Stretches of utterances in wailing smiles
Eclipse of lines from pleasant places
It’s as if the world is no longer with us
And heaven is now our village of imagination
Matador and skeleton are relics of wavelength.
As if I should embrace racing wind of the death
But death is the altitude of our unseen shadows
Those with heads lack the gift of honorary crown
Blended serrated wings are product of standing wall
Heats of end attacked our rising hope in morning sun.
Rushing mighty wind naked windows of the night
But we hardly capture the reign of comforting breeze
We are sprouting-mortals at the table of the mortal-gods
Surviving strength of many in underground of secret places
Legal occupants of skyscrapers are messengers of the ghettoes.
Echoes of failure and celebrated success intersect at equilibrium
We know darkness for confusion in street of rising thought
But elders of light ran across the shade of conscience
Shift of operation as day wears the garment of night
Bloody-palm to carve the theft of thought in miles.
Tired of stony-order that passes through questioning-break
Tired of dominating-ego at the collar of tamed-accomplishment
Tired of parent triumphing the burial ceremony of their womb
Tired of eagle that abandons its wings in terrace of leap-fears
Tired of rusted-consciousness in blade of gushing-tears of grave.
Incision at heart for the joy to come
Imagination and dreams are forerunners of reality
Those who can laugh should laughed in the midst of dolefulness
For in the name of the seen will the unseen be forgotten
Give me a new world and I will give you a new hope.