Silence filled every crater,

as you crept over Sarajevo Roses.

In the comfort of the night,

you left for life.

All covered in tatters

your soul flew for freedom.

All shrouded in swaddling clothes

you fled with your life.

Bullet casings and thousands of miles,

stood before you and safety.

A journey Mother Mary knew

and now you make your pilgrimage.

No star to give you guiding light,

a road into nothing,

a road into the unknown.

A leap of faith, made in faith.

Only God knew,

what pain you suffered.

Only gods knows,

though omniscience is failing.

A journey of tears,

left a trail in your wake,

but safety crept in,

with the morning fog.

And in the holy morning,

you arrived.

With mountains behind you

and infinity before you.

You brought your gifts,

with your holy child.

And in a bank line,

clouded in smoke.

You were murdered,

told your lives were worth nothing.

And as you trembled,

so did heaven.

And as you wept,

so did the holy city.

But as you died,

those gates did open.

 

One by one the ants go marching on,

do they remember why they run?

 

Poor little buggers,

Dont have a soul

the lost boys danced,
danced with their feet.
beat a path in the dirt
they needed no music
only the dull thud
of naked feet on bare soil.
their pitter patter
became thunder
as boys turned to men
round and round
they spun in wide circles
dancing for the harvest
for the gods
their thunder
became a pitter patter
as men grow old
and soon silence followed.

I have too much love,

It’s time for some hate.

Hate for others and myelf,

hate for the lovers who walk

down main streets blanketed in alcoholic frenzies,

walking down main streets oblivious to us lost souls.

Walking, walking, forever walking,

while loveless bums scrabble for cigarettes,

for booze, for freedom, for the lives they’ve left.

I envy the homeless, the vagabonds on skid row.

They have nothing and are free.

Free from the capitalistic dreams forced on the masses.

Their minds may be riddled with escapisms,

but they made it,

jumped the iron bars of society,

leapt from the shackles that hold us all down.

Who but the mindless masses hold us back,

from what we as humans can achieve,

Who but the mindless masses are high,

on the fumes of progress.

Drunk on propaganda, opium, and poppy seed bagels.

Hallucinating on black gold dreams.

Eating mushrooms to find their God or Gods,

that answer no prayers, indian givers.

This is for the lost,

who hold my envy, at least they have set out

on the trail of life with nothing but their souls.

The feathers on their wings may be sparse,

but at least their wings are spread.

A butterfly is reborn,

woken from the cocoon,

risen from the ashes,

like the phoenix of New Orleans.

Drunken dreams, inebriated souls.

Kiss me on the mouth,

kiss my eyes, and inhale my soul.

I sold it to Satan, 30% off.

But I don’t need it.

I have no need for useless things.

I have no need for useless things,

I have no need for things.

I am casting of my worldly possesions.

My Sermon on the Mount.

This is for the lost,

who hold my envy,

who I will join soon, in my dreams,

in my waking.