A horde of huddled sadness, gathering at the gates, chains rattling over the crest and to the symphony the tilt flies out, away and breeze blew it but there they stand, unwavering and faithful, feet meddled mess and children crying, oh how desolation comes.
To see an eyelash softly scream, feather slips aside its edge deep in sleep and prayers hopeful, a new day now, a day much colder than yesterday, a week much older than a week last year, it all comes around, our patience will soon run out, to the moon or let us back, we push them out and away from love, over to where the beggars rut.
These families have fortunes lost amongst the throng of dying souls, exercising demons, demanding, high on hope, exhilaration want not willing, bleed into the background, vacancies at all time highs, no place for prisoners, no regret for a child’s eyes weeping into a glass bottle, empty but for tears and the small drops of rain washing their skin, the only way of cleansing pain and battle bruises, that hope broken and entombed.
A caste of a thousand handfuls here, a man at the mountain checking them for signs of life, more body degradation, assault of the vanities, deep torture, wept remorseless, breathing hoarse and coarse and sickness ever reaching. Struck by the faint whiff of foreverness, held together by the cloth and fury of their future families. Aside the pouring never stops, the ache and twist and blindness felt in disarray.
We gave them refuge and lost nothing in this defeat. As our demise, seen through the eyes of those who walk with side glances and so much spite, flattered the generous masses coming forward to hold the century out for censure, walk and talk and play and run, backwards do the evil go, back into the basements and down below, to where the lurking reeks of misery and melancholy flow, shadows flirt between reality and the darkening undertow. Where they belong.
The light of new dawns lapping on the skyline with delight, the weight of thrill and conquer and oceans swept apart, bringing into focus the changing landscape mapped out in a future made of fantasy. Culture wars won by thought and educated minds, and beauty brought to life, sucking out the sad fashion from the reeks who bore society to its knees. Away with the last lap of anger, begone the fancy of miserable majesty, wake up the kings and queens of yesterdays nowadays. The irrelevance of nothingness, never again pray on insecurities of vacancy. Today and everyday, the new light lasting is our revolution.