Cherry Grove Abundance

Compatibility Dramas

This huddle ends
With a loud BREAK
As we march the hashes to fulfill our roles-
I can only imagine the pedestal we are hoisted to-
The flash,
And the immortalization in pictures we take-
The memorabilia books we fill
For recollection
And to fill the days of somber
And joy-
Yes.
The parade will soon fade-
Some of us will partake in some endless war-
Giving the impression that we are somehow giving bandage to a wound
Profuse with the color blue-
Cowardly,
I march behind the captain as his pride and futile belief in this tragedy
goes far beyond his denied reality-
As slugs rip through the soon deadened carcasses that form a broken wall
my only shame is using a resource such as this-
To fund for an education needed
for those that carry my name-
Call me a w***e in need.
Jettison me to place where I must grab hold to some virtue and obtain-
For a stipulation
I’d take the revolution many times over-
To leave here and fantasize
and day dream,
I needn’t a care in the world-
I had once traveled to Atlantis and met Poseidon-
He showed the craftsmanship of his trident,
And the boundaries of his emotional urge
of letting go of his gills,
for the air we breathe-
He also spoke of the drowning continents,
from the steady multiples of vigilante in the sea-
Becoming ambushed victims from piranhas
and the replicated star of Seven Pounds-
Yet they too think that a world afar,
is crystallized in such rainbow like joy
I beg to differ-
One could picture a red head,
Whose talent would allow her to produce the fruits and ripeness of bottles
No need for the steady serenade of the super market songs-
As goods go marked by the electronical hum off to their death at a dinner table-
No,
She’s there in the vineyard,
with vines of earth
Giving to the land for you and I-
Maybe some form of twisting confusion
I could remain on the bosom of the beating tripe-
Become as one,
never again wanting to lift my smoky wallet that catches fire
from the endless spending-
Just a blip in helping this disasterous economy-
If I say to you of this story,
you’d deem me just as a mortified crazed man attacked by extraterrestrials,
lucid in explanation in my own neuroticism-
But by society’s standards of becoming lost,
or losing it-
Maybe that is where we would need to be?
Escaping our reality-
Not for the story,
but to flee from pain and purgatory-
Amina Sola inspired me so-
She reminded me of an Indian Belly dancer-
accepting the smile and not the monetary gift-
Swirling out of box emulating a rattle snake in trance-
She does it for the feel of her craft-
I understand-
I wish that I could do such as so-
I feel corrupted by a lifestyle mimicked by others for the sale of
an album that lacks creativity-
It feeds you endless images of gaudy possessions
And lifestyles
That in turn-
Inhibits the cultivation of wealth,
but only for you to give it right back to whom that steals from you to begin with-
I have scarred my body with the artwork known as “expressions”
embodied such “slanguages” and appearances that only deems
one as ignorant as those portraying those with nothing else better-
Is it my fascination with escaping still?
Like Batman for once,
to team with Joker for the infinite surges of adrenaline to his limbs
as authority is mindlessly hoodwinked for the greater of evil-
Maybe the Joker’s laugh is a stress buster?
Superman gets his daily fix of coke laced with kryptonite-
Because Lois can seem to hold her place at the daily chronicle
And is always busting Clark Kent’s balls-
Go figure.
Maybe I should take the stance-
Maybe befriending someone as vibrant-
With the green light of conversation fix
And fellowship-
I can’t accept a love that brings me torment,
By day-
I am obligated to such for a symbolization?
Soloness,
Is something
Just-
Allowing me to turn from a cold sweat and a boulder resembling
Hand-
Would allow my pillow to my right go unscathed-
You say pity,
I say with death in smile-
And just as the very dash on the tombstone of many-
Is lived
Vicariously
Through the imaginative.
Great.