tales of other days

I sometimes wish
for a world made new
by some wondrous surprise
   the people on their own
   the things they'd do alone
   the way they'd treat each other
   their time with one another

I sometimes wish
for a world made new
to flash before my eyes
   not as the result of some election
   not through some violent insurrection
   not as some divine confection
   not in any media projection

I sometimes look
for a world right here
to see with eyes alone
    the scene within my view
    the things that I hold true
    the people close right now
    the world as I know how

I sometimes look
at the world right here
to see with eyes alone
   not with hands to move
   not with points to prove
   not beyond the instant
   not towards something distant

I sometimes see
the world right here
through eyes alone
   not through the media screen
   not to later reconvene
   not as a story to record
   not concerned with some accord

I sometimes see
the world right here
through eyes alone

Surrogate Sufficiency (Industrial Society and Its Future)...

The delusions of a dreamland's decadence
resound a rapture relative to no relevance
As primitive man partakes in a primal parade
or modern man acquires all things man-made
Their smiles shine the same for a surrogate second
before the wreck of real-reality must be reckoned

The labor of life as a long death-defying feat
is diminished to margins of making ends meet
Survival becomes a secondary consideration
requiring residual rations of real contemplation
The lions have been tamed, the tigers all caged
relinquishing the world to renegades enraged

Living deliberately & supping of life's marrow
becomes a pantomime of pretentious pedagogy
For the known narratives are necessarily narrow
and there's not much room in the colloquial barrow
Those that would drive life into some captive corner
set no life free, but become an abandoned mourner

So this surrogate sentience must suffice
in this modus vivendi plagued with vice
The reality is reserved for the replicant
and serenity is secluded as supplicant
As prayers are all screened before being sent
men wonder if the answers to life came & went

From the simulated scene of the techno/industrial mean
to the autopsy on autonomy by an automated machine
The post-modern world is a postmortem-man's dream
where both life and death are the same in its scheme
The power process produces simple surrogate satisfactions
and fulfillment falls from favor to forgeries and rarefactions

Society savors the sensations of synthetic scopolamine
deceived by indiscriminate doses of derivative dopamine 
Freedom fails, and permutations of permissions prevail
Nature is negated, and attempts to avenge are of no avail
Puppets and patsies supplant more personal personages
supplied with superficial supplements in steady surplusages 

As the system supersedes every single solitary soul
the haves become have-nots till the whole's in a hole
Then the structures will rupture, leaving ruins and rubble
that torture the tepid, tendering truest terror and trouble
What may become of what remains of what became
will still surely aspire to resemble more of the same

They'll Make a Weapon of this Wound...

The bullets leave their holes
penetrating the depths of souls
The blade's edge spills the blood
that will seep into the mud
The weapon leaves the wound
as the ad-men say "Stay Tuned"

Then flesh and blood is weighed
as arguments are made
comprised of the standard lines
all used on picket signs

They'll make a weapon of this wound
as propagandists always do
So the masses will all stay tuned
they'll pretend there's something new
to ask of the weapon or the wound

The answers- no one knows
(as history always shows)
So the future's put on hold
while the same old story's told

Monsters with teeth and claws
showed no respect for laws
They took blood without permission
and held an unauthorized demolition
Could this have been prevented
by laws yet to be invented

Has anyone asked of evil
how it burns into upheaval 
Is there any actual source
for the lack of all remorse
What actions will it take
to prevent the striking snake

If there's an answer to be found
it's unlikely to come around
when everyone seeks to impugn
and make weapon of each wound

This Side of the Door...

Am I here for some evasion
or drawn by some occasion
Is this where I'm at home
or am I bound to roam
I try to see both sides
each half a heart resides

On this side of the door
I wonder what's in store
In the after as before
I imagine something more
but from here all I can see
are walls surrounding me

I know that I can't stay
as all paths lead away
but I'll stay here while I can
and delay life's pending plan
Adventures begin and end
with something to contend

On this side of the door
I can wait a while more
All those thoughts out there
can stay outside and stare
till I run-out of this supply
and pursue the will to die

In the calm of this evasion
I enjoy the night's occasion
All that's after and before
remains outside this door
but in this cloistered room
there's plenty to exhume

On this side of the door
I've room for my own mind
While on some distant shore
what else is there to find
If there's anything to explore
to thoughts it'll be resigned

As more time passes by
I lose the will to try
and I feel as if I'm trapped
by all the plans I've scrapped
In these walls I've formed a tomb
full of things I did presume

On this side of the door
I feel the need for more
The need to venture out
into the face of doubt
from this oblivion within
into one I've never been

As my mind and I abscond
to unknown realms beyond
at times my thoughts return
to an old perplexed concern
Is there anything I've found
that won't be dirt in ground

On this side of the door
I'm at a loss just as before
and left dreaming of a space
where I'll be in my place
So goodbye to past hello
and hello to... I don't know