You don’t need
to be a conspiracy
theorist
to see through
the fog.
All you need
to know
is that the
politics
of Caring
does not exist
in power
crazed
men.
And
when it does
maybe then
everything might
be
a little
better.
Tag: alternative
Dogmatic
In the beginning naught did shine but light and hope and clouds they all had lustre,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning there swam free peace conscious and curious lives we hungered,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning both beast and man sweet harmony sang and we fed them and they fed us our joy,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning O’ heavens they were hallowed and unknown too was hallowed though thy name On High unknown,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning there was but green and blue and rustle and trickle and crack and splash all over,
Then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the beginning connected all did feel and balance all knew well,
And then the Journey snuffed it out.
In the end all was bleak exhaust flew through the cracks and poisoned,
The Cycle shall reset you.
In the end there was no peace and wonder was survival dead,
The Cycle shall reset you.
In the end the beasts lay caged or worse and mania-amaranthine so long beset them,
The Cycle shall reset you.
In the end the heavens all had clogged with hopeless quests to conquer,
Thy name unknown endured.
In the end there was no green or blue just black and endless thunder,
The Cycle shall reset you.
In the end the link it severed and all life fell asunder,
The Cycle shall reset you.
Dogmatic.
Esnesnon
Grey and black and white and brown the anti’s-rainbow frown delight,
Anti-rain opaque as fate falls on the sky from trees that hang root side up-down-up-down and back oh right?
Spider’s silk don’t stick it slides and Silkyparks are oh so fun for UP you stop and don’t come back,
And anti-flies walk right side down cus uplift’s dead so planes cut ground and Ant’s do scramble anti-fair.
Murder’s life and pregnant’s death so punish much astonish!
Anti-baby Humon 3 does run the Earth but clout has so much doubt,
And war it’s all just kiss and kiss and sandpit sandpit fun.
Lightning hush and thunder shiggle in quite lightheart delight they fiddle,
Push is pull with much confu and books they have no numbers!
Stars are black but anti-white is oh so bright the night is day and girl oh girl! We’re in a right new mental fright,
For all our sdrow and all our sight is right way bront to fack!
The Black and the Bicycles
Bicycles ran as honey over my drums
And our moon did gift goosebumps of gratification
As I thanked her for lighting my way,
Though little did I know of any way.
Sycamores on the skirts
Silhouettes as the space of everything possible to know,
Though not by me.
And a road in the yonder
Blessed with direction but little destination
And lights with no enlight
Beyond the A and the B.
Neither would exist here.
Our moon wandered me to the centre of my black
The artificial glow of secure insecurity shone down the path
In competition with the light of question
And winning for proximity, against the will of its beholder.
The glimmer of all we know does poison all we wish upon
And none I know had witnessed the glow of family
Before the glow of our exploit.
The black and the bicycles did dance with me here
Holding me still and staring in a separate place
Beyond sight and will we remained still and yet forever moving in mind
Together and all alone.
Our moon,
Revered and haloed above the horizon
Had lost her family
Save the greatest persevered
Who would speckle our sky with a limp recollection of its wonderful dance.
And how sad it must be
To reach our Earth and never be seen
To twinkle for life and not one will wish.
The black and the bicycles will mourn with me here
For our lost friends and our lonely family would dance amongst us
If only they were able.
It’s Not Real.
Blurry Face greeted Blank Face with a blurry stare. Blank Face greeted Blurry Face with a blank nothing. Both noticed the absence of the other, though neither knew what it meant, nor how to react; Everything was blurry, everything was blank. Continue reading “It’s Not Real.”
Alan & The Delectable Desk
In the top drawer of Alan’s delectable desk, I found a ball no larger than one you would use in a game of tennis. I think it’s made of light. It did not shock me, Alan commanded an aura of difference befitting grand desks and otherworldly objects in a mid-level administration office; But what could it be for? My subconscious must know better than I, it’s overriding the control I had over where my eyes lie. My god is it mesmerising, I cannot, seem to… Continue reading “Alan & The Delectable Desk”
RJP's Vernacular 