My pen reveals my heart and my soul. That has not changed since 1989.
“Ah, I’d love to wear a rainbow every day, And tell the world that everything’s OK, But I’ll try to carry off a little darkness on my back, ‘Till things are brighter, I’m the Man In Black.”--Johnny Cash
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Given An Inch
There’s a smile that makes me sick
a knowing grin worn on many faces I see
When does having money
make everything one does okay?
The filth, the acts, the things they do
I guess make them better than me
because there’s a bank account
that is bigger than mine today?
The Patience allotted
the sins forgotten
the gestures and looks left lying about
The acts forgiven
the lack of inhibition
is given inches of shadow of doubt
That’s taken for miles
and my head’s down
so far down my hair hangs at my side
and I don’t want to be along for this ride
Where entitlement and abuse is rewarded
and nightmares grown in the dark
Where gratification and intemperance
take priority over the just and the heart
because someone has a leg up
one way or another
I can’t look anymore, can’t breathe
I’m beginning to smother.
You can turn a key
pull an umbrella on the rain
touch glass with a hammer
it all turns out the same
dirty games with pain in mind
second guessing at the stains
don't have to look hard to find
nothing has capacity to change
you might lift some sunshine out
long enough to dull the pain
but please, withdraw all doubt
it will always come back to rain
it's that skip in the record
the fly in the vaseline
filthy anomaly in something beautiful
you always wake up from a dream
it will bend to remain
a system with a drain
same game, different name
not a fucking thing's changed
beautiful things turned into weapons without pity
by drooling, leering machines with one-track thinking
they are handed boarding passes and keys to the city
by wealth-impressed drones even as their ship is sinking
It's the same as it's ever been
advantage taken with entitlement's grin
smiling that filthy cheshire twisted beam
but death comes to every one
even slowly rusting machines
don't be surprise when violence comes
or retribution taps at your window and door
the price you pay when you walk without wisdom
making doormats of friends and acquaintances whores
even the slimiest practitioners
are given cart blanche
and I don't find anything funny
when a sentence is finished
with "Yeah, but they've got money"
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