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Cody Deevy Poem
Listen, Listen well, but be careful what you hear.
For ivory wind catches mischief in the voice.
It stirs a gale in the beast courthouse.
A valley of snakes in a glib scandal.
On the hot seat, a yellow rat sits,
pleading for cheese in a serpents nest.
Where flickering tongues offer no sanctuary.
The breeze, ignored, leaves a sad whistle through closing doors.
On the street a pair of spent shoes grind to a halt.
To a metal piece's swaying tune.
The coin then takes it's new servant to the ball.
Air carrying screams, released through boxed mouths.
Blinding lights calling for aid high above.
Without answer, the lights lose their spark.
Darkness cloaks all with the blanket of night.
Perfecting the masquerade of lies.
The gust thrown out the door in haste.
Rolling down empty roads with the stars as the only company.
Stores welcoming all without life inside.
A small house out of town, the closest neighbor.
The wind sneaks in through old window cracks.
The infernal cube flashes, then shows the beloved Mr.Death.
He tells all beasts to fear the reaper but bless the crow.
The flock has returned so others may pick the red plains.
Wind, appalled and grows still.
All beasts hearts are warmed by the devils hearth.
Wind was roused from sleeps iron grip from a soft laughter.
It travels to the source of it's savior through dreary halls.
A child, by the shine of yellow nightlight reads of change.
A story it seems, of impossible concepts, of adventure and risks.
Perhaps this one beast has broken it's chains.
Time winds, the child a man that wanders far and wide.
His destination and purpose unknown.
The beasts watch in befuddlement, as someone found a way out,
The world, being a room with no door, yet they watch him leave.
As he leaves, a gust seems to always follow behind him.
Copyright © Cody Deevy | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Cody Deevy Poem
Where do we go after the grass is grown?
What of the rabbit hole between rows of stone?
Is this how we will remain when the world is dust?
If so can we be saved when the air tastes of rust?
How do we change when we keep raising our pace?
Here I stand, against the eternal, my final race.
The shadows are the only place a rogue mind can hide.
Lamp light flocks the moths through the still night.
Their choice either the light, lest they get to close and are sent to ash,
Or brace the night, with the silence that follows.
What wanders the night is not what we fear.
It is what our minds may think when true solitude arrives.
The moths look back at us and chant,
Why choose the losing side?
Stay safe in the light that is given to us.
As they speak another moth burns in the light.
The moths watch as another one of them falls like crumbled leaves,
They see but have never been more blind.
The path that winds and twists is hidden by unruly weeds.
There is only one road now we all walk.
To leave it is to be lost, To be lost is to be gone from the known world.
Some may comeback from the hidden paths with the power of innovation.
Yet their ideas fall on deaf ears as the road does not want to fork and neither those who tread it as such history on what is and should be decays.
With it, free will withers, choked from the thorny barbs of those around it.
A weeping flower, in a bed who's owner only sows weeds and salt.
In the end all will wither in a desert of salt.
What is truth but what is known? But what do we know?
We know what has been passed to us and what education has given us.
Yet what do they know at the end of the day?
All that is known is what we are given and we have not been given enough.
Starved, but unending, our minds continue to march on.
The past can be altered if the truth is locked behind walls.
Thus we remain hungry as purpose cannot be without truth.
And so we search, scurrying like mice for a crumb of knowledge.
In the end death claims all mortal kin.
But why must we remain mortal?
Where is our opportunity for higher purpose? Did we miss it?
In a way we have and have not.
All greatness was earned at a cost of risk.
All risk is deaths ever changing form.
All that is achieved can be undone
All that can be undone can be preserved.
We fear when the world will yet no one can see it has already happened.
War, Pestilence, Famine and Death have arrived. We brought them here.
Copyright © Cody Deevy | Year Posted 2015
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