Symphonies of thoughts

How long,
how long.

Symphonies of thoughts
crashing like a thousand waves,
inside my skull,
and I hear them scream behind my eyes.

Longing for freedom,
to spring destruction where they lay.
My words will not inspire.
I have no greater cause,
no drive or dreams.

I wear a blindfold of my own design,
a handmade pair of rose glasses.
I turn my tired eyes towards the sun,
to burn away
the image of this wretched world.

I want to scream and
smash
and destroy,
until nothing remains
but my echo,
cursing the stars
for being so pure.

Such reckless abandon cannot be sustained,
how long before the elaborate farce is revealed,
before my tongue cannot be held.

My words will only divide.

Apocalypse

Tear it down.

Begin again.

Does anyone care?

The apocalypse could be nigh and facebook would be flooded with updates. No one reaching out, finding the ones they love for that final embrace, that last magic spark as flesh meets flesh.

Just a generation, nay population, of blinkered sheep, bleating and twittering about what they wish they'd done.

Well wake the fuck up and do it.

Do it today, because tomorrow never comes, and yesterday was wasted.

I have the same dream nightly, a world devoid of humans, no concrete abominations. Just nature and all its beautiful mystery just left to happen. Ice caves left to grow, great caverns of glistening crystalline frost. Huge rivers and underground water ways. Nature returning to balance. In my dream I view all this from an astral plain, the last observer of pure beauty before humanity is forgotten.

A failed mistake slowly erased.

Then I awake with a jolt. In reality my dream will be a nightmare. Every form of beauty used for some resource that man-unkind thinks it needs.

A world consumed by human locust, maybe never to recover. What then, off into space to rinse and repeat, like some monster shampoo stinging the eyes of the gods.

Like a freight train on a Sunday afternoon

Like a freight train on a lazy Sunday, demolishing everything in sight, can't stand this city living.

All these bodies, no longer human, moving to and fro in their wrapped up world. Like it fucking matters. You make however many million, spend it on shit, a new car, bigger pool. Do you think of those who have none, and if you do; what do you think? Do you see yourself as better than them? Do you pity the proles who live beneath you? The only reason you could be seen as better is in the eyes of this fucked up society you build up on a daily basis.

Why not live for life, for the exploration of your mind and soul, rather than fuck up the world, our world, our home. Humanity is not infinite. Far from it, we lead a very finite existence.

We have not been the only dominant species on this planet, the dinosaurs had the run of the fucking place and look what happened to them. They may not have directly caused their extinction in any way, but it happened.

Gone.

Kapput.

No more.

And if their is a god, maybe we're his latest project. Maybe he got bored of playing with dinosaurs. Snuffed them out and started again, felt he could do better.

But you have to be careful bringing god into things. The universe could be infinite, so if god exists, is he just god of us, or everything.

How much time does he really have to tend his flock, How many flocks does he have?

How long are we left unguarded?

For the wolves are closing in my friends, real or metaphorical, and they will devour us, given half the chance.