Just outside of touch
Poetry
A dash of fleeting hope,
a haze of blue, black, red
when will the deceit die?
They tell us who to be,
what to say,
when everything is out of touch.
A child’s scream,
a cat’s cry,
only a whirlwind away.
Mind’s a haze ,
Crowded streets,
suffocate the insignificant,
with little rules, and little words.
It all comes crashing down,
waves of ice,
Claws of fire,
reverberating through this side like haze.
The flag screams pride,
while our children of the stars die,
burying themselves inside this side ways haze of deceit.
Who are we,
but the cat, and the ant.
Like animals we scratch at the door of reality,
where simplicity was best,
and you knew best,
didn’t you?
The sky could never be so blue,
and the world could never have been so black,
if it wasn’t for the wars of hate,
words of poison.
Lies are the noose that hang,
the bad in their own right,
taking the breath out of fate,
out of choice.
Freedom but a touch away,
with it’s glory of black wings,
dying eyes.
Lost to the a world of hate,
and servitude,
a dove’s wing only white,
in the red rage of hate.
Our world of deceit,
is what we make of it,
so do with it what you will,
but take none of it as is,
for deceit is a false hope ,
and lie of freedom.
we cry together in this retriban,
inside a side ways haze of blue, black, and red,
fighting for a freedom that is just outside our touch.
