A Fresh Morning In A Shabby Hotel

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A fresh morning in a shabby hotel
Sunshine pouring through open drapes
Heavy, yet obviously threadbare
Blinded; only seeing abstract shapes

Sitting on the edge with a warm mug
Need to move, but my legs won’t go
A few more moments in this peace
Hell begins once I’ve finished this cup of joe

Riding Out These Rough Seas

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Riding out these rough seas
Trying to shield our shipwrecked daughters
Storms moving in on us rather quickly
Feeling Hell’s heat & it’s only getting hotter
From port to port, not knowing where to go
Remaining free & clear is the only way to live
Every day out on this cleansing ocean
I pray to the Lord, in the chance He might forgive

Don’t Forget To Repeat Our Truth In Unison

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Don’t forget to repeat our truth in unison
Stand up straight with proper military bearing
Forget your conscience; such things are done
Keep on moving toward the triumph of the daring

Unfurl the banners so that we might recite
Let the people know what we’re fighting for
Light the fires, so the boys may march by night
Let them live out their dreams in the glories of war

Remain focused- don’t live within your heads
For the battle is real, so is the carnage by the blade
You need to stay loyal or your sons will wind up dead
Listen to the drums, forget the thoughts we’ve forbade

This existence is painful, but hell will be hotter
Don’t return with blood soaked memories to spurn
Live up to the fullest; embrace the full-bodied slaughter
Raise your swords to the sky & let the traitors burn

You Give Up Your Voice

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You give up your voice
When you choose to take their hand
You sacrifice your honor
When you go joining their faceless band

You deem yourself unremarkable
Once they take away your vote
No longer choosing for yourself
Their drudging spirit grabs your throat

The hoard directs you how to think
& can make you recite all sorts of things
You deserve your time in Hell
When you hand them your own strings

Surviving By The Bright Light of Day

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Surviving by the bright light of day
Pouring coffee directly into my weary eyes
Can’t sleep at night since I must remain alert
Anxious; trying to hide my soul’s invisible cries

Gathering my wits to merely successfully exist
Waiting for the other shoe to drop & Hell to begin
Tired of cowering away in forgotten silence
Appearing strong since no one sees the enemy within

Liberation Granted By The Morning Alarm

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Liberation granted by the morning alarm
Still alive; this body aching with rippling fatigue
October visions, yet I’m safe from obvious harm
Visions dwindling; remnants of horrific intrigue

Seeking out coffee to loosen this slumber
A stretch & chance to deliberately mourn
These dreams encrusted in burnt umber
Sworn to abide by the wisdom of Nat Hawthorn

The terror that befalls us when we’re unaware
Soon free from the slow tolling of the funeral bell
Needful sleep caught us within a nightmare
Unconsciously breaking from a manufactured hell

Visions of dropping acid with William Blake
Dawn is our escape; returning to peace as we wake

Mornings Naturally Rise

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Mornings naturally rise
Catching sunshine in my eyes

Distracted by the obvious glare
Misdirected like you really cared

Left feeling a bit obtuse
Never in pity, what’s the use

Taking a moment to feel low
Then return to what we all know

Be smarter, don’t get deceived again
Or merely rewrite it all with your pen

At this point, there are no rules
Ignore their taunts, the damn fools

Karma will get them in the end
52nd layer of hell is for fake friends

Typing, Hacking, Thinking – Smokin’ Hot

Typing, hacking, thinking – Smokin’ hot
Typing your best to empty all thought

Pouring your soul into force upon the keys
Your woman walks past with a dress above the knees

Now you can’t think or type or stammer straight
The hell with with deadlines – this one’s gonna be late

You pray to the spirits of procastrination or whatever you think of
Burn this project right now, sacrifice it in the name of love

Where Are The Heroes For Our Own Time

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Where are the heroes for our own time
The poets & warriors to lead the charge
I’m not the effigy of your incompetent apathy
Merely the pirate of record, by & large

Who will join me among these ranks
To beat back the mind-numbing attitudes
To hell with society & its reality television
Taking my crew to more temperate latitudes

Emerging From The Night Of Lost Souls

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Emerging from the night of lost souls
A rough morning with make-up in your eyes
Playing with fire when you dressed like Hell
You believed the Devil when he whispered his lies
Another exhilarating night of sin extinguished
But your heart now belongs to the man of flames
You don’t remember how your dress got burnt
Or how your lovely chest was branded with his name

 

Image by Анастасия Гепп from Pixabay

The Government Wants To Lock Me Up

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The government wants to lock me up
For I don’t fit into their diabolic plan
Turning society into robotic morons
I just can’t continue to work for The Man

Trying to sell us artificial stimulants
Fickle airwaves that their bully pulpit bought
Falsified histories & professional victims
The system wipes us away without any thought

Pharmaceutical conglomerates tell us
Conscience is a personality disorder we can’t shake
Turning our daughters into Stepford Wives
Stealing our minds – hoping we’ll never wake

Corporations in league with the dolt on the throne
Continuously embarrassing the whole of humankind
Whose agenda has a limited number of characters
How the hell is this the best choice we could find

But I won’t succumb to any of their devices
I’ll take my liberty and the happiness I’ve pursued
Rejecting the crooks & ignoring their feigned power
Won’t find me in Nurse Rachet’s line; docile & queued

I can’t live a life that’s so blatantly false & empty
My soul is no longer pristine, but I’m an honest guy
I’m taking to the wilderness; leaving the State behind
I’m trading their promises for a more natural high

Maybe The Morning

Maybe the morning
Doesn’t; it just doesn’t have to be
You rise a little softer on that day
Emerging from a cocoon for me to see
Winter blankets fall away like nebulae
Taller than is expected from a Belle
Not so confident at first light
The arching sun; the pillory of hell
Stretching in my threadbare shirt
A shake of your hips
When first the brew hits your lips
But I want to watch
As you take another vainglorious sip

I’m Tired, Weary, Fatigued, However You Want To Call It

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I’m tired, weary, fatigued, however you want to call it
This world is tearing itself apart, with no end in sight
Neighbors can’t stand the appearance of each other
If we don’t swerve, we’re all going to face the fiery night
Reject hate, reject them, reject the world’s system
I don’t care if kindness long ago went out of fashion
Don’t accept your options, make your own way
We need return to art, return to love & compassion
‘They’ are anyone who’ll tell you we can’t survive
Without stooping down to unconscionable degrees
Rebel, refuse & reclaim enlightenment & love
Lead ourselves away from their dysfunctional societies
God reserves a place in Hell for those who spout hate
Whether you believe in Christ or what Buddha taught
Love doesn’t see the differences between us
We can do better; a peaceful way must be sought
Politicians are no more than door to door salesmen
Fraudulent purveyors of the American dreamscape
But we, the silent underground, emerging each day
Fed up with their vision, proof that heroes don’t wear capes

 

Image by Grae Dickason from Pixabay

The World Is Full Of Villains & Misguided Souls

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The world is full of villains & misguided souls
Trying to drag us down to where they forever dwell
They take advantage & find ways to get elected on lies
Summoning their teams of bureaucrats to send us to hell
They have money, power & zero regard for the truth
You’d have to be deaf, dumb & blind to not know what’s amiss
But I don’t want to give them anymore of our time
I solely want to focus on our next kiss

The Clouds Descend Upon Us

The clouds descend upon us
Stress compounding at this time of year
Getting darker as the days build
Waxing upon the fruition of fear

This world is a bloody hell
A disaster proven before the ink dries
Scorn for a distant foundation
Futility in which all hope slowly dies

The darkness returns
Looking for a story to wryly begin
Miscommunications falter
& I wade through my vermouth & gin

Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay 

Choosing Certain Words

  

Choosing certain words
With connotations to stir
The hearts of the audience
Cocked crow with pubic fur
Sitting uncomfortably – like whaa?
Where the hell is he going with this
Delusional in this rehabilitating fatigue
Longing for the peace that I miss