Last Call

this morning darkness does roll,

these gentle waves do wash,

melodic rhythms continue to flow,

despite the insidious rush of left-handed

breaks;

who does know?

who can tell?

who will stop the tide?

inside we are all the same,

lost and afraid, isolated and alone,

searching for a refuge, trying to

find a home;

no matter who we are,

no matter what we say,

no matter how hard we pretend,

somehow, someway,

somewhere;

there must be more;

wasted words once again,

lost within the echoes of

ancient memories, lying just

a touch beyond hope,

drowning on distant shores of

foreign intervention,

drifting upon forgotten platitudes

of empty fires,

blazing wildly out of control,

burning with the stench of a

thousand voices, pleading for death,

this too shall pass;

what else is left?

enlightened intelligence,

such a wasteful resource in the

hands of crazed madmen,

passionate informants full of

useless information,

inside traders, selling stolen dreams,

former raiders of excessive corporate greed,

dancing on the backs of down-trodden masses,

sharing forbidden fruit destined for

leftover dumpsters of recycled trash,

destroying the will,

removing the innocence;

exchanging profit for turpitude.

.

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