The cellophane between your lips
betrays your silent singing.
Your body hums acoustic, slips
the veil off your perceiving.
You struggle to be free (recall
the burning monk, the sable shawl).
A muted roar, talent enthralled-
your neck their words are wringing.
So you cut them off, walked away
unraveling the twisted
threads of your mind, the DNA
so cleverly enlisted.
Among these ranks I've hid a bomb-
two methyls and a trip to Nam,
a mine whose rhyme is mean, & Psalm
2- Prayers for those who missed it.
My friend, this is no easy path,
engage your thoughts to render
revelation: the aftermath
of spirit sold as tender.
On the worn road the blind will stay
and don the veil to hide away
the blasphemy of self betrayed,
of their own will surrendered.
Four hungry eyes become the threat,
don't let the Iced CREAM blind. Burn
focus on your blood and sweat,
taste your grit and starving learn
to forsake food. Embrace hard days
for luxuries confuse and raze
mind & soul. In quiet healing gaze
within. Truth your heart discerns.
Soon comes the day when music stops,
consider this your warning.
It's on that day the scythe will drop-
the dawn of a great mourning.
As silence met with rapture nears
spit diamonds through your teeth, veneers
whose brilliance will hide your spears-
The tribes will soon be warring.
As peace becomes a farsung cry
and the dandelions shriek
unto the peeling crimson sky,
I pray you rise above the meek,
become the man whose bloody roar
will rise about the shouts of war
to cull the herd with flaming sword.
Welcome Hell, her death to wreak.