and can it be?

reflections

broken by the ripples of time

but

continually shaping the past

from

the present.

hardly what was once believed to be the truth

we scarcely fathom the deep instances of denial

brought to us by the unloved children of tomorrow

as they quietly step towards the black oblivion of the night.

craning our necks to be able to see where we once were

to where we want to be;

it is an obtuse illusion of death and life still reaching for progress…

or is it?

The english that spills forth from lips curled up in rebellion

is the english that breaks us free from standards that the

authority bring to it’s beings, a selfish slave.

raining down, the reign reaches down to smother the other brother while

killing the machine’s breath of simplicity.