Broken bits of dreams lay scattered on the threshold, that burning flame nestled in the hearth flickers out and slowly goes cold.
Heinous hope of the young and old.
Shattered lives, reaching claws gripping coat-tails so tight that they themselves begin to unravel into nothing but string.
Loose ends of this world, a statistic, a lie, they're all dying to survive.
The tools to create dreams, washing down the burning sands of Afghanistan, ever so wastefully.
No one knows if we truly have a soul, maybe it's like dust to dust, blowing back someday in the wind.
Yet something reminds us to believe that tomorrow will be the day we seek.
Yet again karma has other plans, fate set in motion as we speak.
Forced to hold out our hands, so far outstretched that it pains us to even clasp what we have been given.
Can we decipher the greed from our need?
Shores afar, earth rattled Haiti to the vile slums of Kinshasa.
Who do we owe? Why do we pay their toll for life?
Where are they when you need?
Like I had said broken scattered bits and pieces lay helpless on the floor.
Hope, just hope it comes back to you to even up the score.
What has happened to chivalry? It was raped along with dignity. Have you no decency?
Semi-circle spiraling thoughts, breaking off at sharp intersecting spots.
Yet the fog has become clear in this peat filled bog in what is left of the mind.
Peace of soul in a new messiah made just for you.
Do we crave a second coming? The second restart of this great machine.
Waves of guilt wash over ourselves, we seem so miles away from hope.
Let go and drift away into the unknown.
We've been concentrated into petty broken molds of human cockroaches. Scattering at every chance for a heroic stand.
Now that we infest the world, there is no savior, but an exterminator.
Forgo all this sacred bullshit, can you live with yourself knowing that you've just stood in line awaiting an absolute damnation?
The wind has spoken, carried on the wings of innocent fire flies, eyes alight with delight.
Maybe there is something good deep seeded in the eyes of a child.
A smile, a glare cast aside by that darkened soul, behold.
A hand extended just for you.
Glance back at what you desire and what you require, understand no burden can bear the weight of a gentle heart trapped alone in the dark.
It will soon unfold.
Paper confetti, streamers and laughter.
A party perhaps? Maybe something along the lines of a great collapse.
Waste your flowers for them please, approach before they've been misconstrued, pushed and shoved back into the breast of mother earth.
Haphazard little tricks up no ones sleeve.
The ending is apparent isn't it?
Just lay it all out for the witness, take the stand and erase this shame.
The act can only carry so many parts, so many actors you just wish it wasn't really real.
Erosion symmetry has never been so profound as it is right now.
Smearing of the lines in our morals and values, slowly eating away at one another until everything has fallen dead, stillborn in its attempt at new life.