To Whoever Finds This

Hopeless is the hollow inside the running hopelessness of the John Dread crawling the pavement towards every match light glowing in thorny short distance ,hope judges all and none inside the heavy heart hanging from sleeves hidden under every coat.passing daily through streets all keeping the weighted wrists well covered from the ugly sinister truth that hope wasn’t their burden no longer they embraced the easy hollow crumbling for flickers of light ahead in every tunnel that no one seems to find just scraping pavement into the next hopeless void ..Woody wails from his soul against the walls echoing the tale of the hopeless pain of cranium to wall whilst raising his sleeve in defiance showing his fiery scarred arm where his heart sat that was ripped off in vain on Madison Ave.just for his watch as an art piece

Sanskrit had 96 words for love wilst old romantic Persian scribbled 80 words for the condition hiding behind staring eyes
shackled
gagged
marched into carved caves of heavenly toil and silence
you can not say the words for you must go labour for the wordgivers
love all the pretty horses then adore the their grand stables
poetry is for us fools who need more than 176 words

Heroes are hung with the expectations of the hopeful
all stories are told through tellers and listeners being born again with oral tradition and imaginations
fortune
of the few whose eyes meet theirs intimately
watching it unfold in bedrooms
pubs
streets
just for one day

Look of not even

Melancholy is an understatement when mixed with 8 parts anger
And
10 parts pain
The black clouded dog carrying the chip and monkey pointing at your shoulder and mirrors that refuse to even look into the eyes of the
Vacant
Vapid
Vicious
Stares blank full of the been here before and back again
Nothing will fade the dreaded feeling, no gas can or flame
No anti genesis allowed in these parts just a comfortable wood shed
No one will take me behind