I'm about to put forth a couple works of mine; the first one is old as hell and the second is from off the top of my head.
Enjoy bitches.
AGE
men shout; women scream
worry, worry, worry
children pout; no ice cream
surely, surely, surely
blind doubt; what it seems
blurry, blurry, blurry
The Prophetic Writings of Kilos Capitone Juneyer III
Amidst the smoke and mirrors I can see a reflection of myself.
It's not what you think but what they think of your self.
But is it really there or are they just a memory?
Thinking to myself its time to make another.
Thinking to his self the man was consumed.
The woman in the distance shouts a bitter song.
It's not what I think but how it is described by others.
The stuff about things is unresolved by those in charge.
The grass reminds me of a slower time of infinite motion.
It's not my loss of sound that can't be heard nor sung.
The bird singing seems to me to be a sweet melody
Of nothingness, Losing in this day of material bliss.
Dancing I feel the particles of space-time.
Eons of Millennia pass by without notice by us.
It's not improbable to become what is thought impossible.
Must we explain how we became entranced by all who came?
possible explanations coming soon?
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