Ancient wisdom
lies in bones
        The StoneAge
 
              didn't end
  for lack of stones
        m o n s t e r .    
                M o n s t e r s . .
 
e v e r y w h e r e
     whispering
     in a many ears
         loud enough
to stoke our fears
  soft enough
  that we still hear
  playing games
 of truth or dare
monsters and their concubines
corrupt before we realize
        m o n s t e r  .            
                M o n s t e r s  .  .
                 telling truth
    the many branches
    are the root
    the leaves that fall
    aren’t leaves at all
b u t
        the devil’s call
        to sacred fruit
        m o n s t e r .            
                M o n s t e r s . .
        p l a y   a n d   h i d e
at sleight
                                     and
            hopscotched truth
            in dead of night
        m o n s t e r .      
                M o n s t e r s . .
h e l d m y b r e a t h
        that I can't breathe
        and blind my eyes
              that I don't see
t h e y   c o m e   f o r   m e
                    I'm alone
and all the monsters
are at home
        w h e n
        every blessing
                is a curse
        every word
        becomes a verse
        souls have fallen
        where they stand
in ashened grey of no man's land
all my colours . .
deeper shades of sombre thoughts and darkened days
intent designed
to survive
lies contrived
     to multiply
    atomised
    in air as dust
                    oxidised
    in minds like rust
        m o n s t e r .            
                M o n s t e r s . .
        promises
        
camouflaged truths                           that’s all it is
   T h e   A m e r i c a n   D r e a m
ain’t what it seems
it's just another
f u c k e d u p
       M o n s t e r   S c h e m e  .  !
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