The Retina of the Soul

When all opinions are the ink of newsprint Repetitious in the speech A presented little gift Wrapped up in the tinsel glittering eye full Of something called the truth But is bought the cheapest wall paper To cover up all the crack inside their proof Religion is the grand avenue of neon The bright and sucking casino of a thoughtless heaven The immediate acquiescence To accepting disavowal and asking for forgiveness A panacea for the sickness An ever ready cure all For the chill we feel inside the retina of our soul And all the countless implications Wrapped in the need for some ready cash Become the excuses we use To explain the seeming lack of love We become the property and commodity Of the society for sale Slaves to the mediocre shadow of ourselves Survive; it’s the least you can do, while you are alive It’s the most you can achieve In your precious and be-gifted life To cling knuckle white and bleeding To the dogma of your skin Competing with every human For the little you have been bequeathed There is more sorrow in the numbness Than any of us can conceive How split and unrequited How fearful we believe And how desperately we see When perception hangs on beauty And our tears echo from how much of beauty, we really need Even though entertainments and all their useless possessions Fluffy warm us in our overly implied contentment Keeps us from detecting or even questioning The chill we feel inside the retina of our soul