Stymied growth holds us locked
In a parody of truth,
Confined, this growth,
Gets larger and larger,
Eating itself from within...
At least until implosion day.
Without the work of fattened hornets,
What would we be?
If not for technology,
And money and greed
What would we be?
Proud?
They have more pride than ever before,
and for it,
We fall,
Oh we fall.
And in this day,
Fairy tails sting,
And our poppet wings are clipped.
Found under thumb,
Wrung of life,
Dreams,
Wight,
And our old ken,
Our own ken,
Is removed from our kin,
And in place is memorization.
Without that order,
Without the lines,
Designs,
And rinds of fat,
What would we be...
Except for free?
***
Cars travel in forgotten rows,
Without the driver,
Without a soul,
On to work,
And back to home,
No freedom left to know.
When all are dead,
When all are gone,
And all the books are ash and dust,
What are things meant to be?
The rules are there,
They're meant to protect.
They're meant to provide,
To keep the rest,
But when life falls,
And souls don't keep,
Except the rage;
Accept the peace,
Of structured lines
Paralyzed in routine.
For the lanes are recommended,
For the control it gives,
(And takes away),
Give not to life,
Give not to live,
Take peace in routine,
And if there is none left...
Take it all,
And rend.
For while they are stuck in recommended lanes,
You are free to live.
In the end,
You are free to live.
***
Sleeping throughout ages,
Without a dollar,
Denari,
Or dime,
Eons and eternity,
Go by.
Sleep is wonderful.
Sheep sleep,
Wolves sleep,
Even greedy foxes sleep.
Treacherous snakes sleep,
And Sharks sleep,
Though they constantly move.
Everything Sleeps.
And so everything dies.
Games carry on for the longest time,
Books have epilogues.
Even movies,
Though the caricatures may not rest,
It ends.
It is the saddest thing to be without,
To be lying in a gutter waiting.
And it is with all,
Even life,
Does not continue.
An ending is brief,
Bittersweet,
And mostly painful,
But beautiful.
To be without an ending is a cruel thing.
It is harsh,
Hateful.
And full of spite.
To be ageless is the paramount of ugliness,
Even beyond a character without that age.
An ending,
That we grow closer to,
Makes us beautiful.
To be beautiful in age,
Even not if in youth,
Is a gift.
As is that ending.
But unlike a gift,
It can never be taken away.
***
The young man walks upon a crowded road.
Coming upon a building,
He whisks away from stress,
Breaking out the bottle,
Breaking out of pain.
He sits upon a couch,
Or a chair,
Or a seat,
Remember old days,
Remember old things.
Eventually he's a caterpillar,
From the hummingbird that played,
And the curious cat,
He lay upon the bed,
Smiled,
And sang.
"Without Sleep,
Lines would stray.
Without time,
How long would be the day?
In a line,
As long as night is gay,
Even I at my weakest,
Can be happy and play."
ISA
In a parody of truth,
Confined, this growth,
Gets larger and larger,
Eating itself from within...
At least until implosion day.
Without the work of fattened hornets,
What would we be?
If not for technology,
And money and greed
What would we be?
Proud?
They have more pride than ever before,
and for it,
We fall,
Oh we fall.
And in this day,
Fairy tails sting,
And our poppet wings are clipped.
Found under thumb,
Wrung of life,
Dreams,
Wight,
And our old ken,
Our own ken,
Is removed from our kin,
And in place is memorization.
Without that order,
Without the lines,
Designs,
And rinds of fat,
What would we be...
Except for free?
***
Cars travel in forgotten rows,
Without the driver,
Without a soul,
On to work,
And back to home,
No freedom left to know.
When all are dead,
When all are gone,
And all the books are ash and dust,
What are things meant to be?
The rules are there,
They're meant to protect.
They're meant to provide,
To keep the rest,
But when life falls,
And souls don't keep,
Except the rage;
Accept the peace,
Of structured lines
Paralyzed in routine.
For the lanes are recommended,
For the control it gives,
(And takes away),
Give not to life,
Give not to live,
Take peace in routine,
And if there is none left...
Take it all,
And rend.
For while they are stuck in recommended lanes,
You are free to live.
In the end,
You are free to live.
***
Sleeping throughout ages,
Without a dollar,
Denari,
Or dime,
Eons and eternity,
Go by.
Sleep is wonderful.
Sheep sleep,
Wolves sleep,
Even greedy foxes sleep.
Treacherous snakes sleep,
And Sharks sleep,
Though they constantly move.
Everything Sleeps.
And so everything dies.
Games carry on for the longest time,
Books have epilogues.
Even movies,
Though the caricatures may not rest,
It ends.
It is the saddest thing to be without,
To be lying in a gutter waiting.
And it is with all,
Even life,
Does not continue.
An ending is brief,
Bittersweet,
And mostly painful,
But beautiful.
To be without an ending is a cruel thing.
It is harsh,
Hateful.
And full of spite.
To be ageless is the paramount of ugliness,
Even beyond a character without that age.
An ending,
That we grow closer to,
Makes us beautiful.
To be beautiful in age,
Even not if in youth,
Is a gift.
As is that ending.
But unlike a gift,
It can never be taken away.
***
The young man walks upon a crowded road.
Coming upon a building,
He whisks away from stress,
Breaking out the bottle,
Breaking out of pain.
He sits upon a couch,
Or a chair,
Or a seat,
Remember old days,
Remember old things.
Eventually he's a caterpillar,
From the hummingbird that played,
And the curious cat,
He lay upon the bed,
Smiled,
And sang.
"Without Sleep,
Lines would stray.
Without time,
How long would be the day?
In a line,
As long as night is gay,
Even I at my weakest,
Can be happy and play."
ISA
You are making real progress. Keep it up. The thoughts are more cohesive. I especially liked, "Without Sleep, Lines would stray. Without time, How long would be the day?"
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