It’s pandaemonium, it’s chaos. It’s Poetry.

14 January 2010 § 3 Comments

It’s pandaemonium, it’s chaos, it’s poetry.
It’s madness in motion, blood flow in
gutters, wide open ocean.

It’s remembering the lines
when leaves are left behind,
cultural amenities traded in
for rhymes, and waking,

walking, kicking cans
over mountainous land –

he’ll be waiting there,
shotgun in hand. Hey,

what have we got for him,
here, offer some prayers,
for his girl, off in some war –
strong and passionate soul –

and offer some more
condolences for her beliefs,
like a subtle death by mortar blast,
blast, blast, and backlash a little
’til the murder rage has passed.

Reinvent the squire’s page, now
that the knight has fallen.
Night is falling still, but
when will it sky, and
what will it sea,
where will it land?

And the queen,
how is she feeling today?
Her city-states abandoned today,
and by a hand’s design are
consequently failing today…

it’s pandaemonium, it’s chaos,
it’s madness. it’s poetry. emotion.
a wide open ocean by which
we scale our protest.

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