My eyes r 1
My eyes have grown accustomed to the
Invade, occupy, destroy.
My eyes have grown accustomed
To the diseases that haunt our souls.
Lab-coated breakout in the cold room?
Dance to the deformity. Dance to the
Conformity that is too hard too sell.
Watch where you stand.
On a point, at a fork in the road,
On a grain of sand
In an hour glass falls.
My eyes have seen the gory calling
In a last desperate act of defiance.
3 found dead.
Power and pride. Prestige comes calling with a
Little tin cup. A desperate calling
Feel free here, to prose sporadically,
A rhapsody to the excess,
Doing what I of are are left.
Doing what you of them are right.
Holy Holy Holy Trinity – time set to rhythm
Dance… dervish a strong set time.
Dance the conformity two steps.
Comically in distress.
The tragic Mulatto…twist and shout.
Do remember the .44 .
The sons of Sam looking back at the future saying “there’s
Something evil about these people, make socialism seem like a good idea.”
This is the end of an era for the pretenders
To the throne.
Power and prestige with their little
My eyes have grown weary.
The virus of language
Holy Holy Holy.
My eyes r 1.
Painting the pale suns hands with golden light.
We replace the old.
Obsolescence, it’s not a question of need.
From Mumbai ( Bombay ) to Thailand
The revolutionary lights are
Bridges of fire
Smoke signals to the blind indifference and
My eyes have grown weary.
Climbing new lows; I paint
Pale hands gold with fire
There are no concessions to manoeuvres
It is no longer a question of need
From Bombay to Thailand
Light shines on bridges of fire
Shine on till you can see inside your soul.
Trees fall … time standing barring, barking at the other side of the doors
Of heaven and hell … insert Huxley Haiku here…
This sick old world prediction
Has not grown still.
Calendar screams in the night
On time of course
In an hourglass falls.
Eyes grown weary
Do remember the 5th of November
Do remember the summer of Sam.
Is it wise?
When push comes to shove; to not shove back?
My eyes r 1 with
A world in death-throws
As you hide behind your hedgerows
Wearing your sexual rosary.
You become the daisy chain.
There is a state of disillusion in this new Jerusalem
Crossing the red dead sea desert for a new perspective
A new direction or lost for forty years
Doomed to forget a recent past where
The streets are alleys are filled
Paved over reclamation.
I found it.
“The Misanthropic lure of Luxury is
A false promise of individuality on
A world that confuses
Political liberty with
How about you
Will set you free.
Viral words will set you free
Viral words set you free.
Stop motion… full stop.
Dark souls wander alleyways. Your
Options have narrowed
Frailties future found.
Found in pretty petulance.
Pretty pretty petty
Standing in the way of consciousness. Between the future stand
Between the you and me. So tell me
Are you the electric messiah?
· * The part was found on a great blog called Nuzz Prowlin Wolf. It was no credit so I will credit my usage of it to the Author of Nuzz Prowlin Wolf.