In the shadows of the soul
in the nightmare land
between obscurity + independence
will you lend a hand
will you find me
floundering upon the sand
in the twilight realm of misery
is just where i expect to be
amid rubble + gunshells
the terminal hell created
in our imagination
instigated by our action
or lack thereof
our inaction leads us
marching military-like
under the flag
of perpetual apathy
never fixing things
just submitting
we submit +
so become
the worst of us
no money in the bank of dust
no lust
no love at all
we are empty
emptied out of ourselves
our lives left untouched +
naked on the shelf to be
dissected + selected by
the crow-like talons of
fear
that drag + pull + steer
steer our ship towards an
impenetrable block of ice +
we like mice are left
to squeak our
shallow song:
what is going on?
The moonlight that
pierces through the blinds
serves as a reminder
of the times
serves as a reminder of
the imagery
that we struggle to see
when we so
viciously
invest our hours
in the mortal shuffle +
muffle our dreams
beneath a canopy of screams
that reverberate through
the factories +
the software +
the nightmare we dare to drink
in dribbles
at mealtimes with our soup
in a huddle with the helpless
veterans of our group
who remember with
a half-hanging smile
the style +
the beauty of
the years gone by
which bring
heavy, salty
remorseful tears
into their eyes
when they postulate
on all the terrors +
the victims +
the people lead astray +
the flattened absence of
the darling buds of may +
just about everything
that could have mattered
has already gone wrong
they find themselves
with just one solitary thought upon the tongue:
what is going on?
+ in the final verse
the poet tries to upstage the curse
the ragged state of the scenery
plays upon his mind +
so with pen + voice
he makes a choice
he makes a wave that starts
a storm
that accelerates beyond the norm
that erases all the hate +
the suffering
the war between the real people
the true people +
the man behind the desk
who transforms into a nervous wreck
when he hears music
his only weakspot
the only hole inside his
armour of gold
he hates music + art +
passion +
if you can dream it
then he is afraid +
if you can dream it
he will be dismayed +
if you can write +
you can sing +
you're not afraid of anything +
if you can picture in your head
this serpent-man lying dead
with all the hate-filled people on
the floor +
a cleansing of the doors
of perception
if you can sing it+
dream it too
if you can write it
it will come true
the future is for me + you
peace within +
peace without
will become our
victory shout
not the senseless crying song of
what on earth is going on?
