Thread: Continuation: Poetry Series

The center or the edge.
To whom do you pledge?
The commons or the kings?
The bell toll rings.

The calm before the storm.
To whence the world was born.
Spinning slower, spinning faster.
A hurricane's eye, the world's master.

-------------------------------------------------------

Eyes behind your head, ears inside the wall.
Recording what you've said, watching when you'll fall.
You're just a number, you're only a man.
Grow old and weak, here is the master plan.

Go toil and spin, adapt and spread.
All those lies you've put inside her head.
The masks and the music, it's oh so pretty.
It's ironic that you'll never leave this city.

This is not a home, this is a prison.
When's the meeting, what's the mission?
Paint the mask, form those notes.
Walk amongst the boys with trenchcoats.

Are you afraid of what you see or what you don't?
You're better off with what you've known.
Don't look too hard, or you'll stare at death.
He's in the mirror...and that's your breath.

-------------------------------------------------------

Here you are, at the Pearly Gates.
Staring at Saint Peter, and all his mates.
What have you achieved? Are you remembered?
Did you cringe when you loved ones were dismembered?

Donate to charity, save the Earth.
How about those harlots that gave birth?
Birth to your bastards, formed out of wedlock?
Never down an aisle, but always on the clock.

Some called you wretched, others glorious.
But you are the champion, you were victorious.
Overcame your foes, defeated your demons.
The common's king, the perfect freeman.

With a touch, you can heal the cripple.
With a word, Africa's food can triple.
You're the man, you're the best.
But deep down inside, there is no rest.

Nothing to value, nothing to call sacred.
Nothing matters when we'll all be dead.
Your family, your friends, your closest lovers.
You turn them over like pillow covers.

So how about it, Mr. CEO?
What divine gifts will you bestow?
Or are you faking? Is this a ruse?
Who's heart will you next abuse?

Climb the mountain, slay the dragon.
Then all the commons band your wagon.
Nothing special, nothing great.
You're not welcome, don't say wait.

Don't convince me to let you stay.
Your words are daggers, on the weak they prey.
I see right through you, your peoples' cells.
Get out of my face, and to the lowest of hells.