Release

As the twinkle faded,

And the dosage decreased.

The hand lost sight,

Of the feet beneath.

Yet strut along it did,

As the hands flapped,

To be released.

So as it struggled,

With the essence of defeat,

Along came the dirt,

Accompanying the off-side beat.

At the yellow altar,

You will find a strip of faith.

Which will only bind you,

To your authoritarian fate.

So flap all you want,

Flap till you forget to count.

Your feet will carry you,

To what your hands,

Will never want.

The key is to find,

A common bend,

Along the body-way.

 Drop

 a

 bell

 along

 the

 way

 then

 maybe

 a

 dung-beetle

 might

 just

 find

 you

 and

 show

 you

 the

 way

 to

 that

 place

 your

 dreams

 never

 find.

Into nothingness.

When you sell your soul,

You do so thinking you’re doing it for the best,

Obviously.

Why would you sell your soul otherwise?

Why shouldn’t you aim for better,

Who is anyone to condemn you?

After all souls too,

Are like commodities,

Auctioned to the highest bidder.

There is no space left for principles,

Morals,

The truth.

We live in an age of compromises.

And yet we dream we’re more,

More than what we prove to be.

More than what we end up being.

Rhymes and aspirations are for the lizards,

Who crawl in your space,

And silently abide by the laws,

Put down by you.

You claim to be in control,

But you’ve already sold your soul.

So you go through life hating and waiting,

For something more,

Something that will bring.

Your despairing self,

Back to this unworthy life.

You think you deserve better,

But then you don’t want to deserve either.

Be it love,

Monetary assets,

A kind word,

A strong hand,

Physical abuse,

Emotional strength.

Maybe if you could feel something,

You’d be alive,

A new soul would emerge.

But then you’re already so bitter,

So angry,

So silent,

That nothing can change,

Because you’re used to,

Wallowing in pity.

Paying attention to yourself,

Because no one else will.

This is not a help-your-self thought,

Or an emerge-in-this way idea,

You are your own self,

Only you can save yourself.

It depends if you want to be saved,

Or not.

So we go on compromising bits of us,

Nothing matters,

Since you’ve already sold your soul,

And the irony is,

You didn’t even realize that you had,

Because you were elsewhere,

Not on this plane,

But on one where you were perfect.