The Keepers

Reinter your ways

Cast out upon the waves

I watched as we

Drifted through the confuscated spaces

Surfeiting all lies

Choking back the grey

And patterns, we raise up battered eyes

Then point our fingers to the sky

My foundation

Was riding on the voices that our fathers shed in time

How could one ask of me

To dig the graves of keepers dripping shades resembling gold

Intrusion, the place where thoughts fall; terminal

I lost my sight, its entirely a fallout

Infusions, displaced on purpose; fallible

I lost my way don't call

Me back, I'm falling way down

Reaping legacies of devastation

Certainty, a fervent revelation

Alan Watts: "Reality escapes all concepts

If you say there is a God, that's a concept

If you say there is no God, that's a concept."

Reinter your ways

Cast out upon the waves

I watched as we

Drifted through the confuscated spaces

Surfeiting all lies

Choking back the grey

And patterns, we raise up battered eyes

Then point our fingers to the sky

My foundation

Is riding on the voices that our fathers shed in time

How could one ask of me

To dig the graves of keepers dripping shades resembling gold

Haunting spaces

You're crawling on your knees, So frantic, searching for the fold

Infiltrate hearts, permeate. We're

Urging for the sabotage of our vulgarity

Our salvation

Is the culminating statute of a day of reckoning

My dissuasion, foul gestation, the patterns we cast, unpalpable

Diverge in the pain, its insensible

Pull the strings

That may orchestrate the waning of an ever-rising dream

We reach for God in a forlorn scene

Yet we carry the emolument of our morality

Still we push, back

This blathering

Seeking answers to the questions

In the need of rendering

As hope spread on tattered wings

There must be something more worth seeking