The Great Observer

Here I lay in my hearse

once again

I find that it’s easier

laying in a grave because it

preserves all that’s left of me

I never wanted caviar kisses

or fancy cars

men live on impulse

with no regrets

god you would think that

they would stand together

but they murder each other like foreign invaders

as the moon gazes upon

the day’s massacre

mixing it’s tears with the blood of the fallen

Men, strange things that

slowly kill themselves by destroying

all they love

they have reached a new level of decay

forging masks

so they can hide in the dark

away from stray lingering eyes

that decree both surfs and royalty

as the sun pierces the horizon

it starts again

men arise and place their

masks upon their pale frail skin

never to shed this reptilian skin

the great observer

cresting in the heavens

only to cleanse the earth time and time again

with it’s tears

Miracles and Morphine

Things seemed so simple

back then

time had no meaning

on summer days

I used to lay awake

thinking of how

things  would turn around

but things always end

just as they begun

this my curse, eternal

no other reality

miracles are for movies

and morphine for cleansing memories

as the moon crests

I know that the dawn

will never rise