the surge of lightning and photochemicals
if i could paint you the days of the week, the pictures of our suns, something worth fighting for. just constructing out of this whiteness, some power of creation fills our void. we are nothing filling up with big talk, something to show for it, nothing to love by it.
one snapshot in an infinite frame, never-ending possibilities and it scares me. i fear our future as the mobs of our time lynch us for me, taking more from us than we can afford to give. save some for yourself, there's almost none left. learn to live out of nothing, and lose it all to gain it all.
poetry wasn't designed for anything but catharsis, and even that so has its limitations. i want to paint you pictures of words, but no one would know wot it meant. we'd tell the world but the world caves in around us. we're bound together more than we know it or would confess. no-one would want to bear our sins. isn't that all we ever wanted, some sort of redemption, who wouldn't hold it aganist us.
bless us from within, save us from this, my only prayer.
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