The Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web

.flowing through madness and obscurity, your piety is somewhere

in between. I sing without voice...therefore i write poetry. I live in a

wilderness of substance and dense nothings...therefore i experience. But of

course the older you get...the more foolish and wise you get at the very

same time.

What i am saying is...you work for much more than you recieve...there

really is no progress in the world we think...

As those gymnasts peak in the realm of symbolic peace...we see the

shower of blood on our streets and the hypnotic drum of our sick

culture...make it all go away.

What else can i say when i do not know...the power and mystery

within...without. Out of bounds of our captive soul is something

unanswerable in a questionable world.

To many lost souls...lost philosophers...lost musicians...lost love.

I admit i am among those lost souls...but i recognise something's

missing...like the sunless daylight sky.

A fathom of ungodly mystery...trivial to the simple minds,

ignored by those more prominent...the protrusion of wealth and filth.

Do not deny that we are all wrong in some extendable way...

relatively we are all right, but in the bold direction of guilt we

continue to drove on like mad creatures from our worst history.

What else can we do but watch the end on television...watch the selling

of our eyes...what we see is truth...what we see is a winning game.

Work our lives for fame...money...the material goods of progress.

I cannot say that I am free...cannot say I am feeling..

It's all a jingle and a contest and all is well again.

Fall down upon the eyes you see in memory...its the seething snake

you see... the romance with the past...never the same...never now again.

Place your hands in the hot coals..

dance all around the red cinders.

Feel-feel-feel...

put deep thoughts to rest...

feel the pain.

It's the way to the voice i cannot explain...

Inner sanctity.

Hold on to the sorrow of yesterday

and reassess your pain.

The thoughts fade away as the old dust-covered

notebook burns away...

the soul slips away to silence.

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