Lights, camera, action

Take it away and let it live

Give it a name and watch it die

Until the lights go out on the st.

(Lites, camera, action. Fade into a st spotted by lights)

Flicker the match and burn the gasoline and leave the flesh melted and crude , raw and scarred

After this is created in prose

Hand it to the minds that can tear it apart with control and fresh eyes.

Words that tear and still feel because they care
Get these pictures, scenes and stories of old.

(lights, camera, film this st with speed and grace)

The pen is mightier then the sword

So st

art the ink to flow from the veins of the fingers attached to the minds guided by the soul that will create the words to cage the Gods

.
Stand in prose
Hold the candle
Guide the light past the gaze of night
Forward onto dawn
Stand in prose
(lights, camera, action)

New book of poetry

If you enjoy the prose of The lizard king and the odes of T.S Eliot. The outer perception of William Blake. Check out the new full length book of poetry.  Out now!!!
Titled “The beauty of mystery” by Dorian grey

Check it out at any online seller of books!! 

Painting in glass

Tears for the lost souls of many miss crimes

20/20

Sit on the crooked chair under the ladder stair and receive a standing overture of stares. Plain ppl stare into the night so a reflection wont be reflected back to the dead. Systems broken leadership on bend and knee. Why didn’t we see that hindsight in 20/20. Just like the honey bee before they emerge from their slumber. They know to think before acting. Stir the flower, waste the energy from the sun. And steal their nectar from the pedals and harvest the life blood to which we call existence.   Existence burns in the veins.  Sweet as honey to the taste. Fiery and alive till we stop existing and just start being. Not like the honey bee. But just like the plain ppl that stare into the night 

Industry

Pale faced with thoughts against nature

death to future                   of all music and art

we’re all buying into our coffins

unmarked and buried above ground

with no ceremony or prays to the lost prophets

and still we buy into the “INDUSTRY” we all want to call home

they’ll take skin from bone

they’ll cast the first stone

after one word spoken in derision or so called blasphemy

to the poison suits we put our hands in, to hold and to become home

empty suits

empty message

forgetting about the masses

remember you sold your soul for a dott’d line

now the razor cuts fine

for only a dime of your time and you will be owned

never to be of your true mind