New Dreams

We stand up for our rights, those things in which we believe.

The dreams of the next generation - dead before they are conceived.

These same aspirations toward which so many have died before.

And yet this time we won't even acknowledge there's a war.

We live at peace with our basic life - the mundaneness of it all.

For who shall seek a refuge if the cards do fall?

My dreams shift every moment from plausible more toward false.

For to see a world free of this plague is to see one which never has been.

We die each day a little more, not aware we even lived.

And yet in the end, where does this leave our future generations?

Comic Relief

The blood slowly pours down your legs.

Your thighs face little more than a trickle of rain.

The pain you feel entices his pleasure and you refuse to scream.

To hold on to this death within you're afraid to show.

Yet what shall you do when the laundry needs done?

These white satin sheets, bled from the devil,

ripping your life into his clouds.

The heavens shine brightly overhead,

as they watch in comic relief.

Sinner

You sit and smile at me,

as though nothing could ever go wrong.

Why do we stand this pain all along?

The darkness of nite glooms overhead

and the dreams of yesteryear have long been dead.

The silence in the middle of the storm,

yet why do you still scorn?

Shall we wage eternal war

to the end of time,

pits of hell,

were we not found sacred in the task?

Just trying to rid the world of one more sinner.

Autopsies

 This silver essence foreshadows my dreams and desires -

the thoughts of one meek being unto another humble servant.

We, the humble race that kills in the name of life,

wages war in the name of peace,

and destroys in the name of creation.

These worlds once lost may never be rediscovered,

yet to merely lose them would be a blessing,

we could do them no more harm.

The blood lies slaughtered in the streets

and we have our motives, excuses all the same.

Why are so many things worth more to us dead than alive,

destroyed rather than whole?

You never know what you had until it's gone -

only because that's when you realize how much you need it.

Never bother to look and tell what beauty something holds inside -

just wait for the autopsy.

In The Memory Of

 Your blood bath slaughters

flow into the streets and homes

of innocent children

borne into a position of misfortune.

And we create a better world

by making another generation

of homeless orphans.

Humane Dodo

The dark night sky beckons with the cold chill of a moonless wind.

I hear the owls cry for food on the branches of technology.

Phone lines replace vines and their trees stand as no more than round planks.

Civilization weakens ecology to survive in a more sophisticated manner.

And how much is this rainforest worth?

Each tree having its own spirit and name.

The power of these fruits destroyed as serenely as the passing of a bird aeons ago.

And yet we call it the dodo, were the name not better suited to us?

Destroyers of our only existence, the world who feeds us and satisfies our every whim and crave.

How humane is the human race anyway?

Plague's Worth

 Every morning I face the devastation which my life has become.

I place myself on a mantle of hate, my world a waste,

my intentions cruel in the making, crueler still in the waiting.

Do I not know the sheer pain of it all?

That I should either face this darkness alone

or invite another to share my misery?

Yet who would this other be were there such?

Not you, too unpleasant for even the dreariest of moments, the darkest of discord. 

Shall I no more share my bed with thee than thou would truthfully be wed to me?

Thou speakest only in the dryest of terms, the ripest of disease -

for who else holds this burden than the brethren to thee,

the meekest of subtleties, the deadliest curse -

and this is my life I plague with my worth.

Pure Waste

 Do I hate my life?

No, I simply hate everything it has become.

Lies, distractions, and a quest for more senseless meaning in a meaningless dilemma.

How else do I survive the day to day mediocrity?

Understand this and you shall begin to know me.

My world revolves around disillusioned images of your hate toward me.

And I'm never good enough to repair the damage done generations back.

My daughter inherits my burden and I wonder why.

How could I have allowed such a terror to occur - simple - just one more failure.

One of so very many.

And maybe I fail to realize some beneficial cause for all this, yet to suffer a cause may not be a worse fate.

And again excuse me for I have failed.

That's all I am to you, one sad pathetic worthless excuse - a waste of pure oxygen.