At Loss of Words
Much have passed. Much have gone.
Much has been born, the searing pains of desire's birth and its demise.
Much of the rejuvenation, the decapitation of blind greed, despair and ascension
A loss of words now dominate,
Just when it is figured
To save the world, all needed is to say
“I Love You”, never gone, never too late.
The silence is broken.
Where do we go from here?
The silence, echoes of the dead, those breathing but not alive
Why do we read the writings on the wall? When they only lead to essential destruction
Effervescent lies and suffering yet to behold, yet to unfold, construct and mold.
Until the day I die, am I forced to witness the grotesque scenery, the deferential detriment of our kind? Perhaps it shall catch me eventually,
Lest I fall into the void of eternal sadness, anger, fear and loathing?
Nay, one must not encompass its own ends,
Its own fall into the cycle.
Spilling blood, giving birth, tainting the holy essence of organic chemistry-made miracles. It may never end.
But perhaps terminus is near, forcing in, closing inward and biting through
Walls thicker than mountains, snow-capped fountains containing frozen, purified
Spirits long lost.
To save the ice before a flaming engulf takes resolve of the soul
guilt of the innocence
determination of the meek
And the rejection of sinful temptation, of all flaws aforementioned.
Let us slowly gather our forgotten vocabulary,
Build from shards the shape of a new era, though clouded by shadows and shrouds of The thickest pits of lowly struggle.
Dispose the writings once thought correct into the void,
Deny the preaching once thought holy through the dreaded Stars and Stripes, and initiate to redefine, reform, re-align and grant rebirth.
Give life and hope to the already lively, shall they recollect the past and forge a new, all-promising future.
Perhaps the single sun and quintet of stars shall finally shine through
These malevolent skies, anger-laden layers of historical murk, mindless gatherings of aggressive clouds; its lush, forest-covered surroundings shall smile in accord of newfound truth, alongside continents of long-time isolation, all gathered around the gentle, unadulterated pacific; so shall the witty and fiery smirk without a trace of cynicism.
Perhaps the dark continent shall brighten, stumble upon newfound dignity, newfound potential, the weight of ample dignity, refusing to go out as a spark; heal the sickly and teach the close-minded, that change is inevitable, cruel but not without mercy and love.
Perhaps the once divided pantheons shall unite, leading towards salvation, making tyranny of the Scythe and Hammer, Twisted Manji forever relics of a lust-driven past; mend the broken bridges of language, beliefs and color with forgiveness; walk out of an ancient rust of pages, we shall be the writers of a new book.
Perhaps the Euphrates and the Nile will be clear again, bereft of synthetic substances and fundamental twisting of a beautiful religion; hear the singing, never brighter and full of power, clarity, richness and unfinished sympathy; behold the re-growth, the sprouts from the sand. They shall not be sown systemically, but nurtured with burning passions.
Let us reclaim our page, and fill it with new memories of
Wording and creation, vocabulary belonging to all.
Carve new statues, monuments and sculptures, witness to clean beginnings.
Paint portraits of the greats to come, sketch with aesthetics yet unknown but doubtlessly avant-garde, radical and gentle.
Program codes of aspiration, breathing tranquility into the turmoil of digital coding.
Light warm fires, bathe in benevolent rain; play in solid, empowering rhythms of anticipation and
Sing with lucid melodies of ultimate redemption.
Though I may bend
Though I may bleed
Though I may break
Though I may fall and blister
Though I may plunge to inescapable death,
I shall soar.
I shall overcome.
I shall triumph over petty quarrels, wanton tortures of violence and continue to believe.
I shall hold firm these searing notions, even they shall devour me alive, rob me of life.
I shall grasp the wings of a still-flaming sun, with it locate solace, free the soul and return to the evanescent, rectifying blue skies; or sleep in crystalline coffins of serene ice.
Let this inspiration never die,
Break the silence, purge the lies.
And end this loss of words.
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