by fine lines,
or small minds.
A precious few
can share into
Keep the company
of demons, ghosts and angels.
From dreams to death,
I tempt inherent danger.
Up and down – I still stick around.
Dead or driven – fool or clown.
Emaciated in this living coffin,
life lived in a grave and don’t leave too often.
‘Cause in this world
so few can see past themselves.
Rape and slaughter
those who apply compassion,
so new parasites and tenants of Hell
devour us with any kind reaction.
We are all part of the problem,
why I’ve dropped out of contention.
If the order is everyone for no one,
don’t subscribe to their bullshit obsession.
of life alone.
A hole called “Home”.
A pretty girl,
a fucked up world.
Dead fetal curl.
So many live and die for so little,
so I cut them off
Their politics of wealth and Bible;
turn my back
Won’t be a part
of the mass murder of the individual;
they call that progress.
Stop my pulse to distance further,
myself from this futile success.
Don’t mean shit,
when as a race,
humanity has little place.
Won’t raise a finger
to help, or hinder;
Beneath the earth,
I find my place.
HG – 2000-2005
5 thoughts on “Dead and Gone”
Sometimes I really have trouble understanding why other people can’t see the ultimate truths, such as what you’ve written about.
We all have our cross to bear.. or bear to cross, I guess. “It is better to be loved than understood.”
Yes, but it’s so much nicer when understanding is included with love.
I understand that you’re posting pieces from your archives. How often do you write now?
When the mood strikes me, as far as poetey goes. I am working on some short stories and novel ideas on a semi-regular basis now with plans to move to a regular writing schedule this year.
Current poetry is catalogued in “Capturing Synaptic Lightening” category, if you are interested.