On a walk where your house lies,
From where I have passed before,
It's just the matter of odds time,
Unluckily, we haven't met evenly.
On the thrones of your memories,
My heart is fed up with recalling.
You waiting for me on the balcony,
I urge to meet and see you evenly.
Every time it's just me and you,
Who finds even after differences.
My cold hands and your warm neck,
Keep close, kiss me to melt evenly.
When we both are full of passion,
And all four sides, shades of dark,
How the blur moon stares at us!
In hugs, your arms blend evenly.
The heart in wonder wanders past the day of light
clinging to the moon she harvests her own bright
and as the melancholic trees wave fast goodbyes
the soul accepts dismantles as evenly, she sighs.
who are you now but a version of who am i
we are but question mark bombs that will eventually explode in time
when we explode, what will we confess to
when the date was fresh, why did we not engrave it lasting memories
who am i now but a facsimile of who are you
we are but an exclamation point in the middle of nowhere
when we explore, what will we actually discover
when the nature was ripe, why did we not partake in the healing elements
we are now familiar new arrivals in an altered state of never known unknown
what was one planet earth revealed is now space age miunderstood
we were once champions of unified connection in an ever so perfect neighborhood
now we are just objects of desire for the unfiltered appetite of the square root of normalcy's regularity....
Freedom/ slavery gestalt
What productions ensue
To get ahead and sequester the wealth
Without sacrificing leisure or health
Traditional paths wrought
Meet fault lines of fatal constraint
Free market bettors know ahead
To furnish class and a swollen bed
Its a good lie to tell
And what an enduring spell
Melting technologies, the wry adjustment
Polishing gold on titanic buttress
Be a good slave
And your freedom you will earn
Having much leisure to burn
And satisfy luminous craving
Model generations smugly implode
As the pension strategies erode
A numb cynical idea circulating
Running out the daylight in futility
All these antiques are left
The relics creak about in their shanty house
Framing wall paper and arranging eyelids
As they cling to a spiral demise