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VISIONS OF TOMORROW
When death emits light,
And the poets sing delight,
Another piece of the puzzle is revealed,
Fostering joy which was once concealed.
Dreams are shallow and decay,
Never let them take you away;
Now his face draws near,
Madam Destiny comes to shed our tears.
Questions that linger through our minds,
Draws us near, molds and binds.
Sweet remedies may sooth thee,
Yet they carry the body from thee.
The fate of us and our eternity,
Shall always be hid within our destiny.
O poets, if your minds do falter,
Refrain, and let your words alter.
It is the artist’s pride to harvest perception,
But let it not lead you into deception.
When we write to death about our philosophies,
We intend to satisfy our morbid curiosities.
If space is mankind’s final destination,
The Whore of Babylon will prosper her fornication.
And if he shalt repent his doubts,
Chaos will stand stiff and stout.
If the butterfly shall ever mate
With the devious serpent filled with hate,
No doubt Man would be born,
Who’s presence we’ve been forewarned.
The Flower Child who runs on by
On ecstasy’s ultimate high,
Will presume her fancies nigh,
Oblivious to her minds weeps and cries.
The dead kings all sing their elegy
Wondering what tomorrow might be.
The kingdoms that spread through out the east
Sing melodies to the wild beasts,
Sacrificing flesh for the feast,
Barbaric’s that we like the least.
The Devils are various concepts
On the Artist’s tortured mind,
Which the muse has learned to accept,
Though more and more she finds.
The Artists shall acquire the earth,
If their dharma measures a wide girth.
Seven little men wander around,
And more and more weak minds they’ve found.
Temptation should be sung tongue-in-check,
Then hope grows more and more bleak.
Buddha quietly obtains his state of zen,
While Satan is let loose from his pen.
Acquire human nature in your mind,
And all else, grotesque, you will find.
There are many questions which are fraud,
Like questioning the life of dear Rimbaud.
Love is a word we needn’t alter,
Though time and time again it falters.
The serpent coils in eternal sorrow,
As do all those souls who blindly follow.
Despite our joys for drawing smiles,
Most of us prefer spreading vials.
I’ve seen my share of shrewd, jealous eyes
Staring straight through their lover’s lies.
Caught within the whirlwind of surprise,
Knowing that our misdeeds were unwise.
The dart of evil can be injected,
Into the veins of any person,
Spreading rapidly, becoming infected,
The father’s death at the hands of the son.
Extend your hands for one another,
So the world may band together as brothers.
We are blind nomads, wandering
Like the male’s amateurish fingering.
We see in detail, in full scale picture,
Yet lack a single common fixture.
Visions, I foresee within the heart
Of every single assassins dart:
Hell may not lie awaiting for thee,
But pain and suffering shall be.
The poet’s life is filled with excess,
But rarely in life does he find success.
When man finds time to reexamine his life,
The fear of finding out his life’s a lie,
Might cause him to go off on a strife,
And subsequently lead him to tragically die.
Knowledge is the key to our creation,
Yet mustn’t substitute imagination.
Throughout the course of time, the serpent’s eye
Has peeked inside our hearts just as a spy.
While amidst a visionary dream,
I bore upon the sight of what seemed
To be Aphrodite seducing me,
And found myself, but leaning off reality.
What dreams we dream, that inspire
Us to grasp the world and satisfy our desires.
Visions are the muse’s teachings of inspiration,
Which lead us to our final confrontation.
The innocent child slowly falls
From his happy state atop the wall,
Into a pit of eternal sorrow,
With these cruel visions of tomorrow.
--- March, 2009
When death emits light,
And the poets sing delight,
Another piece of the puzzle is revealed,
Fostering joy which was once concealed.
Dreams are shallow and decay,
Never let them take you away;
Now his face draws near,
Madam Destiny comes to shed our tears.
Questions that linger through our minds,
Draws us near, molds and binds.
Sweet remedies may sooth thee,
Yet they carry the body from thee.
The fate of us and our eternity,
Shall always be hid within our destiny.
O poets, if your minds do falter,
Refrain, and let your words alter.
It is the artist’s pride to harvest perception,
But let it not lead you into deception.
When we write to death about our philosophies,
We intend to satisfy our morbid curiosities.
If space is mankind’s final destination,
The Whore of Babylon will prosper her fornication.
And if he shalt repent his doubts,
Chaos will stand stiff and stout.
If the butterfly shall ever mate
With the devious serpent filled with hate,
No doubt Man would be born,
Who’s presence we’ve been forewarned.
The Flower Child who runs on by
On ecstasy’s ultimate high,
Will presume her fancies nigh,
Oblivious to her minds weeps and cries.
The dead kings all sing their elegy
Wondering what tomorrow might be.
The kingdoms that spread through out the east
Sing melodies to the wild beasts,
Sacrificing flesh for the feast,
Barbaric’s that we like the least.
The Devils are various concepts
On the Artist’s tortured mind,
Which the muse has learned to accept,
Though more and more she finds.
The Artists shall acquire the earth,
If their dharma measures a wide girth.
Seven little men wander around,
And more and more weak minds they’ve found.
Temptation should be sung tongue-in-check,
Then hope grows more and more bleak.
Buddha quietly obtains his state of zen,
While Satan is let loose from his pen.
Acquire human nature in your mind,
And all else, grotesque, you will find.
There are many questions which are fraud,
Like questioning the life of dear Rimbaud.
Love is a word we needn’t alter,
Though time and time again it falters.
The serpent coils in eternal sorrow,
As do all those souls who blindly follow.
Despite our joys for drawing smiles,
Most of us prefer spreading vials.
I’ve seen my share of shrewd, jealous eyes
Staring straight through their lover’s lies.
Caught within the whirlwind of surprise,
Knowing that our misdeeds were unwise.
The dart of evil can be injected,
Into the veins of any person,
Spreading rapidly, becoming infected,
The father’s death at the hands of the son.
Extend your hands for one another,
So the world may band together as brothers.
We are blind nomads, wandering
Like the male’s amateurish fingering.
We see in detail, in full scale picture,
Yet lack a single common fixture.
Visions, I foresee within the heart
Of every single assassins dart:
Hell may not lie awaiting for thee,
But pain and suffering shall be.
The poet’s life is filled with excess,
But rarely in life does he find success.
When man finds time to reexamine his life,
The fear of finding out his life’s a lie,
Might cause him to go off on a strife,
And subsequently lead him to tragically die.
Knowledge is the key to our creation,
Yet mustn’t substitute imagination.
Throughout the course of time, the serpent’s eye
Has peeked inside our hearts just as a spy.
While amidst a visionary dream,
I bore upon the sight of what seemed
To be Aphrodite seducing me,
And found myself, but leaning off reality.
What dreams we dream, that inspire
Us to grasp the world and satisfy our desires.
Visions are the muse’s teachings of inspiration,
Which lead us to our final confrontation.
The innocent child slowly falls
From his happy state atop the wall,
Into a pit of eternal sorrow,
With these cruel visions of tomorrow.
--- March, 2009