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