Sunday, February 5, 2017

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 otherwise;
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;
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,
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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