Ours is just
such
the
filthy culture, we the peoples are forever most critical of others but at dawn’s first see-through slip of bluest light none fare dirtier, internet as the glass house and users locked themselves inside with none remaining to hang warnings to visitors of disturbing the beasts, Mayday, Corfield this snake-eye in your triangle ABRAXAS, NON-SERVIAM NIL-SKIDOO and the zillion degradations in the eye of the beholder only
when eyes are windows to the souls
Gluttons for instability, it’s everyone’s responsibility to feed everybody that’s hungry, for then you’re never starving but with furthered options to both ease and grow the grey mind; a childish precept until considered how pedestrian it would be to resolve such issue but for every argument to infer pain, humiliation and despair be shared in lieu; lifestyle excuses to forego the smallest thing, cacophony of lies to welcome the gravest like hearts all aflutter to be devoured as singular instances of gilded Lady Liberty in Baroness cosplay whose torch is not for lighting moods within mirrors but lighting fires
o’er good creation’s all-encompassing darkness from predestined to prior
the
fall
and
such vistas to view from inside funereal pyres of what’s mine and what’s yours,
all there ever was, all there shall ever be,
mere ash for the tilling of gardens
where insects proliferate
and dream
of becoming men