There are certain things
That all children know -
Flowers bloom in spring
When all the birds sing
The sun helps things grow
And melts the fresh snow
Rain washes things clean
And helps with gardening
The good times - playing
And bed time for praying
The very best balloons
Big ‘n round as full moons
And without any strings
Moving as the wind blows
Yep - children know things
Like - don’t step on toes
The moon is Swiss cheese
Leprechauns wear green
And all angels have wings
Yep – children know things
Verse 1:
I have witnessed many having to say their final farewells and goodbyes once and for all.
Ships starting to arrive on the dock,
Horns blowing nad tooting within the distance,
To inform passengers
Soon after to abroad the ship.
Anchors dropping into the sea,
To stabilize the boat.
Putting it on balance.
Pre-Chorus:
Such a hefty wound, it carries within one's heart,
Only coming to realize that later on...
Chorus:
Words left unspoken,
Need not be said.
Evidently, our guilt takes control
Controlling our emotions in a split second.
Closing down and narrowing is thse walls
One hsa built as a lifesaver
To ensure they are alive and living.
No risk being lost and isolated at sea.
Verse 2:
A wounded heart so vanished at sea,
Flowing freely across the tranquil ocean waters.
Bridge:
Amid the breeze flowing,
Tides rolling and crashing before us.
2nd Chorus:
Its illumination guided me
To the path I should have chosen and ended up with.
Best believe it:
Sometimes, we all are not necessarily lazy.
More along the lines of discouragement.
Not necessarily smart or intelligent.
Just have our priorities straight and in order.
We are average.
Last-Chorus:
So, in the end, the ocean is turbulent and calm as it can be.
Let loose your wings...
Fly away into the distant skies
Overhead the ocean in our paths
Somehow, we manage to get through it all.
Close our eyes...
Dreaming of flying away...
Spread our wings and fly...away!
Free at last with our wings outsretched.
Serpentine flourish
cradled by a toxic vein,
filled with brown water.
Boats like pathogens,
adrift in the murk, do stray;
but not far, for long.
I tolerate glare;
my observations suffer,
but I shan't despair,
though I am aware
of the leaks I have sustained.
I envy their hulls;
those stolid vessels.
They endure the waste, and shine
in spite of the grime.
However I must
accumulate so much bilge -
where are my rotors?
My anchor's chain rots,
the barnacles are roosting.
Sutures, all for not.
The graze of your touch stings like shards of glass..
making my heart tremble and shake inside it's cage of desolace..
and as i'm with you, I can feel the emptiness seep deeper, my soul is drowning..
leaking of darkness..
Black ink of despair. pour it all over me, drench my spirit..
it already feels too heavy to bare.
as you glance over, you'll see I was never really there..
perhaps I was just smoke passing through the air..
I see the world differently, I find things beautiful that most find disturbing. I find things interesting that others would find as a waste. My brain is wired to believe in what I believe just like everyone else's only what I precieve is far different than any could possibly imagin, wait no I take that back. With the unlimited capascity our minds possess, maybe someday, someone will understand and see the world as I do. A stain of chaotic ignorant bliss, where everyone lives within their own little world only to be influenced by another equally conflicted force. Born to observe, instictivly compusled to interact.
Chapter Four
'The Beautiful Lies'
This is the poison we take to remain oblivious. Drowning in the lies of the devious. Breaking the backs of the infected while pinning blame to all of societies rejected. Hypocrisy became the law of the land, where it is do what I say, sit or stand. Bark or beg just for the scraps of the day. Drowning in the sea of shame, where guilt is the anchor to our brain. The illusion lies within the palm of your hand, dreams manifested into something grand. Majestic creatures bred into sin, raised to believe the righteous shall win.
The beautiful lie, that everyone will eventually die. Truth found in the mystery that only those who have gone before us shall know. The beautiful lie that the myth is more important than the ride. That life in all it's flaws gives to us a unique canvas in which to paint a masterpiece.
“We are hypocrites, and all the sins that we commit.
We are devils who wear halos built with good intent
and while we live, and we die.
We weave the story of our life.
As we march towards the chaos,
and as slaves death shall be our conquest.”
Can you wake up, before it becomes to late? Can you open your mind to a simple discussion, issues of the true debate?
Our future has no current fate, but that which we create.
Will you bow before you are even defeated? Will you give up when you feel you are no longer even needed? When they demand your pound of flesh, will you go quietly into the night, or stand and protest? If your world crashes down and suicide becomes your ultimate test, will you reside to admit that your soul has already died, or will you realize you are alive, and the true test is just to survive.
“I will live, and I will be free
as no one shall hold power over me”
We are destroying ourselves, hellbent on murder in the name of defense. Fear causing our hands to become stained with blood. Shadows that dance in the corners of our eyes, spook the easily scared. Where giants feast behind their fancy tables, silver plates with their silver tongues. Where we the puppets dangle from our strings attached to their billion dollar fingers. Surfs all dancing to the mockery of the play, as the world and the economy become the stage. Actors feeding the zombies the entertainment to distract them from any real substance. The sideshow of the mad circus, the illusion of plastics.
Public opinion from a fickle mob, swayed to create one day, bribed to destroy the next. All wrapped up neat with fancy words and all is well just as long as the minority remain compliant. In the age of decay, death becomes all the rage, where morality is traded for vanity.
We kill and murder for reasons as depraved as self satisfaction, we realize that in our capacity of evil we have the ability to destroy ourselves, that we can stare into the mirror and see the devil as our reflection. Standing before the abyss, observing an endless struggle since before the beginning of time itself, the polar oppositions of right and wrong, good and bad. Fronted with the most puzzling of all mysteries, the paradox of dualities. The opposites and the attractions. This strange, strange existence.
“We all struggle against the vibrations of conflict
but to realize the limitless potential that we posses
That if we are to survive our infancy.
There would be no limit to our possibilities
for our gift to learn and adapt,
gives us the survivor within ourselves.”
The blue vinyl floor with interspersed mosaic patterns
Stretches from the reception to
Infinity for the old and frail
It is alive with people
Walking up and down its length
Some healthy, others sick
On wheel chairs and walking sticks
Life limping on crutches
And being carried around on
Stretchers by sinew men in uniforms
The old, the young, pregnant ladies
Worried parents, partners and better halves
Some pace up and down
Others sit silently meditating
In the afternoon sun
As news filters into the corridor
There are few smiles
Familiar nods
And there are hidden tears and inaudible sobs
When its transient inhabitants
Move on,
Leaving the corridor with its array of doors
Closed forever
It lies deserted at night
The motion sensor lights
Wake up from their slumber
To shine on a lonely figure
A duty doctor catching up