Safe Luxury

my random steam of consciousness poem, how does it sound?

and our people goin crazy makes us lazy all the time while we rhyme for us to cope while all the dope seems to be, while our rings glisten to the listen and the beams in the streams call our name but in vain to the wall down the hall for the god who holds his calls and the fault of the vault tells our demons who are feeling rather down even clowns start to be rather mean for the sun starts to melt on our felt the pool balls try to go where they're thrown in the pockets or the sockets of the cars that fly by in the calling dark night sky, we must be more than we seem to our fears and our ears hear our rattle but still we prattle, on and on to the gun that endlessly points our way, but in the fray we arent lost but to the frost, so here we stand we file wash our hands, of our sins, we put in bins and ship away, god put us here or so they say, but i dont know, because our reason seems to listen not to us but to others, and it makes us less than mad but other puppies tired and sad, masters slaves, to the knaves and fiery braves that makes us gods in our own worlds, yet our powers seem to twirl, and we sit here on the lawn, feeling everything since dawn but our shaking is only making him more nervous than the water falling from his gun, and his face tears and sweats while he swears at the vets that we're not trained but thinking clear, more than anything hes had before, the tears roll down our faces as he tells us stay in your places, always line one by one, never some, never none, starting tails of cleansy veils steal demons and still our feelings are our own but never two, only one, we are the same but always different clearly glad but our decision makes us more than we can bear so we just sit right here and stare into the face of a man who tells when to sit and when to stand, but never more and never less, always stuck here in this mess, always one never two, let us go our endless coo, come and sit or to stand, guide with your voice and not your hand, there is no need for grips of vice, coming, going flies, so here we sit or there they stand plussing minus, minus glad, or minus terror without fear, divide a smile with a tear, hear a song, sing a whistle, leave us be, this drumming tune reverberates from moon to moon, and here we sit or and there they stand, no more thought than closing clam, in our heart we know its true, though they say the same thing about you, making more of life on earth, has its cost but a new birth in existence, seems to make us more resistant to the trouble that lies ahead, so now he tells us to go to bed, but sleep will come when sleep is ready, and still he yells there shake and steady, feeling nothing making more than a big deal absolutely nothing for, but here we sit and there they stand making life as always grand as more than we could ever do, and it means much more to you, than keeping safe in hearth and home, and we read these musty tome, the words just roll right off our laps and are picked up by the running sap, from the tree that hangs nearby, seeming always happy for the sky, but today it must be, filled with anger and not glee, it seems to say much more than nay, it must yell so that the depths of hell can hear it muster stutter shutter, at the man with the water gun, and his threats mean to us a strong round sun, will never see us more than now, and some cry out with tremulous fear, why o lord hath thou forsaken thee? and i just sit hear smiling, heavily, to feel them shake and shivver so, when its i not them that know, there very plausibly is no higher power more than me, so see them breathe and dance as such, makes a very oddly bunch, and so we sit and there they stand, making more of a life so grand.

Public Comments

1. Oh, wow! It seams like a long rapid carousel dance, though steady, nothing much comprehensive other than it's round :)) )