Colourful virtues

I see the sun set over barley
I see black horses playing in the rain
I have Angels dancing with my brain
It feels just like a movie with stained glass windows and a Gothic eeriness to the church purposefully ingrained
All the colours make a picture to again provoke some pain
Twelve men dressed in purple pass me by with a golden cross aloft like a symbolistic nuclear bomb that was so vain
Simple men have virtues some of them can only be described as colours so gather them together and forget about the blame.

They only talk at night
all else is quiet
facing each other
at more than two sword lengths.

Opposite sides of the House
on opposite walls they parley.
Seeing them during the day
you'd swear they smiled above you.

Wishing you cou could have eavesdropped
learned more of what they think.
They stand aside from you in that gallery.

Question for you, chicks and dudes,'
What is an ironing board to you?
Did you know they were surfboards,
Yes, they grew up, surf did bore,
Surfboards got a day job,
Being ironing boards is their lot,
Nonsense I do compose,
Only a joke in an ode!

There's a jukebox,
in my mind or yours,
and it plays my song --
or, maybe, it's for you.
And it says what I
never could say, which is
that I am very sorry.

I thought of how I was --
or how we were --
which was not as good
as we had hoped for.
You protected yourself
from remorse and I was
fearfully unapologetic.

You were, and, probably,
still are a cold *****, and I've
been a ******* for years.
Your nose was so crooked,
it could run for office, and
my head was -- and still is --
really big, which is fitting,
considering my ego, and
ironic, since I'm borderline
mentally-*******-*******.

There's an eroding jukebox
and its so confrontational,
due to feeling inferior,
unrecognized, and without
a responsible purpose.

The music from the machine
flows like rushing thoughts,
and the thoughts say:

I sit and write,
I don't mind you
when I don't know you.

Some people are roots,
meant to help with stability,
but you are a branch,
meant to offer a new view,
but also meant to fall off,
maybe, killing whomever
catches you next.

More BEAST than Man.
The things you cry demon too, they are thee

The beast understand me.
Summon forth the beauty you fear.
Thou who would not dare, explore the unknown terrane .
These are the plains were Thine feel free.
Thou cant see who is more awake than thee.
Everybody and nobody

observe calming river as thee wafts down stream of the violent sea you call reality.
I don't truly comprehend this Humanity, but the
operation in my mind I hide from thee, for Thou is part of this
manufacture reality.

Though humanity may not receive me, I walk
with poise around the decaying ancestors under our feet.
The dirt that was once flesh and bone.
They cry insanity when they pass over there understanding.
Insanity? or different directionality.
There is more than this mention.
I must mention it all will pass.
Even the peaceful little thoughts you have moon gazing laying on the grass.
What will become of thine reality?

I do not try to make sense of this jumbled world
This moment I enjoy the awakening.
I am but a tribal being soured by your ways.
Bearing witness the darkness in many things.The darkness in
many things lights the spring.

Life can leave a bitter taste, but as taste buds change I savor these days. Enjoy   the luxury of the days warm embrace.  
Solace found with what you call demons
I find solace with the scavengers.
thou canst not understand these things now
I am more awake than you can see
Floating down this never ending sea.
lying here with the dogs, hugging my earth,oh how the earth know I love thee.

Reality is not always logical  
We were meant to be, yet I must meet you on another plain
Make thine way home through the cold night fog.
Listen to the words from that what you do not speak too.

Know to savor your honey when its warm.
I would watch as the locust swarm all the lights of life into pitch
I know Thee may Never know the reasoning behind my actions now.
For I must be more beast than man