Trampled Brethren

With uncertainty i ink my final thoughts on unlit blocks

Niggas caught on heron nods

Stil at odds with false gods of archaic age.

Angelic face wretched with pain ignites my flame.

Your mundane daily life amazes me

Such complacency.

Tattered city once brimming with life now sits abandoned

Some feel these thoughts to random

I hand them their empty heads as main coarse to davinci's last supper

As they sit in wonder.

Abundant sun pours over ald steel and bricks

Filling my aching eyes till they split.

I felt my earth shift, contort, and twist.

Lift heavy brow to view what happened to my tiny corner of dirt.

Worthless soul too old to care

As despair builds thick amongst my people.

From burnt steeples hear distant toll of bells

Ancient tongue swells as one lumbers with prenatal language.

Manage a coarse throaty mumble to convey how this earth crumbles.

I tumble, close to where i've been a million times before

Free to ignore pain which pounds at human temples.

I resemble less of a man and more the dirt i tread on.

To my trampled brethren,

Heaven won't accept you!

Either you or it don't exist.

Consider that a gift

As we walk through that mist filled vally

Vulnerable souls tell tales of ill proportions

Scorching ra soothing moon, soon to dim

My travels at an end, light bends to dark

Jagged crossed sticks manhandled as scripture and art

Picture your christ as blond and blue eyed,

As mine resides within confines of empty glass bottle.

Robbed of youth i wobble past society and rest my head on curb of reality,

If only for a nap,

To grasp for that which we lack.

Remain trapped in these three dimensions

Mention i once stepped past, now viewed as insane.

Trained human pets scurry to cubical for food pellets.

Next funeral for those who think, cause thoughts are relics.

I smell this viscous odor on each face i meet,

Seems humanity reached peak in 20th century.

My jaded eye strains to see through a smoke-filled room.

Consumed by books which speak of our past

At last begin to piece together our beginnings

With few fleeting seconds till our end,

Quickly cross that bridge you bum,

See what's on the other shore.

It's lure magnetic

In our drunken minds

Poor feeble shell hoping for so much more

Left entranced by ancient dance of emptiness.

Few are the blessed who feed on truth's breast.