Monday, December 13, 2010

of nature

On the far side of the river
As the sun falls in the sky
I seek to know your process
And the shimmer of your eye
The dirge of our lives
Sung low when we die
The flowers of our being
string we’re seeking to untie
Plain as vile vectors
infect us with their words
the venom of this existence
taking flight as dark birds
As a rising, flowing, rift
That dissects us into thirds
We dreamt of greater things,
Than a lifetime made of words
Recurring so repeatedly
The cycle is so small
Repetition of the inadequate
With emphasis in the scrawl
They’ll devastate us surely
we must construct a wall
to hide away their ignorance
from the fragility of it all
corruption is so deft
seeking not souls, nor desires
our people’s world burns
in any type of fire 
the stones of the fortresses
powered by casual liars
placing some strange value
with a fear they mask as pyres
we must pick our heads up
be kind to them again
lashing it all together
with the might of our chain
that binds the flowing ӕther
seeking hopefully to obtain
 we are as the running river
 we are the falling rain

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