poetomachia

Irony in place of balls, balls in place of brains
Brains in place of soul, where is the soul?
Where is the love, where am I?

walk in holiness
walk in peace
walk it out
into release

i’m a sinner
i’m a sinner
i’m a sinner
purify me
i want to know your sanctity (purify me)
let me in your sanctuary (purify me)
oh Lord help me

i’ll meet you at the river
and there wash me

I am a twirling center of consciousness
Bouncing your way with benevolent fury
Get out of my way!
Get out of my way!
And you’ll miss the impact.

and now the hours drag and
my breath is held against
some unforeseen hoped for
prophesied forgotten
pain

do we understand
do we know
and yet we dare to draw near
can we hope to understand
audacity is our warrant to search
but this same entitlement is bourne
of the gift of cleverness

the thoughts grow cold in here alone
as i wait beside myself betrayed by my
affinity for soundless words and empty promises
if i want to be blue, i can do that without you

big industrial world
trains and planes
trucks crushing me
the noise a music
for our society
the crowd of humanity
can we find a place to be
squeezing the life out of the trees
these are bitter and twisted
thoughts
sent from the lord
of hopelessness
a cancer upon the earth
a cancer to ourselves

i don’t care if it is hot
i don’t care if it is cold
i don’t want the monster
to eat my soul
i don’t want to give up
in the face of anything
but hold to that which abides
and remains never a thing

every moment held and then given
are these the raindrops uncounted
or the blooms unnoticed
blood shed for noone in particular
and forgotten in a moment spectacular

are we left to our own devices?
to search out and find our godheads?
to discover the god within ourselves?
take the helm and pilot the ship?
sailing into dark storms
powered by our own courage?
to read the signs and place hope
in the evening red skies?

or have we in the face of nothing
decided to live in delusion?
buy the lie cheaper than
capitalist gods?
ashamed belief in a community of possessions
owned by nothing but our ideals

if your cerebral cortex doesn’t pull you through
what are you going, going to do?