A lingering thought.

It grows warmer every day.
My cereal is uneatable as I cry
and look into the grains of tomorrow's meal.

I grind what I may, as I might,
despite what I am, what I know and where I stand.
These are the subtle answers.

I scream!
Echo. Echo. Echo.
Laughter risises and falls,
Flack attack leaves me senseless

No legs are just fine with tomorrow,
but what about my death today.
I hate the man I am.
I miss the man I was.

War rises like an errant wave,
and the sudden piece of history
that is left, terrifies
and the children long for something or
someone
to hold onto.

A simple task

While the trails of our eyes form nothing but simple echoes of nostalgic-fused reflection, we face tomorrow with the essence of today.

The empire's growth is draped in shadows as silence snowballs towards the truth.

If such people sought the title of the People's King, that person would be "The King."

Upon the shores of ichi gummi, a banderswath laid,
wings folded and draped between a summers shade.

As reflections, we seek a sordid silence and such is sorrow that it's shown,
and as you let your head hang low,
please,
let it rise up again!

Visions from Above

Thanks to Google for that one.