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.

.

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