Im in a "rut" rightn now,,,just writting to write really get myself flowing each one of these stanzas is differnet and have nothing to do with another...let me know what you think

The sun is black like roting fruit
A cottage in the trres
Where the hermit blows upon his horn
calliing out to the bees
To take their merry way and the honey from their hives
Dropping some for him on his porch in the sky
The fruitful baskets full of wishes baking in the sun
Are shaking in their solitude not sure if they need anyone but
He can take a chance and whim or a guess
That here this night alone could be heaven in its stillness

The cherry streets and firm indfifference
A cold steel break from a nazi march
On the eve of stone conciouss and the folly of a mind
Broken by derision, the wrathful human kind
But is not him he we cast away so slef assured
As the madness that breaks a family
the business of life hanging by finger tips
Chained to the mouth of "truth", teeth barred frothing at the mouth
Their own creation

Sin and evil are the sons of man
A kind which casts its dirty spells onto the streets
Of marble burned black
Vagabonds weeping rapping in the cold
Like a candle that realized the length of its wick
Only to fear fire and its lowly abstraction
A conception of what seems and now becomes an IS
To be, not just dance around but dwell from within
Or fear the actualization, and the constraints of such a whim
To wander blindly in their senses or shed their dualism

Studies on herb
Thoughtless raving like lunatic
In the arms of a god on the lips of demons
A horrid beltch of the thinking mind suffocating essence
Strangling the spirit
With a dear indifference
i hold towards my heart
panting in the light with eyes closed