I
Up the escarpment where the wind has stripped the trees of their leaves
I saw Truth hiding in her threadbare clothes, starved and hollowed
A pale, grey feeble smile flashed and disappeared
She will not die 
She will not die despite the universal claim
For Truth is central to life even if few will believe
There is nothing I can do for her because I am not here
Neither dream nor real or the product of imagination 
It occupies the mind as a distant echo too faint to hear
Or a mere observation
far removed
tunneled deep into memory
So only the feeling remains.

Come with me.
We are moving to the edge of the undefined and dark
Listen you can hear a child’s laughter drifting in wind
The echoes of momentary joy 
The innocence can almost make you forget 
That he will learn to weep soon enough 
And the days are coming when he will scarcely remember
When he didn’t.

                  II
There is a nameless darkness spreading like ink
Silent, it fills the intellect of men
Certainty dwells where Humility was
Indifference laughs at heroism and
Contempt for innocence is a cultural cascade
Open your eyes and see while you can.
You can drift by people every day where the darkness has been
Their eyes are full of life and optimism but they are dead inside
Despair by choice but not by feeling,
Where gratitude once existed there is only discontent
Driving desperate dreams of perfection.
But Reality does not conform or bend to the will of man
So they satisfy their cravings of solipsistic perfection by eating their own
They hunger for Utopia that is always arriving but never staying, 
Punishing an army of enemies who drove it away.
Who will pay for what you deserve?

The dark mind is lost in a world so large 
It is no longer a world of measured bounds
but a pointless,  empty, expanse.
Adventurers in lassitude on a map of despair
Featureless, endless, meaningless
They are ever searching in larger circuitous routes. 
Beginning with discontent and ending in discontent
Satisfaction will not be obtained.
They fill infinitiy’s frames with materialist distractions
Joyful in the now; desperate in the eternal
Waiting not for revelation but decimation.
A fusion of emotion in a riot of madness
Sexual desire, loathing and joy blending to one.

Along the road I found a message today.
Dropped in an empty bottle of malt liquor
It had a brown drinking bag twisted around the neck
And round the twist flies danced across the surface
I kicked the bottle as I stepped over it
The message fell out into the gutter
It read “You have been deceived. Don’t believe it.
The evil never tire and the good are exhausted.”
But who is good?

                        III

Perfect preceded the imperfect and road back no man can take.
Among the world weary, rich in experience of decadent displays
They can sense the nothing at the end
They will by any means build eternal man 
A body of infinite repair five hundred years hence
A life to span the millennia.
Money cannot raise perfect children 
But  it can raise perfect monsters
Transhuman spawn
Living across boundless space and time
Imagining it can spit in the face of God 
Eternal worldly life will surely make us monsters
For even as the drug addict seeks higher highs 
So too does the dark mind seek 
Obliteration from the map of despair.
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The imbecile is at work in world busy about its activities
Giving opinions, acting without thought, 
Obdurate in pursuit of gimcrack distractions
and automatic as machine.
The imbecile stews in soups of inactivity
Natural as wind,  bubbling to the surface
tireless banalities
The imbecile passes through unnoticed 
Like the quotidian affairs of your neighbor.
The one you never knew.

What can be said of the lunatic?
It has been caged, drugged and beaten
Disavowed in prayer and confession
Driven into homeless oblivion 
Domesticated as a dog by breeding
Its violent aggression now submissive
Its passions forced into hiding.
The lunatic is a threat 
Born wholly from dissatisfaction of
Living between the bile and the ideal.
Despondent from suffering,
Raging against all, screaming fitfully against
the order of things from instinct alone.

The lunatic cannot reason and the imbecile doesn’t care.
Give me the lunatic and I will take it as my friend
For I can see that it is fully awake and all it has suffered
But the imbecile is without awareness or conscience
Left to work in the world it brings misery
Because it notices nothing and cares only for the next 
Distraction 
Bring me the lunatics
They are my brothers and sisters
They are art, crying for expression.

No more inspirational stories
I can’t take it
The indomitable spirit
The missing limbs
Cancer's consumed child
Smiling, bald and brave

There under studio lights are
The clicking teeth of the
poignancy thieves
Selling misery's might
in HD pain until
Nothing is felt 

Where are the stories
of broken spirits?
Destroyed by tragedy
The ones that never recover
That’s who I’m praying for
The ones you’ll never see
Honored in the nightly news
For a ratings jubilee

From emotion music
From music emotion
From emotion poetry
poetry of emotion
emotion of music
Music and words
They are lovers
Wandering hand in hand
Living and dying
in the emotive mesh
of our lives

You hide your crazy
in deep places
Until circumstances
come and dig it out
like badgers
looking for prairie dogs
And as you have aged
Your strolls down memory lane
Became athletic events
Dodging the bad memories
Look
You still want affection
Everyone knows that
They’re just too busy
Seeking their own.
The nurse will push back to your room
Here, before you go
Take this cup of disappointment
Refills are free.

Change by design, design by chance
Chance testifying against the lies
of vanity

Here below
The clear causal cascade
like steel ball bearings striking chords
from predictable songs

Here above
The cosmic all 
The massive turning, boiling thoughts
and actions are drifting toward a hidden day, 
Blind by diurnal desires
Deaf in the colourless clanging

Here mankind
Part all, part causal
Occupying the middle ground
Unpredictable
Searching for certainty
Only finding death

cloud of the unknowing 
false harmony unwinding
the separation of body, soul,
consciousness
3 degrees distance
Tumult
Feelings fade
There's God
There's man 
the one does not join to the other
the One is incommensurable 
and the other flawed
a sick soul drawn to ugliness
and self loathing but
selfhood cannot be lost, denied, unwound
the mind informs and deceives
truth conforms to reality and yet
The emotions cannot be fully trusted
too oft mere
engines of despair
what have we really learned
that wasn’t known before?
that wasn’t revealed by revelation
Or observed?
in existence before our birth
no harvest of truth in a field of lies
the lies bend reality
even when the words deny
can you perceive the precious
surrounded by the dross?
and still
Still!
no matter how broken
every single life
is worth saving.