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,

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.

.

.