2100
from the suffering and pain that is piped into veins
by the organ-less Master who relentlessly plays
from a congested gutter
of fake themes
hiding in deception
and callous clutter
from the distaste of the old, the sick, the poor and uninvited
from the self-imposed silent, deaf and short-sighted
I rise as a bed of plume feathers
carry me gently towards an untainted treasure
Klimt gold ash pours over my body
soothing the distress
I allowed to infest
I stroll along the mountains aurora
feet sinking into a bed of stardust flora
gazing out at mankind
I moan in remembrance of what I find
a dull drum beat of the blinding matrix
trudging in sync to a contrived greatness
oblivious to the thundering roar of perishing seas
animals lie floating with their bellies bloating
but all the while globally joking
smoldering sun with rusted rays
shivers in the sky
with a disheartened gaze
the illusion is breaking
a decision is undertaking
a red beaked sparrow beckons me to look off
into the darkening blue
a great tempest is coming
and long overdue
