Amassing regret, for the instances
I’m living for the future integrity,
that the next generation will barely
be able to recognize, or anticipate,
as the savior of personal ambition.

Falling faster, and faster, the wind
plasters my hair against my
sweaty crinkled brow.
I’m scowling at the ground,
growling it further from impact.
The point of memory begins the day
life became a fruitless game, not
worth playing out.

Signatures of the once elite,
adorn the tombstones of millions.
Money cushions the fall of self-
proclaimed “conscientious” leaders,
their reactions to kill before
exploring patience, and each
immolation adds another flake to
the onrushing avalanche of fate.

The creative retreat I seek
is littered with the speaking souls
of history. Impaled, and sealed within
the tiled floor of memory.
Faces contorted, captured in the
act of screaming, while the cold
floor rushes up to catch the falling
foot of humanity’s destiny.

I am continually caught between
two realities: divinity and atrocity.
Sensing the infuriated disease of
misunderstanding, as it pulls me closer
to internal combustion.

The calamity is quickly silenced
when I close my eyes, allowing chance
to grasp my hands, to calm me, to
soothe me, to reassure me with
visions of things to come, yet I
want to save the souls living in
the slums constructed by the policies
of political scum.

Each sum is a statistical testimony,
spoken esoterically through omni-
colored filtration devices.
Funneling proper democratic conduct
for sedated reports controlled,
and corrupted. The dark subconscious
of dreams proves that insanity is what you
make of it. Every hand reaching for
recognition is armed with vice like
fingers of determination.
Signaling our lack in concentration,
while I eye my interpretation of
Christ’s crucifixion.

Symbolically I try and perform
miracles, by stirring a subordinates
psyche into a swirling vortex of
contextual facts.
Mixing the riddles of ancient lore
with the redefined principles of
our fore fathers truths, now becoming
lies, and conspiracy consumes me
quickly.

I close my material eyes to
the atomic plume of death, appearing
violently upon the not so distant
horizon of choice, yet our
actions embody our voice, and I hold
the dice, praying, “God reaffirm my life!”