If Aliens are bad then where are the blessed ones it is hard to say, have they left us?. Have they vacated terra earth did the vision of the blessed one make them depart, what is to befall us all? Is earth indeed to be cleansed given rest for all it has suffered, there is panic around now and no time to talk. Streets are vacated where are the people. Has life has metaphorically gone to ground, cables wires, and satellites in the skies above, and who invented normal. What defines such a world now, that exists, in partial hiding. in rarified rooms of intensity, angst, and stagnation.
Tag: Prose
The Little Lantern Peoples of Hanger Hill
The Little Lantern Peoples of Hanger Hill, we are now approaching the year three thousand, many world downturns later and the fashioned nature of the time is producing smaller peoples of what is left of a world, what is left of houses is little more than rubble to hide in. Food is a combination of the wild fayre, wild veg, and disheveled crumble. Warehousing full of water-soluble dry packet foods, water is now wells and dysentery is high. Public health down to the volunteer medical people now fighting over supplies. But there is a strange phenomenon upon a mountain hill on the edge of the Lake District or more correctly the edge of the North Yorkshire hills. It is a disused gliding school hanger with its sliding doors half-open upon a metal beam in the far corner of this hanger up to a thousand paraffin lanterns can be seen one small knobbly kneed strange human form can be seen standing in front of this lantern keeping warm as it states into this ok light and heated device most primitive. By eight PM a procession of stunted shadowy figures can be seen trailing toward the grey rusting building each being picks a now lit lantern and proceeds to form a circle within the hanger waffled chit chat I observe and then there is the whistle and shaped being called pointed hand and it’s hand goes through a gap in the grey hanger door to alight upon a higher hill. The thousand little lantern peoples must prepare so in procession lamps on they waddled out the big hanger door toward an Auric horn higher up the trail glowing deep and moaning in sound and steam the little lantern people marched in a train of light to the Auric horn.
One Way Ticket
One way ticket to blank so my friends this is immortality the colour was black bleak, to say the least considering I was supposed to be no more further on a mass mess of activity, chatter a thousand miles away but non-audible in this outer state. What was left of emotion was like trying to ascend a verticle mud bank the faces at the top laughing. I didn’t know any of them they were not human I concluded I couldn’t go back so I wait for arms and legs as Jesus rotating in space to who knows where.
Political Rant DWP Representation at Interviews For Disabled
Warrior of Poetry warns the Department for Work and pensions will damage the lives of disabled at work capability assessments, they are trying to discourage having any representation at interviews leaving them vulnerable to losing the claim. Warrior of Poetry insists that all disabled people should have representation at these interviews. It is just one more example of how this Tory government is going to continue to bully the most disadvantaged of this island it must be stopped by any means.
And so a poem for the above.
I try to garner silence for that is all that fits, I am not seen, I am not heard. Contemplation and I see one bad apple, there is a basket of more products at the higher university systems. The big rumor is that doctors are being bought by politicians and giant pharma are used to maximize control and death, meanwhile, more than one hundred and fifty thousand bodies lay unburied in portable fridges but the top politicians will not be able to slither out of a genocide type trial next year…
The Seat
The seat we didn’t go to for judgment, we went for calm, ah we are the sheep that follow told to believe when murder and hate were on the loose, no peace, the fuse had gone. So death and destruction occurred one last way, out to the light. Upon the trial of a white pathway miles more than you could ever see or imagine.