The Crisis, knows everything within the bounds of sanctified and/or nullified pleasantries.
This is personified, it hides in layers of guilt.
like a space age, indigo-saphire like, wheel of circumstance.
round and round, the wedge in between silence and everything.
escape plans for free,
they can be drawn on posters, made into posters,
kinkos for the new ages, staple centers, centers,
a masked community for organized duality -
money and mercy.
Minus last paragraph,
voided out in compensation, experience and action
are taking over the fight to stand up for your rights.
be gentle and kind,
it reads on a poster.
if there is one position to take, the infinite source
of destiny lies within everything the universe touches,
it will rage on,
soaked songs, symbol and context burn heavily,
smoke filled visions of a future melody
an apocalypse will dance to.
Fine and fresh, two headed demons,
eyes the color of wet leaves over a seasoned forest,
it looks beyond, it dangles on a chain-link of
steady, sturdy, ruptured memories.
the lowest voice you can ever imagine.
emotions are like a vagrant holy man,
the traverse, idea of an image, rally the warriors,
and then peacefully disperse into the grounds
and childish play,
of innocence and backyard parties made out of clay.
this is a work in progress.