Just a simple scrap of paper, stained with his blood, dried red,
It was picked up by a passer- by. It’s author newly dead.
The victims in the towers had been pulverized by stone.
And now could be identified by DNA alone.
For about a decade after, his note was saved, unread,
The M.E. was too busy, bones took precedence instead.

Reflecting pools, the well of souls, are where the towers stood.
There’s a garden of remembrance and that’s all well and good.
His widow and his daughters hung his picture on the wall.
It was like a wound reopened when they finally got the call.

She thought he had died quickly; the second plane had struck his floor.
He worked in the South Tower way up high on eighty four.
“We identified this by the blood, it matched his DNA.”
She stared numbly at the note he wrote that sad September day.

You may view the blood stained note and the message that he wrote
In the Nine Eleven museum in Manhattan
When he'd spent the time we're given,
paper saved him from oblivion.
Now his tragic end will never be forgotten.

Chatting cold conspiracies from across the coffee table.

Pangaea on the rocks - sweet, sober, civil silence.

When did the degradation become so severe?

Time ticks down and friendships fade to acquaintances.

Spine tingling tempo of the pitter-patter rain drop percussion.

Galloping triplets trickling down from the temples of thunder.

Hands of the clock clap in celebration of another hour killed.

Two o’ clock Coca-Cola to crown the king of carbonation *****.

Naming off artists to impress the drunken temptress.

Taunting the room filled with glimmer-eyed, lovestruck libidos.

All the kids are struggling to remember the horoscope they skimmed.

Brains drained to the point of puking in mouths, poisoning the passion.

With whiskey laced erections, this night chants a swansong.

Illegal lane changes and tiptoe key turning roustabouts.

The Hubble eye can’t detect the silent thoughts left hidden.

Dreams within dreams, lost in a cloud of exhaled acceptance.

Tonight, you fizzled, and tonight, you sleep alone.

These are the danger days. Timber!

Don’t know what you want of me
Why have you followed me, behind; leaving a trail to get  back
But you can’t go home again because I set a trap
Illuminati in the eye
Illuminati what’s the use of your body?
Will you take me to your fairy tale world?

I saw Orion making fun of Hailey’s comet
I can’t compare I saw his eyes melt into the sun
Never will he drift away in space anymore
And one warrior shouts with joy his pride has fallen
The trees don’t sway to my presence
And the air becomes dead

So now the sickening shadows sting
And your kisses are felt in hell.
The bishop sings his shanty
And all the impurities rise.

From the small town comes the Knight
with armor glistening in the sun.
A mighty sword rests at his side,
And a steed of iron he does mount.

Across a valley he meets his bishop
And their quarrell is quelled
By the sickening slice of a thousand
infantile screams cursing the night.

The End.

It started off like a fairy tale,
All pink and dazzling;
It went on to be regular,
With all stories told and everything shared;
It grew to a grave silence,
With no words to say;
It ended with grief,
With unfulfilled expectations and loneliness all the way.

Our old uncle, Daedalus,
     he'd grin when he spoke to us
His mouth was missing teeth
and so his wisdom flowed out free
He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
He'd tell us he had seen the world
     and this was his decree:

     "Don't fly too high, you little *****.
       You just might live to pay for it.
       The Sun is always hot,
       the ground gets harder every day."

"But, Daedalus," we would complain,
"You are old and we would fain
see the sights you saw before
          we sleep beneath the clay."

And dear old Uncle Daedalus
     he'd laugh and spit and swear at us
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell.
This life is one big ******* maze
with twists and turns and tricks to play.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

We'd try to listen, try to thank
him for the words, but his breath stank
and, anyway, we thought that he
               had prob'ly **** himself

But dear old Uncle Daedalus
hung Death from lips that spoke to us
and ****** if he weren't right
about the things he always said:
"Inventiveness works, by and by
with daring, you may taunt the sky
                                   like I did
                                  but the fall is long--
my dreams and son are dead."

He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell..."

"Don't fly too high, you little *****.
You just might live to pay for it.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

The world we live in is a Cruel, vicious place,
where the lowest in society is used as toys to the rich,
implements of torture is no longer used for punishment.
Now, for the pleasure and the merriment.
What good out of the agony and distress gives you satisfaction?
Ask yourself are you human ?
A human,would have beared compassion.
Not like those
But, i understand,
even if i don't,
That times have changed.
This is the modern society. Attitudes changed. People change!
We do what we have to do to adjust  with amendments made.
Some say 'life was better back then'.
Was it?
The slavery, the long winter wars, the awful hierarchy.
How is it all better?
Maybe it was. Maybe it was not.
everything fits into place now.
Technology is our distraction from the world around us.
It's for the best'
How would i know?
Life clearly isn't a fairy-tale.
Maybe that is a good thing. Maybe... Not
What is Reality?