3rd Hour

Cold and wet  in the mourning rain
Desiring freedom though restricted;
Old sailors that used to be,
Long since have died.
Work, work,
Break the stones of
Monotony of building a new world.
 
Crack the gravel,
Shift the dirt,
Cart the steel,
Place the bricks.
There's nothing more,
Just endlessly pacing, bodily placing,
Adding to a changing world.
 
New forms for old delivers.
A man and a woman
Old and with children
Add to the oak from the gran-fathers' day.
Sitting, waiting,
Drinking old wine and watching the clouds
Whilst waiting for a greater world.
 
Freedom is here yet not what they want;
Everybody wants more.
Committed to the old,
None can reach out and sacrifice,
Embittered, enchained by the group,
Cynics and fighters are grounded
By vain society's world.
 
Going home at the end of the day,
Still raining, still in pain,
Head to the barn
Where home is born.
There's naught like a cold drink
In an old room
To feel the breaking of the world.
 
Do  you need a distraction from the emptiness within?
Emptiness waking on a fruitful morning repeating dreary rain…
It's not as if a comfortable bed
Exists to take the work away
In the warm company of memory
On a bench in a park
In the world of what hasn't been.
 
Repetition of labor
Sinking stones in a mountain of gravel.
Glassy beach of steel memory
Recalling
Red lines.
Should have worn a hard hat today
In light of the world that is.
 
Dreary. Closer.
Stormy. Closer.
Boring. Closer.
Old. Closer.
Changing. Closer.
Light. Closer.
Pain. CLOSER.
OH GOD, I DON'T WANT TO DIE.
Dark.
Still alive?
Opening eyes to a sparkling new world…


ISA

2nd Hour

Tomorrow brings
A Dried up,
washed up
Has-been
Of dreams unseen.

The old fool under the tree
Lazily drinking his whisky -rum -wine -drink
Could not recover from the brink
That life sent him.
He goes there the second the first light rises with memories of yesterday.

Today is grey.
It's not odd: the existence
Of gray stormy Saturdays.
Though the dawn rises
Still comes the rain.

Stone is eventually received from meager earnings
It's shaped,
It breaks,
It falls apart.
And the young boy sent off, goes out to seek more.

It's a long journey.
Through slums,
Through sewers,
Through wide streets paved with gold.
It's a long journey for boys with less than more.

Dangerous rocks fall from high above,
Steep cliffs with hidden dangers,
Paths not fit for those of
naive dispositions
Litter steely landscapes.

Words have little meaning for a third of the journey.
Actions mean less.
It's not what can give,
But what can be taken
That brings the boy falling down the Cliffside.

Found by a lady
In yellow stripes
Light as a dove,
And just as nice,
A boy awakens.

The boy has forgotten. What did he seek?
Distracted, he loves…What made him so meek?
A transformation. Wild forgotten; changes.
Grassy forests of steel and glass…
In schools learning, teaching class.

Freedom chooses from a land of men,
What can be lost, what can be binned.
Rule is filtered through piles of trash,
And young ones are gelded into a
Womanly mash.

They dance and create.
Crude gravel becomes stone.
The world becomes paint;
Fragile and broken.
Real and False.

Soon stone becomes marble,
And beads become diamonds.
Freedom shatters,
Bound in chains for paltry satisfaction
In a designed distractions.


ISA

1st Hour

Went out to sea one winter eve
To fish for stone,
 to replace a wall,
Of bitter feelings
for those left and lost.
Met a pool of poisoned birds,
Shrieking to not hit the curbs
Though there was
Nothing left of the well within,
They scream for help
And did nothing but sink.
And though dawn is on the sail
Rotting logs bare yellow stains
And the stones we passed yell "Nothing to gain".
Questions sank and the boat goes under.
 
Next we saw some friendly sharks,
Asking for help to turn curiosity's spark
And to help them lead their babies away
From a terrible man with a terrible plan.
We passed them by and asked them questions but the man said:
"The newborn sharks need not pass the time
Looking in books for forgotten rhymes.
Reason's great big ugly head
Killed off dreams before they were dead."
He spat and hissed from within the ball
Cut off his arm just to see them fall.
And though there is hope in all life
They can't seek what's left of him
If they've no hope at all. And they go on, die out
Starve…and disappear, ruled by hands that chained them.
 
Jet black patches rolled on the waves
Kept safe and sound by lords of sin
Who want nothing more to kill again.
Left dry and wanting under the earth,
There isn't anything that won't bring their mirth.
Those disgusting blackguards wet their throat
And with cruelty bloat.
They moisten their loins on creatures' remains
Seeking endless thrills and gains.
They deprive deprave and with nothing to lose
Spend not but a penny, take away your gain, and supplement it with the cheapest of booze.
If no one's left to make sure they croak
The amphibians poison
will make sure the lever's broke
And we'll continue on the waves.
 
The man of the sea turned the boat around.
Head for port and harbor we found.
Not an hour away the nightmares left
To seek out younger, fresher flesh.
The memories of our day at sea,
With sailors, sharks, and dark daydreams
Quit our heads to head for some drink
To bring ourselves back from the brink.
Who knew when we left for cobblestone,
We’d find trouble before trouble'd gone home?
Not that captain, not the leader before the fray
Who sits in the corner drinking away his day.
With the bartender's money and his cups in his hand
The drunken sailor headed out for dry land,
And sat beneath the tree with a thousand bands.

 

ISA