For Really They Will Never Know

Astral transmission do you read me, the doors are open it is time to go, do not tell anyone I am going, for really they will never know, that a rainbow landed at my feet, the colors of the cosmos curved for speedworthy travel. There will never be a wall again no dividers to heaven no call to earth to say I am safe I will be one of the stars with no name, you see me everywhere we are all too common and mostly ignored.

The Peace of Sleep

The peace of sleep is the sleep I get, or is it death, I know not yet as I seem to wake in a different state, have I changed, is it the new beginning I long for or is the prescription the same, no longer a fresh young being  I keep checking my spark to be, today is to be quick but I am trying to work out why and who is the driver it is about time  I got off this bus I think  I will sleep again maybe longer this time.

A Clean Sheet Before You Go

despair
Accountable for your extremes now you’re in a sweat the last week, write it down, how many times did you run away.
Write your sins down the clock is ticking you cannot ask your parents  for they are but dead and the rest of us are dying,  you want a clean sheet  before you go, I am panicking god has given me the final cathartic challenge to clear my sins, to save the soul.
There are now four days to go and the clock is ticking, tick tock, my head on the block Jesus Christ avoid hell, what did  I say the inquistion arrived in the last days .

No Arrival A Poem By Mason Cult.

God I am dead now, what do I do… I have been stuck in this box for days, the aliens or is it the angels said they are coming to rescue me, but alas no arrival, no beat of wings, so am I really dead or have you gone and left me in an unknown psychic wilderness, my soul is tired, so much for insurance, so much for god and faith, so much a con.

They lied. I could not find the pearly gates. Perhaps they would not let me, the penny chew, the shop, me a child, in the back pocket it went, I stole it. Forgive me god I have sinned.

No Gentle Shores…

No gentle shores could be found, if we are no more than grains of sand, then gravity controls our fate, high tide,  low tide, the moon lifts us up and down.

If the beach is a mineral galaxy upon every shore we can see ourselves coming and going as a full moon glistens upon the beaches, in our journey just listen to the hiss of the waves they are intimating their goodbyes

The Warrior of Poetry: The Poetry archive