Outil

Beat Poetry

Tears of intent fall on precipitous lament; irradiating disbelief,

going far beyond the human condition;

distended hope of divisions respect the moment and mourn, but Death?

Is not welcome today.

An uninvited presence has ploughed through the frailty of being human--seeded desecration and left it to grow; defying the mould of human flesh.

Revenge, splatters onto those walls of beliefs.

Ignorance has been cast on all things absolute and we sustain it in our gaze--we stare onto a distant oblivion where the state of being dead resides as a non-sensory matter.

Beneath:

The earth--a world on fire

The wind--a helpless desire

The seas--in turmoil without reprieve
I hope The Skies learn to pity me.

Author's Note