On a warm, dew-weakened day,
Watching the grey void of a lost
Sense, anxious moments recline
On whiffs of ancestral propitiations
When rafters regain possession of
Filched roast fish, balanced with
The fumes of a wild dance heckled
By chokes of a chagrined weekend.
Who rises faster than smokes of a
Low tar, ascending
......
What in the world are we doing?
Who are we trying to beat?
It seems like we live our lives running,
as if we are losing our seats.
We never stop building up towers.
We never stop spinning around.
We never stop piling up into piles
everything that we’ve torn down.
......
They say that the truth is a hard thing to take,
but maybe it’s time that we see
that we as a people are nothing but fake,
ensuring that’s how it will be.
We stand up demanding there’s tolerance,
doing so with our fists in the air.
It’s truly the oddest dance ever been danced,
hypocrisy beyond compare.
......
I see it time and time again
that beauty’s made by what is spent.
A beauty that demands a price
with outer glow and inner ice.
And observation seems to tell
it’s only as deep as the well,
for come the day the well runs dry…
......
Though I style my curly braids with ribbons bright,
and colour my sweet moist lips with royal red
to look as bright and fair as a newly wed.
Though I stand on two towers to get a better height,
with eyelashes that beckon at each gazer.
Though my trendy gowns make me a trailblazer
with great designer labels that distinguish.
Though I have curves which men wished they could relish,
revealed slightly through my scantily clad frame.
Though I have this charm which could hardened hearts tame,
......
It begins wit a glance-
not inward,
but toward the mirror,
the screen,
the eyes of strangers
who never really look.
You trace the outline of yourself
as if perfection is a border
you keep trying to cross.
......
Time marches on, through dusk and dawn.
Time marches on, through silence and song.
Time marches on, unmoved by pleasure and pain.
Time marches on, unmoved by grief and glory.
Time marches on, past valor and vanity.
Time marches on, past fame and fall.
Time marches on, beyond triumph and tragedy.
......
On a warm, dew-weakened day,
Watching the grey void of a lost
Sense, anxious moments recline
On whiffs of ancestral propitiations
When rafters regain possession of
Filched roast fish, balanced with
The fumes of a wild dance heckled
By chokes of a chagrined weekend.
Who rises faster than smokes of a
Low tar, ascending
......
I see it time and time again
that beauty’s made by what is spent.
A beauty that demands a price
with outer glow and inner ice.
And observation seems to tell
it’s only as deep as the well,
for come the day the well runs dry…
......
They say that the truth is a hard thing to take,
but maybe it’s time that we see
that we as a people are nothing but fake,
ensuring that’s how it will be.
We stand up demanding there’s tolerance,
doing so with our fists in the air.
It’s truly the oddest dance ever been danced,
hypocrisy beyond compare.
......