The Victor

Not alone do we rise
By ourselves we smother in a repetitious demise

The small sacrifice that must be made
is indeterminably large.
Yet so great is the aid
Compelled to accept, no matter what the charge

As the stream takes its winding course,
Flowing over stones and barriers
Swirling and rising without remorse
Life continues naught without its carriers

Streaming into the horizons of designs
Distant future
On the hilltop in endless lines
The enemy menaces as a sibilant viper

Caught in the center
A cry from the most desperate need
Vile creatures clawing at the shreds of armor
The Flames of purest fire come with all speed

For when all hope is lost,
All will be conquered in a name.

Answers

The time is spent, wasting away on a darkened plain of thought, dismissing reality at a glance. Trying to change the self without a hope, a flower waiting to bloom, that expires without living water. In the end, all will be burned away. Only the metal, refined through many fires, will remain. The one answer, that no one seems to find. Searching, but never finding, although the answer rears high above all else. So intent on the ground before, failing to recognize the truth. There are those that believe to have found the truth, but in reality, they are but empty words, blatant lies. The hollowness that brings forth its forbidden fruit, pleasing to the eye and to the taste, but leading to only to mystifying knowledge, that deafens the ear beyond comprehension. Blinded eyes open that will never see, until that day. Refusing the aid that is so desperately needed, crawling onward in the path that leads nowhere. There is only one answer.

Seeking

Seeking to find,
something to replace
that gaping hole of loss
Waiting for the sky to appear
Screeching down a coaster,
Downwards,
The sky, once so clear, has disappeared
The self pushed itself over the edge
into the void
Hanging on for dear life
that is not so dear anymore
Loosing sight again
of the path ahead
reeling into darkness of chaos
Waiting to break.

Hope

There is still hope
in this world
There is the wonder
of change.
The light in the midst
of a sea of conformity.
Time is short,
the light must grow.

Preaching to the Dead.

Come forth from that barren and wasted land,
With its cloaked veil of thoughts.
Feigned happiness, blissful innocence,
Until that day
When routine takes its course
For the thousandth time,
When eyes are opened,
To the wasteland.
Time slips by, unnoticed, until it suddenly is found,
Wrapped around the limbs,
Crushing the life,
The disposable life.
That so valiantly served society,
Submitting to its cracking hardships,
Its harshness and cruelty.
Endured only with the hypnotic vision,
That something will be accomplished,
Through the suffering,
And that the prescribed good,
Will benefit all.
And yet, only those who have
The consciousness have a chance.
The ones who see through all the hypocrisy, the lies,
The propaganda.
To do now what they want, to follow dreams,
Awareness of the limited time.
To cut through the fog,
And see reality.
Yet they prefer to remain dead, oblivious to what they see.
None dare take action, lest they suffer loss,
yet in reality, they only prolong their suffering.
Do not let the last golden hope be crushed
Into submission
By the monstrosity.
To find oneself is to find the meaning of life.
Then there only remains to find One more.
The Life