Trees of red and Skies of Gray
Knew that I just couldn’t stay
Like a bee she buzzes by
Always being watched.
Chopped a twamp,
dogged a tramp
Playing games in eight dimensions.
Having seen both Hell and Heaven.
The middle path of which we chose,
Will haunt us till we decompose
Seems we’ve found some other way
To climb back into heavens gates.
Write. and read an hope and pray
Should we make it out alive,
I’ll Kiss you on the other side. viz
Mrs.Right was always wrong
Mrs. Left was always strong
\Save your breath for when it counts.
Fire Words in mass amount.
Write it to prevent the pain.
Consider all our demons slain.
Who are we?
Who are we supposed to be?
Even if there were an answer;
Would our souls than not be free?
Who am I?
Am I me?
Which one is the voice that speaks?
Which one is the hand the writes?
If I is me
and We is I.
Which will I be when I die?
You ask such silly questions, why?
If you know, than its arranged.
The unknown futures often change.
But once we see, its set in stone.
Some things are best left alone.
Balance rests within all things.
Power runs toward priests and kings.
Never working for their bread.
While their slaves are hardly fed.
Add much value to thy life,
Add much to thy core.
Use thy knowledge as a knife
And Add forever more.
Spare no time to be in pain.
All will heal in time.
Striving not for fame for
we are beautifully sublime.
Growing now in opulence.
More and more each day.
Knowledge begats affluence
As wealth now comes in waves..
Learn and learn
Your life is your
His love and hate are nearly the same.
Her love and lust are always mixed up.
Something that they love to see.
A generational tragedy.
Hear them now they gnash their teeth;
Waiting for the first misspeak.
Preying on the mass confusion,
Addicted to their choice illusions.
Saving face with frame of mind.
Memorizing cryptic lines.
Hypnotized but far from blind.
Separated from the sheep,
Though not looking over thee.
Gazing up at codes above
Acting as a duplex node.
Sometimes No one, sometimes All.
Sure as empires will fall,
With the rise of changing tides
Stay awake and keep alive.
May you rest and may you wake.
Consider all your spirits saved.
Sweep the four, go.
Floor the Doormat.
He walked and coughed and clocked and corfed.
Nined the oranges,
Got sevens to green.
Stuck in the race.
Between time and the dream.
Travels in switches.
We did not go fishing.
But Pissed on the dishes.
Swished so efficiently the swish switched to slishing.
Pleasing it is, when glitches bare gifts.
[please insert 25 cents to continue]
Just kidding next post coming soon.
Thou who lauds be truest,
While that who measures soul in wealth
Be most ignorantly foolish.
Thy who tends thine spirit be the wealthiest of all.
He who grows his power has the mightiest of falls.
The game of life is not a game that we may play for keeps.
For when the time for death comes round we forfeit what we’ve earned.
All that we may bring is who we knew and what we learned.
Or So I’ve come to see, thus I’ll be ready when it’s time.
I’ve nothing to hold onto, No I’m not afraid to die.
Not that I am rushing my return unto The All
But life’s a lonely bore and I won’t miss much when death calls.
ergo It seems of late the best of times
Are when I’m not awake.
So never waking up
Sounds rather pleasant certain days.
I don’t want to come off as selfish for the live I’s given.
But I can’t shake the feeling that this world is carceram, prison!
I guess it didn’t always, but I’m not one to complain.
A bene placito life has done me well I’d say.
A contrario an emptiness does sit and swell inside
Since you’ve taken leave a mari duque as mare I sigh.
I have become a wretchful mess ab imo pectore
I know it’s all my fault I’m not sure whats left to say.
I am sorry ab intra still Absit invidia
I hope that you fair better than I have as of late.
Ad absurdum I march to see the madness in my fate
Even though I’ve pained I know it’s I that has done wrong.
This Actus Reus burdened long
and hence There were no words within his song
But the truth is that I’ve grown so shy Ive lost my voice.
Ad interim I guess I’ll pass the days with text in hand.
Often times it feels like I no longer have a choice.
I may have lost my track of where this poem had been going.
And I’m a bit uneasy of the feelings I’d been showing.
But my scattered brain it needs release from time to time,
It won’t always make sense but at least it always rhymes.
We find our Pedem Litterae where I may say goodbye,
To all that I have written as I send it toward the sky.