Serenity, peace within.
Serenity, about to begin.

Rotting, peace falls to the ground.
Serenity, lost and found.

There sits the Tree, plucked apart.
The Tree, Tree of Peace no more but wanting to be.

The twisted figure towers amongst the rotten leaves for all to see,
Rot and rot in harmony.

Remembering the days of old, glitter of gold.
Now arises the scent of mold.

Nowhere near the season of decay,
The Tree uproots and falls on a summer day.

A tree of gray in a world of green,
Now an intruder to its surrounding scene.

In the dirt the Tree will stay,
So common its part in a Cosmic play.

All will look, and some will sneer,
But those with Wisdom are those who fear.

For this Tree is a forecast of what's to come,
Known by little, manifested to some.


the tree

Slivers of light, the sound of a horn,
Indications that a new day is born.

With water and soap I'll wash away,
All the evidence of yesterday.

The players change, the cycles repeat,
Just wake me up when it's time to eat.

Call me bored, tell me I'm jaded,
It's really not that complicated.

A tear, a frown, a laugh, a smile,
It all blends together after a while.

Dust can tell time without using gears,
Unless you care about counting years.

If we can predict the tides and stars,
Then why not, these little lives of ours.

I watch, again, as the slate is wiped clean,
But I no longer ask "what does it mean"?

When what happens next doesn't make sense,
When hope is mostly in the past-tense.

Cluster-fuck crisis' leave me unfazed,
Now that I'm grazing among the grazed.

Why keep climbing the same mountain range?
I know the view sucks, doubt that will change.

I hope you forgive my unpolished prose,
And lack of comparisons to a rose.

Writing on the wall is plain to see,
It's just "déjà vu" and "c'est la vie".

It seems my heart keeps writing fiction,
Using the same old bloody diction.

I keep asking "where is my savior",
While staring at a clock-shaped glacier.


recyclist

What to do when your guardian angel stabs your back?

After being resurrected to a heart attack?


Where is it that you will  hide when the clouds are burning?

Because fire will scorch without ever discerning.



And where do you plan to dwell when your rock turns to sand?

When your foundation crumbles and there's nowhere to stand.



How do you intend to ascend with wings made of lead?

Constantly dreaming of the stars but digging instead.



Who will be left to call when the gate locks behind you?

When mocked by the universe for what you believed true?


But perhaps the fault occurred during my translation?

Is that what caused the remainder in this equation?


Oh, or maybe it's this jagged splinter in my eye.

Strange, guess I didn't notice it, but I wonder why.


Some objects become blurry, while others become clear.

Amazing what we tolerate when driven by fear.



But why would my guardian angel bear a forked tongue?

With kisses of poison causing delusion when stung?



I will endure the fire, just not suffer its cause.

But the devices that caused it are what gives me pause.


Rocks will still crumble and the landscaping will alter.

Find better land so your foundation doesn't falter.


It bothers me most that I could confuse wings and weights.

Did I imagine heaven due to such dire straits?


Aware of just one locked gate on a long winding path,

Is like solving a problem but forgetting the math.



Surely my life would seem dull if not tested by crashes,

If paying attention you will see flame sparked by ashes.

New tracks tagged #Machine Glam