Words From Reality
I just took a moment from my converse with the clouds, the elite of the sky
To relate the with the lay, at my feet
To ascertain the state of things
Oh mortal! How goes thy fate this late?
What fills thy weight with spite?
Ah, I see
It’s in the scenes in the sea
It’s in the kills for the feast
It’s in the beat of defeat
Survival, my fourth cousin
Seems to claim your cause
The blood I desire not.
Love, its antidote
Dwell scarce in the elements
The spirits of the late
Can testify to the fact
That tact, which we lack
Is the key to the earth
Is the seat of the prize
Nature has been good to you
Still, you squabble over its seeds
Money, the fuel of existence
Spills the seed of deceit
In the midst of your fist.
You become impaired
You deviate from plan
For utopia or its twin.
I’m not an angel
Nor am I your conscience
I’m called reality
And, I’m having a fit.
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