Cure for our own Forgetting

Just because it's natural

doesn't mean it's right

we've been given thumbs

to make those clubs

to knock the same ones down

a thing hasn't changed

since we manifested some idea's prolonged isolation

into a destiny that we know too well

It's all a kaleidoscope drawing itself in

to its own optical illusion

brightly colored and full of awe,

a new path somewhere,

awakens.

where the ones who shun are the same

as those who control the selling of things shunned

brightly colored and full of awe,

wait.

Close your eyes,

Sleep tight and Dark,

Keep dreaming for the dreamers,

Get high,

and wait.

--

I'm past the point of having feelings for anyone

It's sad and blunt,

but true.

we're using allegories to make terrible things beautiful

so brightly colored and full of awe,

I can't do it anymore

and when I'm gone

away from this place

all of a sudden I miss everyone

yet the snare drums raps in the back of the mind

the distant humming of planes will stop one day

crossing the world

to cross it back

a streak of white

against pale-blue sky.

Ancient pottery thrown up to the planes

the cure for our own forgetting.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed