Poetry Round Up For These Troubled Times

Boxes of Light

Boxes of white light, seven boxes of white light, seven boxes of hope and joy, seven spaces of white light in the clouds. Please stay there, please don’t rain. I  don’t want the pain. I will stay you’ll never be gone and I am not done with opening doors that you walk through. With a smile I can see you and just say hello I am here, let us open our boxes of hope.

I Breathe Out

I breathe out, the breath becomes yesterday, turning the corner ah that is also yesterday it has gone, unless you walk back in time, gone and yet we are in the moment, we are upon the earth the goodness terra bequeaths us each and every day, man has a lot to learn, let us in the moment learn anew.

A Hand

A hand for every occasion put it on, and you can get it on. I mean it is your day of course, warm and convenient. A face to hand and here it comes, a dull grey face. An ugly mouth full of promise, just try him on your right hand you will soon see you’ve got your hand full, OMG man you’ve got a world to save.

Pastel Atoms

A chain of peaceful, passive pastel atoms, whispering a trail around a troubled planet. Bursting in flames and destruction. It weaves before your eyes in a vast colourless sky, we inherit from the pollution of twisted human minds. Waking up day after day, the colourful weave of atoms grows stronger in a band across the atmosphere. Wider and blindly determined to land as coloured rain from lingering clouds to land in variant forms. With new spirit on a crystal clear day to form a colony anew to reignite the purpose of new human form, as super animals no higher than a slumbering element. In a new jungle flora of wonderous fauna.

Reflections

Reflections on glass divides us with it’s shining I see others I used to know, but cannot reach out even my fingertips won’t do for there is war. Much war, humanity reaching its ends overshadowed by smoke fire and death. What is tomorrow when we won’t see the the end of this day. Is this the price to pay for evolution for God has no grace, and just in case you wonder Gods work is all around amongst the fire and hell for again this is still war as it always has been among humans who never learn

Author: Mason Cult Poet

Mason Cult Poet was born in Westmorland in the Lake District in a farming engineering community. On one side of the family many portions of nobility mainly the Stuarts. Mason Cult did as the herd does and went through the education process. attended drama school and ran small businesses. The stigma of mental health issues blighted him as it does with all creative people, was diagnosed in 2011 with a form of Asperger’s Syndrome which can impair executive function however it has given him a higher sense to see what others do not and from this ability he concludes the world is controlled by esoteric forces and that other interventions operate steering the world we know ro a new beginning.. What we witness we are forced to challenge and the work of Mason Cult assists this View all posts by Mason Cult Poet