#1
Not sure where all this came from but hey, I thought it turned out pretty cool. Let me know what you think


In the midst of shattered mirrors
In the valley of the torn
I came across a workin' man
Workin' on his scorn
He noticed me approaching
Though he didn't make a move
He didn't bother to acknowledge
That which he did not approve
I was choosy with my words
Because I knew that he would listen
Agreeing is a different word
But that was not my mission
I said, "Know this, man, that as I pass
I see right through your scorn
And behind that sturdy shield
I see a dream that is unborn
It's up to you and you can choose
To keep on as you were
To take this with a grain of salt
Or with a cane of sugar"

In the company of strangers
Not far off the genie's pond
Strangers though they are
I still always have been fond
Every time I pay a visit
I take note of what has changed
But not a blade of grass has budged
Everything remains arranged
Don't deprive me of the spotlight
Let me get it off my chest
Keep what you can stomach
And regurgitate the rest
Switch it up or start anew
Before it is too late
The Neanderthals would warn you
That you're choosing your own fate
Though it might seem in your habits
All your problems have been solved
Eventually you'll perish
Cause you were stubborn to evolve

In the heart of pristine feathers
Where the wicked once had roamed
Lies what should be happy people
Though they don't enjoy their throne
As clean as hands can get
You'll hear them moan that they are sore
Poverty stricken faces
Although they are far from poor
Desperate and confused
Is how I'm reading their expression
Begging for an answer
And long prepared with the question
I convey to them the story
Of the king who had it all
Whose jargon didn't include the words
Lose, decline, or fall
But I couldn't call that living
No, he was merely alive
Because his jargon didn't include the words
Grow, become, or strive

My brow was sore from squinting
At the peak of the revered
I started on a sentence
But my attention disappeared
Captivated by a figure
With a posture so naïve
I was lost amongst the patterns
That were embroidered on her sleeves
I'd try to describe
If you were inclined to insist
But like silk through a rubber glove
It would never do it justice
I said what I could say
Before her mind was deterred
That nature will be patient
To reclaim what is rightfully hers
All your sleeves are good for
Are the people they've impressed
You can wear them to your grave
But still they will be repossessed