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.