painted beasts killing nothing but time

shed this profane and mortal shell
let us speak no more
of complicated circumstances
and incomplete emotions
that signal a visage
of salted salvation

nomadic and demystified
the leftover light
of lucifer’s tragic song
guides us toward
the simple pleasures
of this calculated craft
as we write
sadistic concertos
with the grammar of
imperfect immortality
remembering backyard bunker dreams
and television history
that could reset
all our failed adventures

thank the forgotten gods
that we have the crooked guidance
of a soft right hand
and golden cat kisses
to redeem our dry souls

pray and lead us away
from a complacent and content image
of self serving satisfaction

i’m angry and sad
that this manufactured virus
has decimated
our collective chaos
and divided our cathartic symphony
how can we hope to redeem
this bipolar congregation
when paths are spilt
along misguided lines of communication

nothing is black and white
shades of grey
define our rainbow existence
and harsh emotion
coupled with smooth poetry
slow the progression
of apathetic cancer
alleviating our hardened hearts

how to reduce this stereo confusion?
should i attempt to write
twenty or thirty
dead orchid poems
that speak only to lonely hearts
or should i seek to enhance
this watered down meme culture?
should i wear familiar
bandanas covering grey beards
of withered wisdom
or should i seek to lead the children
to undiscovered forms of r(E)volution ?
and if i did
would they understand
that these antiquated words
could offer the promise of something new
something different, that lasts beyond
the next social media trend

often times i find myself longing for
that old and familiar warped scenery
a getaway garden
of quiet and sincere gibberish
unsullied with the occupation of anxiety
but, the hour is getting late
and the glass is almost empty
humanity breathes it’s labored breaths
and i wonder how long
can this grand memory endure?

486-painted-beasts-killing-nothing-but-time

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