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Praise Kronos Trapped Within Tarturus

Fantastical colors dance through my mind,
Perhaps they will until the end of time,
Poetry is for the watchers with no mouth,
To express what they cannot see, hear, or feel,
Poetry is for the tree that withers in the night,
It is for the lonesome lovers lost in endless flight,
It is for the lonesome rambler to tired to fight,
It is for the ones who constantly question whats right,
It is for the ones who deserve different lives,
It is for the one who hide in the lightening,
Just before the bells begin their chime,
 
Drastically dancing demons flood the perception,
Of the spectator lost in the colors of the day,
Inside feeling nothing but society and its way,
Poetry is not for those who don’t feel,
It is for the long lost island so far from shore,
It is for the clown crying in valley wishin’ for more,
It is for the rusted wall of  the earth’s core,
It is for the harmonica dancing so freely,
As they begin to soar,
It is for the ones who stare into the lightening,
Just before the ending of a faded and mangled night,
 
Perfectly purple and crimson jaded boys,
Dream so heavily on what the nature of the world contains,
Outside the realm of feeling confusion and delusion,
Not knowing that they will die one day, names forgotten,
Children begotten in the fiery flames of the burning twin towers,
Oh yes we were born like the Phoenix,
Out of the ashes and into a world full of fear,
To hold so dear but to them it has no name,
Except fame, grandeur, and celebrity fake idols,
Poetry is not to leave a legacy,
It is to remember those who we left behind,
 
The silver studded bracelet my love once wore,
Left as she did, right out my from my glass door,
Nothing could stop her like a freight train on the move,
She was feeling the dancing lost love groove,
Oh how I cried and battered my self,
For what I could see couldn’t explain how I felt,
Poetry is for the weak willed,
To tired at the early morning’s coming day,
To say: what is the day, what is the time,
What is rhythm and how to do I compose it to rhyme?
I am no poet,
I am no Poet,
I AM no Poet,
I am just a man who pleads to God,
Not to be the only one writing words,
That seem to only shatter once they have been spoken,
Poetry is like glass,
Fading into the past,
As soon as its said,
It shatters and illuminates the night,
Like breakable diamonds on a ruby red rug,
 
Poetry is not for you,
Poetry is not for me,
Don’t hate the player,
Hate the game of chess all writers,
Who in the grips of addiction,
Must express to find peace but only for a moment,
Until the poem must end,
Until all must end,
Be yourself,
Be your wounded self,
Be the outcast constantly burning at stake,
Feel the flames and know,
It’ll all fade soon,
Just as the sun must fade to grace us with the moon,
 
Poetry is for the lost ones,
Poetry is for those who cannot explain,
Poetry is for the ones words come to freely too,
Mouths dripping and eyes crying like the blues,
 
OH BEHOLD PERCEPTION,
AND WEEP,
OH BEHOLD PERCEPTION,
AND WEEP,
OH BEHOLD IT LIKE POETRY,
AND CRY YOURSELF TO SLEEP,
CRY, CRY, CRY OUT YOUR VOICE,
FOR YOU LIVE ONE LIFE,
SOMETIMES TOO UNBEARABLE TO MAINTAIN,
RIMBAUD, FROST, HEMINGWAY, AND FONTAINE
LOST LIKE SOME PUPPY WITH NO FAMILY,
AND NOWHERE TO GO,
 
Goodnight poetry,
Goodnight words,
I’ll greet you as I always do,
With sword drawn and shield raised,
Only to explain the world the best I can,
Where in the end, I hate I’ll be praised,
 
Praise the sun, Praise Hyperion,
Praise Hera, Praise Kronos,
He so lost in the prison of Tarturus,
I turn my pen aside and continue to live,
As a man folded with a voice so boisterous,
To sleep,
To sleep,
I send my poetry,
Dead as a fallen tree,
Living like a young sapling,
It’ll come back again,
only this time more strapping,
As my fading eyes catch this last phrase:
"Live as you will, live as you must,
Live as you do, live in a world of rust,
Specks fleeting and catching,
Fading as my eyes must do,
Like wind catching the dead skin of dust...

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