long dead friend

Fragrance of a dead rose
2002-09-03 19:50:19 (UTC)

smurfs...

Unrewarded Reality


Domination, the perfect word for the organized selves....
The view of the few overbearing those who live in
splendor...
They fear to be disturbed and so they pull the ropes...
Always chocking the puppets beneath...
Giving them a little more just to make them feel alive...
Never knowing the fear that lays withing they themselves...
Forever inclosed in a box of dementia...
For no metal is stronger, and no weapon alone can pierce...
The armor that is green....
Its green and gold stripes, placed like war paint without
meaning..
The only meaning being the one made by the one receiving
its spiteful pleasures...
The only hope for the ones below is the truth withing their
simple dreams...
An earthly education being only received by the painted...
But the truth coursing like a cancer within the rotting
ones bodies...
The elders rise and fall, never catching the lies left
behind...
The gods watching with their diluted eyes...
What gods their may be for these wretched beings?..
What gods can the doomed pray to without the luxury needed
to cast themselves down to their malevolent mercy?...
The gates are seemingly built of silver and gold, not the
dying and cold...
But this can be altered by the passing not of time but
lives...
To create a perfect a soul that can not pierce, but finally
melt the armor of green...
That green armor worn by the multi-colored knights...
With their swords of grandeur and their shields of
blindness...
Without the creation of such a force, such a spirit as the
desperation for peace...
The arrows of need, and the pikes of selflessness will
never grow stronger...
They will begin to rust and soon die with their holders...
The cancer must be changed into an energy of change.....
So that we may breathe the air that so many yearn for...




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