They think it's love, until the lust fades,
thing it's good, until the looks fade,
Think it's smart, until it hurts,
Think it's broke, until it works.

Don't begrudge children where they were born.
They don't make em the same anymore.
The curse of the new slave, wrapped around their mind,
loyal to the poison that degenerates their mind.

The truth is,
There's no elite thinker's society,
We're all elite in our own respect.
We evolved from bent over forms,
Working for raw survival.
But as we grew, some of us split away,
Faded from simple survival,
Growing a taste for art.
So were born the sculptors,
The painters, and the poets.
Clever as they were,
The old artists.
They formed a secret society,
For elite thinkers to survive.

What if all the chemicals
and screens
disappeared from the earth,
would you crawl
out of your skin
or rise to the task?
it is said that there is no cure
because answers
thrive only in silence
when one learns how to ask

Instead we accelerate
to consume noise
through wild fields of dopamine,
clawing with no poise-
we exploit weakness
for personal gain
until sincerity bleeds
from the picture
and there’s no room left in frame
for an honest work of art
because we’d rather
exhaust the canvas
with moments devoid of heart

Humility is a difficult lesson
most live in reverie
as hollow, floating silhouettes
desperate to equate value
with material progress
until one of two options remain:
convene with the
shaking breaths
or envision a hapless fate

Darkness, it looms
pleading to steer our
attention
to do nothing and sit with grace,
showing a natural way
to create harmony
while sifting through
time and space,
yet we continue to
sit upon ivory towers
ignoring balance
that only succeeds
with the fusion of light,
because in darkness
is the beginning of all life

Horizon of heard words bring
feelings
new and relieving
receiving
messages from myself
to be passed to someone else.

Like birth I breathe my
first lesson
in learning a new obsession.
A whole new world
completed by curiosity
and only in generosity of voice
was I shown the choice we each make
to hide and to fake
to fear that we are
no more than animals with complex speech
and we reach desperately to find
some notion that we are tools
but in truth we are without rules
and can experience as much as we are willing to believe.

Hope is for the hopeful
pain is for the hurt
fear is for the child inside
sweat is for the work
song is for the listener
and voices for the listened
Home is for where love resides
only found inside.
In the images we create,
we ****** a part away from fate.

In each act we are alive
and in between our quiet minds
will find some reason we are silent
thoughts turned dark, thoughts turned violent.

Prayer for the faithful
soaring for the soul
how can we bestow these gifts
isn't that the goal?
Not to ask the bird to fly,
the wolf to bear its claws,
but to ask the kind to fight
and the killer to know remorse.

To change one mind might seem so modest
of a billion minds on the planet,
But even to change a single mind
would improve the world that we inhabit.

The inebriation of exhalation as the wild beast burns it's gut.
A trampling hoof that guides aloof this creature's weathered foot.
Time again a gait that fails
the weathered engine derails.

The other follows, a steady pace,
pursuing subtly an unfamiliar face.
Their paths crossed not without reason
though looking now it cannot see them.
What past has taught the future taunts with,
its exhausting, this furious pursuit of treats.
It helps the creature to it's feet.

What east feeds, west shall feast on.

The water offered, soon enough gone.
And though the west one was defeated,
it smiles in gratitude, almost sweetly.
But deep inside, the fire burns
the lessons learned are lost
as winter comes with a hunger born of frost.

Binary beasts, slave to each other.
Two wayward children split from their mother.

The people I see, the young and the free
They dance and they sing in blissful retreat.
Their lives are a sample of pure liberty
And mine an example of firmly fixed feet

I grew up alone, in this I am blessed
I know of the darkness and it knows me best
My friends I found waiting beside the far lights
I wouldn't have seen them without those dark nights.

I feel like the fuse has already burnt.
The engine backfired, old meat past expired
I feel like a liar, pretending to be, pretending to see
what it is they believe they are doing
with their endless consumption and moving
their only function, save but to breathe
is to make our lives harder, or enforce beliefs.

The reality is, its in human nature
to skip the sad memories of our bad behaviour
and think of the times when we looked our best
convince ourselves that we're flawless and blessed.

I won't have such good memories, for I hid in the dark.
Shade like and skinny, and spared any romance.
It's hard to see evil that's basking in light.
So wait for the night and they'll dance, and they'll melt, and you'll see,
those good memories weren't made by people like them.
They were made by people like me.

~
I'm an exit wound
I'm a numinous obstacle
I'm about to make landfall
I'm about to break free

I'm a nerve ender
A fascinator
A purifier
A world populator
And I'm about to break through

I'm the push and pull
I'm a counter argument
I'm dissonance resistance
I'm viral replication
I'm about to break out

I'm a singularity
I'm a spark
I'm the perfect detonator
To mind and heart
And I'm about to break up

I'm a simulacra
I'm an oscillation
Made of breath only
I'm a living, moving imprint
Of what no longer is
Yet somehow seems to be
~