Saturday, 10 August 2013


The future of this world,
And that of mankind,
I think you’ll find,
Are intertwined,
Open your eyes,
Don’t be blind,
Like a trunk/coffin,
Your future is lined,
With the dead,
You’ll be lead,
To your death,
Just leave your life delayed by thread,
If you look far ahead,
Don’t instead,
For into the future your heart has bled.
Yes in the future,
Your heart will bleed,
But don’t mislead your steed,
Cos indeed He’ll be freed,
And He’ll lead,
You away,
Don’t you sway,
Enter the fray,
And stay,
Within the melee,
Don’t play.
With your life,
Don’t live by the knife,
Deal with the pain of strife,
Solve your problems,
With the strength of your arm,
Deliver your charm,
To the masses,
That’s where the cash is,
Do not alienate your fate,
Or put too big a serving on your plate,
When you look at your mind,
At its state,
Try to contemplate,
And only retaliate,
When it’s needed,
Establish what your breed is,
Reproduction holds the key,
Don’t waste your energy,
Just perambulate,
In the same direction as me,
Do not perforate,
You can have your cake,
Just claim your stake,
And consolidate all (that) you gestate,
To acquire the skills to make your life great.


I die with hope in my heart,
A knowing, a seeing of something known to many,
To all will we look,
Watching the kindness unfold fills my hope,
and my despair asks for balance,
But it is possible,
We know it,
A limited love is building our future,
We need it so?
Will we need it forth?
Can I not be a burden?
I try and yet the trying grows longer,
As it grows shorter.

How can an upper morph into a fall,
A falseness of feeling change,
Overwhelmingness awry,
Back to the hoping, the knowing,
Do we see??

It is coming,
What do we feel of it?
What is it,
What will be made of…


The Corruption Follows Death

The corruption follows death,
Do you want foots retro control?
I can’t feel goodness pushing,
How is this covenant?
What is the colour of treason?
Where is the reason sent?
What of the cushioning?
And who stole the solvency’s heartaching?
It is all that is left.

Bereft of veto,
I call to polished hordes,
The following of particulates,
Can cause some bordered realm,
A shot in the blanket of freedom,
Who is at the helm of sadness?
The people beratedly bay at the,
Lords of “Can it be”,
They say so.