Panic (all aboard)

roguish smile, mercenary employee on the take

of both sides, equally distrusting of dreams and

narrow escapes in alleyways and turncoats

prime reason why he turned round the bend

(at)least the explosion and the process took him first.

 

a bad omen sour milk, memories of pain and going too far

I once told my mother if the Moon was made of cheese I would surely take a bite

but give her an equal part and with the rest of my bounty replace

the poor hunger with renewed energy to try to discover splendor

the silliness and boldness of youth puts a smile on my face

taking me away from darker places,

in innocence and raw curiosity unsuppressed  we put the Lord good work

even those that come from nothing can pursue the finer lines

in the business of wealth controversy makes for a great alibi

the disguise balancing the books opens no room for concessions

if to hell I must go my eyelids I must burn so as to testify

in what I see, entirely, in absolute distain to the sensibilities that attempt to cut above

the rest as if the bottom line does not sustain the weight of the imperative rule

and that shit is just one step too far past the limit. 

they make friendship navigate the counted seas, aknowleging a shared ownership of what we barely understood 

can relay loneliness by means of struggle ("a shoulder is better than a knot")

whoever can relate? or not

in time of need a friend is precious indeed,

just as salt conserves the flesh and amplifies the pain in the wound

so do fleeting words escaping from the chasm of unfortunate unplanned events

such as words we put no weight upon nor give much thought

for truth be told it matters not what, who, why, whenever it may come to be

we do be wrestling with being misundersood at best of times

irregardless of creed, want or action

proactive or otherwise walled by choice.

spoiled by desire I suppose.

do all plans meow as feral as the neighborhood cats in season?

spring is the blossoming season and for need of change

we pit brother against mother and hope they both fall deeper than the point of salvation

for confronting the result dissolves both resolve and unsolved guilt trips hipnotized otherwise,

just as well the pitfalls are plenty and the wine has run dry after bitter and stale; That is not a metaphor.