This intricate business of delicate intent
dropped in patterns of thought circulating my head,
meant for strategic weavings and conflicted
feelings, trace the line that defines subliminal
meanings, vacant it's seeming; decieving
while dreaming pillowy essence of air,
blessings are there, no heaven prepared
since when did right mean twisted truth,
sooth, for the youth, crude and unusual,
beautiful yet soothing for a mind unaccustomed
to logic, to solve it, who's involved with,
the children of now, the pilgrims of town?
killing with guns, spillin the blood of
a mother's son, forced to reckon,
core depression, history beckons for us
to consider, future littered with the quitters
that will get your back, until scared
when you need them there, in the lair
of the unprepared, but who cares for the
sacred, as hatred compels, what once was
angel now burns in hell, and that’s the price
of admission, and hopeful wishin, global business
will gloat with sickness, until the shrills
reach the cortex of mind, and spirit splits
open, with thoughts leaving the hollow
bones wortlhess, closed curtain? I’m certain
that evil’s exertin and I’m hurtin and cursin
the devil’s work and, confused, so used just
a muse for but who's to fuss and do for?
suffixed humour, touching
the heart of youth's or, run
for the hills away from the chills that chase
up my spine, with the line drawn in blood
it’s only a matter of time, until
I spill my luck on the floor, let
the earth pick up the wet, heart
of fire, that calmly punctures
with desire.
