Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Picture Show

Photo via : Chromasia.com

The night canvas alight o’er ones in the dark
Each of their hues tightly together, some touch, and mix
Others alone, too opaque to be construed
Their reciprocal in the sky, a splattered Pollock:
Confused, lonely, ill, famished
Those with a voice and without an audience, the brush won’t touch

Family nests, nestled so tightly, far apart
Lies that lie between them, lingering stench in the hot June air
Infidelities and transgressions of a resistant society to progression
Counted sheep medicated and love drunk by a Disney theme park ride
Never seems to halt, or never began from vertices restricted

The mowed lawns of repetitiveness, their stoic patterns a staunch reminder
While bonfires incinerate any free thought in relative vicinity
Pets chained to makeshift jails, just as their masters to themselves
Diamond rings and brick walls, heavy concrete rocks carried to symbolize
Making a greater existence for a poorer one
Chastise the pulpit politician as the convenient store for collective problem

New World Order
Check, please

Please check the cerebral cortex of these
Animals who lost their heart, their minds and their purpose of focus
At the drop of a hat, or a glimmer in the room, the span of attention gone awry
For a quick shag, an easy out, a rain delay, shock and awe

As the astro-anomalies of good fortune traverse the universe with their mind
Their pen, their swords, their identity for meaning
The willows weep for themselves,
Fermenting into the Earthly seat they’ve planted

No remorse
No regret, none for the simple invasive species
The garden hose run dry, the well depleted of resourcefulness
Replaced and flooded with the substance of lacking substance
Recreation and burning, cloned spores

Yet there’s illumination amongst them in the corner
Those not sitting quietly in the crowded theatre
At a show they weren’t in line for, a silent film that screams
What we should do, how we should be, where we should go

The Originals, the colorblind
The black and white that live in the grey
They watch the violets and the greens, those familiar  
Products of primary colors, the secondary and tertiary offspring
And view the curtain call finale’
A final brush stroke, the sky dance ceases
Leaving exhales and smoke plumes