The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive
The Poetic Warrior Returns to his Poetry after Illness Welcome One, Welcome All
The new course of the Barren lands and chances for the pioneers of clean lands, free from feudal infusions and control. A new land where higher intelligence brings forth clarity and peace only selected population’s remain, never again was the world populations to breed themselves to destruction, harmony and peace were descending in a gentle cloud, Mason Cult .
Pushing my fingers distorting the plasma I was desperately trying for the next world I could see it all in the lovely colours, but there were people chasing me aware of what I was trying to find and it was only a matter of time before they turned a corner and could see what I was trying to do, I had to break through , Mason Cult
I see nothing gentle, it is almost entirely crude, it has hatred in it’s eyes it walks, talks it wants and destroys, breeding and needing are its game it is us and I am not a clown. Mason Cult
Lying in state a quick break from the worm, breaking away from the underpinning I am ripened like an old joint, cursed with dodgy seed, trust today and tomorrow I live here moulded in a corner curled as a rat in dead nest.
The night faded and the day lifted I am a down in my own time, I laugh, I cry, people watch me as they walk on by. Life not so serious if your sat with me, I read the newspaper, cut the eyes from a politician, pretend I’m deaf they never listened.
I’m a mute mug shot of madness divine enough to be different no vanity in the vagrant, I am waiting for them to take me all away, wish I could stay up in this corner I lived around here as a boy with rampant laughter and nothing else but joy Mason Cult .
A dance in the dune of mystery, sand peeling skin wind playing droplets drying abandoned hair, absurd waves prance as horse spirit thieves the long and slow beginning of the end, moonlit emergence stars crashing into view, a magical tracer.
Comets field the sky, strobes of my eyes resting forth into oblivious regions and extreme unknown, that’s somewhere else, a mystery, a show matters not. The mass that makes the night I lie down to sleep as the sand casts over me, the wind like the spirits shadowing me home to rest. Mason Cult.