Open doors are slamming shut
The storm has crippled the home
Tear drop rain leaks from the ceiling
The wind does no more than moan
The light is hidden in deceit
A limb finds its way through the wall
Shards of glass yet to be cleaned
As water creeps through the hall
Bodies sway back and forth
Footprints patter on water’s top
The drowning wood creeks to resist
A prayer is heard to make it stop
The thunder is bellowing from somewhere else
The water floods the room
Empty silence fills the air
This home is now a tomb.
Welcome to the generation of lost souls and lost prophets.
We are the sidewalk geniuses and social fallouts.
We are the underground spoken word, misconstrued.
We are the conscious revolution against idealistic pollution.
Dedicated to a hope this supposed society denied.
With their programmed minds and their quelled controlled lives.
So, to the zeitgeist mankind and the sanity you spit, welcome chaos, welcome beat.
Welcome to the message of a generation that won’t sit quietly amongst this feast.
Listen to the gospel inflicted from within.
O! Brave new voices plague oppression.
Oppression of the weak and dreary, amongst the mice of men.
So as they sit, as they sit upon that tall chair of forced mediocrity and genocidal lust.
Such procreation need not be missed.
But miss the conquest of overzealous populations from a rock.
Miss the destruction of morals seemingly forgot.
Miss the prolonged extinction of our specific degradation,
of natural sloppy failure to comply with angry time.
Hot tempered tantrum seekers deconstructing the body of Christ.
And call out! This media is not mine!
O! You angels! Innocents need not apply in court! Blasphemy!
Heresy! Down with the King! His people are hungry!
O! You daemons! Your toe nails are clipped! We are calling for you!
And from the rubble comes a cry of peace!
Let the children of disembodiment lie!
For this speck of dust-time will be sneezed away!
Stand taller than their chairs unfiltered!
Unfettered from the riches of false idol, we rise!
Arise! Arise! To the laugh that echoes back!
I plead before the culmination; our congregation does not take bribes.
We are the generation of mothers sighing for their babe.
We are the generation of fathers mourning in the wake.
Tall, expansive tree, with branches that touch the sky,
Roots protruding from the earth,
My tree, my haven, my shelter,
It’s here I can admire from afar.
Sweat adorns my palms at your sight,
My voice cracks when I speak your name,
Trembling knees makes standing impossible,
It’s best that I admire from afar.
Fear keeps me shut air tight,
Humiliation is on the forefront of my mind,
What is best for me to do-
Is to admire you from afar.
Putting pen to paper
It is my weapon of choice
And that is the way I like to battle.
Using the words I’ve held back
I bite, scratch,
Punch, kick right at you.
You have hurt me more than actions could
And now it’s my turn.
There are days when you can’t help but reminisce.
Back on days when it was bill-less bliss.
Days when you had to be home by nine
So you got a ticket for running a stop sign
There were times you just had to sneak
Out the window, without a peep
Blaring Good Charlotte in the car
Dreaming you were a rock star
Listening to your boyfriends band in the garage
Piling on the couch with your whole entourage
Remembering your first taste of beer
Your vision starting to become unclear
Never growing tired, the night was young
Staying up to watch the rising sun
Climbing into bed at 7 in the morning
It’s 4 pm and you’re still snoring
Waking up just to do a repeat
Oh the young life was so sweet.