An untruth is told
A seed is planted
My body is the soil
The roots infest my veins
The seedling sprouts
I’m overgrown with
Weeds
Tell a not lie
Planted is a seed
Soil is my body
My veins become the roots
A sprouting seedling
I’m a flowering
Garden
Split me in half
Save the flowers
Take the weeds
That strangles me
Uproot them all
My veins scream
The garden is gone
And the weeds left a scar
I’m just unplanted soil.
Shall we travel back in time, to a deception that has ruled mankind.
The year was 1910, a dark, dark night with seven evil men.
The creature that was created there, has left a country in despair.
As we have witnessed throughout time, the Feds, the wars, the Government and their crimes.
All it took for the machine to run, were the lies and deceptions towards the simple man.
Wars are waged for political gain , or bogus environmental issues that are just insane.
It's time to take a stand and abolish the cartels, that infest and destroy our lands.
Our Constitution has been abused, ignored, twisted and misused.
So people wake up and demand a change
Do away with the Fiat money and the chaos it creates.
Send the "Creatures of Jekyll Island" a message loud and clear.
Go back to your swamp, the Digital Age is here.
We know your game
And we are not going to become slaves to it
We've seen you spin your lies like a spiders Web
Your crimes of deceit will come back to smite you
The heavens will rain down on you
There is no escape from eternity
Hear these words said
Let them infest your head
Your silence will betray you
Days will turn to nights
Insomnia will plague you
Like darkness it will consume you
The weight of your actions will crush you
The pain you've inflicted on black people
Will come back to haunt you
Forever waiting in the shadows to spook you
You will know no peace in life and death
This is a promise
A warning
And a threat
What you've done to my people
Is inexcusable
Darkness is scary, not only because it contains the unknown, but because it IS the unknown.
It can infest, transform, manipulate and takeover our souls.
Darkness is scary, because we can become so damaged, lost, and insecure that we forget who we really are, and begin producing a dull and damaged personality.
It only takes a single drop a black ink to blemish our lives and begin us down empty and lonesome path.
However, a single sip of golden light can fuel our souls fire, driving us towards healing, health, happiness, comfort and love.
Darkness is always around, trying to creep into our lives, and at times it will succeed.
We need only to surround ourselves with those who provide the light for us to ingest and cast that darkness out of our bodies, minds, hearts and souls! Darkness is less than Light!
These words do not belong to me, they are parasites burrowing into the core of my thoughts,
demanding flesh and permanence, as if ink could defy relentless entropy.
They are called prophecies, but I have seen oracles reduced to mere footnotes,
revelations turned to dust, words as a futile rebellion against time.
They infest my hands, winding from wrist to nib,
spilling like an open wound onto the silent and fragile parchment.
Each letter is a small god, whispering lies to me about immortality,
each sentence, an already cracked monument, crumbling in silence.
And yet, I write not out of belief, but from a deeply rooted necessity,
like one carving a gravestone, knowing that the earth will soon swallow it.
I lose myself in the ocean of syllables, seeking salvation among the waves of ink,
whispering to myself that maybe, just maybe, in the betrayal of words lies truth.
Writing is a dance of shadows, a process of planting stars in ephemeral darkness,
where each metaphor is a desperate attempt to embrace the infinite,
in a fleeting moment, for writing is a song we sing silently,
hoping the echo will endure, even when the ink has dried forever.
Pink skies infest the starry dark.
Pest sprays reject the fireflies’ spark.
Bald eagles chopped by green windmills.
Right whales lie beached as sonar kills.
Rage that I can no longer view,
Bids my sense of wonder adieux.
What better way is there
To express the feeling
Than with the words,
Agonizing, awful words,
That infest one’s thoughts
When the feeling arises?
“Why am I never taken seriously?”
“Why did I ever think I could do it?”
“How could I have let this happen?”
“This is why they don’t want me around.”
“I’m such an idiot.”
“I’m such a living joke.”
No one particular incident causes this,
No specific error consistently floods the brain
With the inky blackness of despair,
For even the simplest mistakes
Send one plunging into the abyss.
And all too often, it happens that
The only solution one resolves upon
Is to retire in bleak isolation
With the dim, loosely founded hope
That you will forget about it soon enough.
Fly! Fly! Fly!
In the field of Reeds,
Walk through golden breeze,
Smell the scent of allure,
Clear sky and clearer mind.
Fate! Fate! Fate!
Promise me the world over,
Promise me you wouldn't leave the prey.
Destroy all I love.
Grant me intoxicated blithe.
And let the flies of fate rain glory.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
Drown me in the mud of flames,
Where no water could save the golden prey,
Where flames made prey water,
And water no more could hold power,
Until even mud rather burn
Than suffer the pain to quell
Die! Die! Die!
And vow to rest naught
Naught until you see them….. dead.
See the gold turn black,
See it rot, rats infest,
Flies of Fate!
All shall grow for you,
All must die for you,
And all is yours to rule,
All is yours to fool.
Eat it all.
And watch them cower.
Those who ever tried to stand up to you!
Sitting under the tree of oaks
Pale - green, mistic mistletoe,
One last candle burning low,
All the wondering children gone,
Just one soul venturing on,
Shadows lurking who could it be
Yet too late, has taken ahold of me.
Tired I was; my head I began to awoke,
Nodding under the old oak
Pale - green, mysterious mistletoe,
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, scared, lonely
Left in the still and shadowy air,
Soul taken, and wilting body left me there.
Be aware, for No one will ever know
It infest you oh ever so, lurking in the shadows
The invasive Mistletoe.
Eating through my flesh-
my skin is rotting off my bones.
Advanced stage of decay-
the smell of death it sets the tone.
The blood in me sits stale-
worms they crawl throughout my corpse.
The maggots they infest me-
but the story just gets worse.
I'm dead amongst the living-
just a ghost stuck from the past.
And no matter how I plead-
attention never seems to last.
I carve what's left of my cold flesh-
but have no more blood to bleed.
Attention? No, desire-
that is what I truly need.
But that does not exist for me-
no one thinks twice of the dead.
Why chase after a ghost-
when there are lively ones instead?
How can one who's soul has passed-
crave death in larger magnitude?
Not stuck in hell, but purgatory-
watching life move on right past you.
All I craved, all I did want-
was to be held tight and valued.
But I'll never be wanted-
just left to rot in other's shadows.
Last Hour - 8/11/23
who am i to be always at fault?
all of the pain feels like wounds covered in salt.
unending what if’s, constant heavy feelings in my chest,
in my thoughts and insecurities is where you’d infest.
now alone with my pain, i turn the experience into a list
things to remember, realizing all of this.
that people will always put themselves first in moments of fading glee,
so doing the same wouldn’t be selfish of me.
and that roses aren’t always red, violets aren’t blue,
life is filled with lies, and saying “i do” can be one too.
and to never be afraid to learn from pain not pleasure,
cause the road is hard, and life will never be only leisure.
take advantage of everything, turn the pain into power
so that after another time like this, it won’t end being your last hour.
I watch fascinated
at its teetering stance,
bobbing up and down,
picking at small insects
that infest the lonely loch,
that it chooses instead of
upland streams or creeks
or fast-flowing rivers,
or in some lonely lake.
Today I sit on a small chair,
behind some bushes on the shore
of a lonely loch, away from it all.
Ah sandpiper, are you emulating me?
Are you in search of lonely spots too,
far from the worrisome cities of the world?
Let's leave behind us wars and strife,
enjoy a bit of peace. Let us be true to love.
A breeze strikes, up and up you fly,
with stiff bowed brown wings
and your characteristic cry,
swee-wee-wee, swee-wee-wee.
Where will you go for shelter?
Do you prefer the secluded estuaries
or the protected inland lakes?
I see you return, too good a place to miss.
But look, you've found a mate.
Heaven provides, love conquers all.
I think I'll turn in, my wife awaits.
A drowned Perpetua inhumane, whose dwellers art furthest from sane,
where mortals had once sought to reign, now mindless husks subject to an eerie pain.
And so, amidst boiling waves of a single flow, which so seek to sate hungers that blindly echo from beneath that gangrenous gore
eclipsed in crimson too dark to ignore,
Nearing if not therefore, beneath those vermillion dunes, chronicled from before, hidden nearer the ocean floor.
Far beneath bore that which only fellow filth may grow to adore.
So arose the disembowelled silhouettes of creatures eerily unfound, hidden beneath corpsed constellations that continue to astound.
Ripe with rot, anywhere yet not
upon thine festering flesh, betwixt sinews which crudely infest.
Alive by the necromancer's bequest, so welcoming thou as their unholy guest.
Can I rest?
That's the quest
Most of us are addicted to stress
Which helps when things are next, next, next
But when they slow down life's a mess
Why the later I go to sleep, the earlier I wake
Everything like an earthquake
Truly can make the world shake
The day I take a break
Can I rest?
This is a test, everything a mess,
I am glad. I am blessed.
But I have to see can I rest.
Stress will infest and make you detest...
Living... which is meant to decompress
I cannot change the people around me
So I must change the people around me
I pray inward, ground me
Let's see can I rest, I've been on this quest
Let's see... Can I rest.
It once was a ‘Big Apple’,
now the worm has devoured
that apple and the worm
is much, much larger.
Rats infest Gotham,
they walk on two legs.
Batman had no chance
dying too soon
from contact with Fentanyl.
The worm has spread,
now it eats all large cities
where the mayors ‘don’t care’
and the DA’s are funded
by rich socialists.
The dead do not pile up yet,
but the sanitation workers
soon may be too afraid
to collect them each day.
There is hell to pay.
Your gold will melt away faster
than brimstone
and the road to the flames
though paved with good intentions –
all of them were hand-made in hell.
~~~~~~~~~~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwB-GEL-YkI
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