PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Every symptom speaks like the clouds that summon us,
Floating above, under the shining sun or not,
They tell of a tale unwritten,
Unheard, they advance upon us and try to reveal
The things we cannot imagine
Because of our beliefs about what is 'real',
We stifle life itself by the limits we create,
With delusions of our greatness, we suffocate,
Buying time through plastic containers and spreadsheets,
Stocking faith in bulletproof vests,
Weathermen on a boxed screen,
And 800 thread bedsheets,
And no pillow found upon the earth soft enough
To lie a mind to rest for the night from the fears that await,
We close our eyes and all we see...hate, and take a pill...
Subjugated to live by these things we create?
Or can a man be hurled upon an altar of beauty
Such as that which arises from love, the pulchritude and allurement
Of exquisite elegance, by his very soul?
Could he be torn from the shackles of earthly woes
And these likely shadows-to-be of despair?
Might he be manifest as the creature of gracious giving
That were meant for him?
As these symptoms of cataclysmic change
Are rapping upon the door of time and space,
The symptoms of a world now disgraced,
So superficial, devoid of all spiritual freedom,
Every thought ordered to a pigeonhole
Before a chance can hold a place for a hope,
What we have created guides our thoughts on a tightrope.
Can we break the barriers of the past

Through a boundless discipline of a kind,
And untwist the cords of a nightmarish collective mind,
Hear these symptoms of change speak in the freedom we find
With hearts that banish the fears created by thoughts confined?

12:21 AM 4/26/2013 ©

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NPC47qMJVg