there is madness within this silence,
small burning holes
locked deep inside hollow shells,
building like a warm summer night,
waiting for the calm, cool breeze
to float the moment away,
it is here,
all things are possible,
it is here,
we come to lay offerings,
before torn and ravaged city walls,
away from forgotten tunnels,
buried in slow empty hills,
where tired, impotent, cave dwellers,
scream out cries of merciful anger,
venting their thunderous wrath
upon the pitiful venomous filth below;
it is coming now,
do you feel it?
wild and limitless,
without future or past,
it is coming,
this motherless child,
feeding and breathing,
running through open fields,
dragging this fictional freedom
along for the ride;
all your life, spent
seeking sweet refuge,
deep inside this burned out desert oasis,
praying for no mistakes,
yet the whole time waiting,
for just one simple, solitary, fuck up,
to bring meaning to it all;
definition among the defeated;
(still you wait).
.
.
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