Posts Tagged ‘terror’

What’s a year anyway?

December 31, 2015

What’s in a year anyway?

a revolution to some better day?

A year by any other name would smell as sweet

as any minute on this NewYear street.

Earth zips ’round the sun one more time;

every minute some fool commits a crime.

This planet never gets to the center of things;

it’s all bound up in orbital strings.

Mother earth spins, burning

as Father sky is yearning.

Buds come, flowers grow,

blooms die, seeds go

to the ground:                                          0

World goes round.

What else is new?

And what will we do

when east meets west

and worst trumps best?

So what’s in a year anyway?

A week, a month, a moment, a day?

A year by any other name would smell as sweet

as any minute on this NewYear street.

Alas! What light from yonder window breaks?

It is the east; the world awaits.

Another year, another fear!

An older man sheds a younger tear.

Cry, thou beloved world!

Fly, here’s another year unfurled;

mayhem runs rampant in the streets:

while terror o’ertakes,  reason retreats!

Is there any hope for all this mess?

Could be, would be my guess.

But we might as well,

you know–what the hell–

try and catch the wind,

lest the best gets crucified again.

Rise, rise above it all!

Glass half-Full

Advertisements

The Slithering Slitter

September 21, 2014

Fierce, I tell you, be the sacrilege of this evil,

and immense in its fear upheaval.

His murderous blade slits shock across our necked world,

under flitting black flag of blood unfurled,

on video violence broadcasting;

it proclaimeth fear everlasting.

Yea I say unto thee this be

raw sorcery if

ever there was one, you see.

So fair and foul a day we have not seen,

and it aint just no bad dream:

this hurly-burly that’s been done–

it slitteth slicker than a gun.

But as that masked weirdo he judgment proclaim

upon our foul and decadent game,

he discerneth not the stink of his own slit,

he smelleth not his own foul shit!

You know,

amongst the high, beneath the low,

we all be sinners on this bus,

while innocent children wail amidst the fuss;

This bus trundles along our streets of rage,

while he slithers through the terror of our age.

but Jesus savin’ Christ! stop the bus!

Is there no way out for us?

Glass half-Full