The roads leading away
circle the distances
and seem to go nowhere.
They seed the horizon
with promises, disorganising
the senses and reason
until there is only a hole,
a dark cave into
the interior.
Effigies stare out of the dark
cloaked in symbols that can
only be deciphered by the soul.
This is the language
of the visionary, gifted seer
of the modern. For this traveler
in the shadowlands
of the psyche, there is either
transcendence or death,
mattering little if counted
as one more in history's legion
of the forgotten,
or a dazzling occupant
of another realm.
His words haunt,
coming agonizingly close
to revelation, enchanting
the soul with the stolen
melodies of the sublime
before falling silent
as homeless angels
must do, a casualty
of flesh and blood.
Our brother is our problem
I told my brothers
I love them
I knew I was not lying
Cos I was born to live
And if I must live
I must go along in life
With my kind
Cos iron sharpens iron
And that is not a lie
So I put my trust on those
I love
This also is not a crime
Or is it ??
Our brother is our problem
I use to worry
Worry about strangers
Before now but
Now I changed
Cos I see our brothers
Turn enemies
I wonder why cos
They always disagreed
In a good quest
They no longer believe
In unity despite
They claim to unity us
Yet there action speaks
Who they are
Our brothers is our problem
Our needs are heavy
But the answers are easy
Yet we are full of needs
Cos our own kind are
Sitting on what should
Be our right
Strongly disorganising
Our ability to our vision
Powerful killing our dignity
Always imposing with out
Respect
We have lost our ground
And that is so sad
So sad that our problem
Are our own
Our very own brothers
Here you see our problems
Are not from strangers
No not no more cos now
Our brothers is our problem
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