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.The storm clouds are my pillows and I drive to the heart of them, wrapped in lightning and rain
The mountains offer me sleep, quiet, dark, and their dim music beats on my ears like the drums of the distant past
And as I blink in and out I let my face hit the window, singing along and forgetting how to hurt for a minute (maybe an eon)
The rumbles of the thunder above and beneath me are clean and comfort, blankets in clouds and the miles rolling by
Sleep descends and I am not safe, but sheltered through Kansas and Boston, through the journey and the rush of the raindrops a hair's breadth from my eyes
PSATo whoever reads these words, remember them. Read them silently, read them aloud, repeat them until you can see them permanently burned into the backs of your eyelids and they become your mantra:
There is always hope.
In the worst places and the darkest times, there is still hope. No storm cloud on the planet is immune to stars or sunlight peeking through. Every cave has an exit, every night gives way to daybreak, and every demon can be beaten down.
As the roaring wildfire must always give way to the gentle rain, so too does despair inevitably sputter and die in the face of hope. Until its cataclysmic dying day, this world will always contain hope. As long as you are alive, there is hope aplenty for tomorrow and all the days after it.
Do not forget my words. Do not ignore them, laugh them bitterly away, or let your fear overcome them. I speak of a simple truth that should never be forgotten.
The one thing all our heroes have in common is that when everything falls apart and the world s
SpentThe silence reverberates in four part time
When you realize you're all alone
And the snow falls about you to blanket the sound
Of you choking upon your own throat
It's over, it's finished; you're spent and betrayed
You just want to lie down, get some rest
So you curl up your body like dead spider legs
And the gentle snow takes you to sleep.
float to the water's surface,
coins for the dead.
May they find safe passage to the worlds beyond.
speak the piercing truth.
Wound with words and deadly gaze -
Forgotten skeletons laid bare,
shot with vicious voice;
fire in the soul and heart
to cut down needless noise.
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
VesselYour heart is a compass.
Broken, perhaps, but I know
It’s always searching for the North Star.
Which way will your beard point tonight?
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
FallingFailure after failure
A life not worth living
Lost in my misery
Long gone are the good moments
I keep falling
Nothing can save me now
Gone my hopes are
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
Predators of the nightA gust of wind
Blowing through our hair
The dead leaves
Cracking under our feet
The night sky
A blanket over our heads
And the full moon
Blessing us with its silver light
A perfect night for us hunters
To look for our prey
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