The Deterioration of Our Current Generation

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and six

Last night I witnessed the deterioration of our current generation. Talks of shots and girl's tight tops, which beats are sick, which beers have hops.

A dance floor full of bodies doing nothing more than rocking; simply swaying back and forth letting their bare skin do the talking.

Girls are laughing loudly, flirting dumbly without pride. Boys are softly grabbing, trying hard to get inside.

I'm not under the impression that a club is good for sessions of intensive conversation; but there's a line of crossed digression 'tween a dance or delicatessen and if these young kids don't lessen their completely bared obsession with finding a sex connection I fear loss of life, regression and required intercession so we may stop this great depression and procede with the progression of these young children's ascension to the spiritual dimension.

They owe it to themselves to see there's more to life than spells of boredom bleached by alcohol and music loud and dollar bills spent carelessly on swaying wills of little girls who get their thrills all fully spilled out of tight clothes and popping compact coloured pills.

And as I danced to pulsing beat, seeing all eyes know not discreet, feeling an overwhelming stream; an ocean trying to break free, behind the dammed up river beds all dried up in the drunken heads, I felt much higher, even hallowed, for while you're playing in the shallows, I know exactly where I'll be, diving into the open sea.

The Rattle of Bones

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and five

I Did Give You Warning...

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and four

I've something to tell you

my darling divine,

you have become 

unlawfully mine

I've leashed up your magic

and keep it in tow

There's no possible way

I'll allow you to go

I did give you warning

when times were ahead

"Lay with me now,

but sleep not in my bed"

And my poor lover

you list' not my words,

for night after night

you stayed unconcerned

And I regret saying 

you cannot return

for lust me; you'll live

but love me, you'll burn.

I Give This To You

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and three

Here;
Take it;
No, don't speak;
I can hear it now;

You shouldn't have done it.
I can't take this.
What have I done to earn this gift?

Well if I told you what you mean to me;
You'd roll your eyes in disbelief;
If I said the words, You're my everything,
you've already heard all those schoolgirl's strings;
If I say that you have stolen my heart;
I would be lying, for I gave you that part;
If I swore to you that you complete my soul;
You'd laugh for all of the girls you've made whole;

So to prove to you that I haven't misruled;
I've taken my essence, and made it a jewel;
I've taken my words and my thoughts and my self;
and I've turned it in-to a small diamond of wealth;
It is this that I give you in my being wishful;
that you'll make out of rope and leather, a crystal-
pendant you'll wear 'til the end of all days;
for my self is contained in that violet haze;

Don't speak and don't shake for if you refuse;
It's all of my spirit that you will abuse;
This is the only gift I can give;
And I give it to you, the reason I live;

So take it and wear it and carry me close;
for it is my soul that does swing on that rope.

We Will Live Like Smoke

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and two

      We will live like smoke. Free and flowing and forever changing. Shaped by the wind and carried by invisible powers. Love will lift us, trust will twist us, energy will enter us and in the dark assist us. We will be tendrils tumbling smooth. Never captured never controlled. If people were fire, you'd be a pyre and we'd be the sparks in the wind.

      We will live like shooting stars. Bright and surprising and ever-enticing. Burned in your sight so even when you close your eyes we shine. When you sleep we will soar, when you're wishing for more, t'will be us that you see out your window.

      We will live like dragons of old. The legends become us, and we become told. You'll hear of our ventures, 'How daring!' 'How bold!', but your eyes only glisten with the flash of fool's gold. We dragons have secrets to uplift your soul, we can strip off your shackles and let wings unfold. If only you'll listen to tales gone untold, we whisper the truth; You're being controlled.

      Just like the mice who are trapped in a maze, you sense out your prize and move on your way. But all routes have been found, to keep you contained, and though down on the ground, you feel unafraid, if you look up and around, you can see that you're caged.

      Even our paper has lines there to rule us, but essence and vapor have no need for cruel 'must'. So if you find out that the chains are unjust, remember that even iron can rust.

      A word of advice, for those who revoke, do not fear fire, once you've awoke. There's no hidden danger, dagger or cloak; For it is us Dragons, that live in the smoke.

Children on Leashes

365 Days of Creativity

day one hundred and one

Undersized girls clutching oversized drinks so they can get high and stay grounded in the flat scope they see of our round world.

Mothers who walk their children on leashes and bake them Quinoa Quiches and wish they could only be leases.

Networks that limit our output but extend our input and shrink down our words to the tiniest spurs where the options are 'like' or 'no comment'.

We keep tags on our flowers and converse for hours but there's nothing that ever gets said.

We demand immediate satisfaction and instant distraction from any small problem we face.

There's books to read and sights to see but only after a bit of tv.

Youth is wasted on the dumb- who could realize it, but that's no fun. They'd rather play with digital guns shooting virtual people while wasting real sun.

Aluminum cans and platinum bands and diamonds dug up from the blood and the sand.

There's musical nonsense; a lyrical offense to provide serial defence to a life of material things.

Prescription drugs and silicon jugs and 'conditions' we've simply made up.

Electronic books, animals on hooks and water we're too scared to drink.

We're separate and wary, for judgements we carry are programmed to keep us apart.

Lost inside of a concrete maze where you can think of nothing for days, this is the stuff nightmares are made of.