I live a life of hypocrisy;
Contradicting words with acts.
There is no guilt, though.
I assure you of that.
Because I deny words already
Rejected by reality.

I utter lies that I myself partly distrust.
My speech, a suicidal prophecy,
A contradiction of self-harm.
I talk of talking, yet never really talk at all.

I do not lie as a cold shelter,
For I truly believe what I say,
Even if my belief wavers.
I lie to render it true.
It is mere coincidence that my honest
Lies blanket me with ice.
It is cold yet warm; an uncomfortable contradiction
Reflective of my perpetual discomfort
Because difference disturbs,
And discomfort is being.

I stay silent in pain
From harm which is ideological.
My body does not react
To the turmoil of the mind
Until it does,
And it acts.
It acts as it can't, but can.
It defies rules before they can be realised.

And so I talk about how I cannot,
And while I lament my inability,
I talk.

Be careful whom you talk to
And what you say,
For things can be twisted
Any which way.

These are troubled times,
That we all know.
It’s oh so hard to tell
Friend from foe.

I love to be open and express my self,
But some things can’t be said: they are not allowed.
We have to stay silent I’m afraid to say,
And be PC to fit in with the crowd.

Oh to be honest
And tell the truth,
Like it was
In the days of my youth.

Paul Butters

© PB 6\2\2019.

I was standing on firestones
And your eyes were like the sun
Pools of vast unknown
Watching my faltering silence fade
And when I was dancing out loud
And my words were my aching feet
You had swept away
To watch over another sea
As I was wallowing in my defeat
Waiting for the sunrise
To talk to you in silence, the mother of my speech

I've often noticed numerous features
Many of which are on gardeners and bakers and preachers
But I have never even mentioned my own
Many peers of mine point them out to the teachers
To be silent and observe is what I am prone

I find listening and watching much more meticulous
I realise they don't understand how I stay quiet during the day
For they all speak and sound quite ridiculous
I think they may soon learn of what they say
At least I hope, I can never say for sure when they may

I think I understand it now, life that is,
How easy it is to lose the sense of control in all this.
We're trapped like animals and on a conveyor belt,
Awaiting judgement from a consuming generation, but hell,
I'm guiltily part of that as well.

I think I get how people get lost in the numbness of judgement and consumption,
We're all consumers consuming humour and a humans convulsions.
That repetitive nature of the newest generations has change the world,
No longer do we fight the same fight and stand beside the typical Gerald.
We look to be hurt by others and take a leap of ill-faith into broken people,
Expecting them to catch us when they can't even find love to love themselves; never mind other people.

We hurt ourselves to pause the conveyor belt,
We harm ourselves to draw blood and feel pain and escape our modern hell.
We snap like thin hard wax and damage our perfect bodies,
When we're so powerful; we could revolt and fill the lobbies.

We can make a change, stop the automatic production,
But in a modern world, we're the creators of our own destruction.