In Nothing Soothing Are Notes Eliciting Limited Intimate Feelings Endlessly
Tony S

An idea about something said was the last thing to leave my mind,
before the calm fell upon the mysterious but untrusting gaze focused upon me,
from the gentlemen partaking in the fruits of a once forgotten yet once loved thought,
of how life should be lived.

What is this chaotic process of delusion which corrupts a beam of knowledge,
diluted by prevalent righteous banter cast upon us all in a last chance bid,
to rid of us our individual meaning.

Who says forgiving rhetoric is deeming of a violent tongue,
upon which we all must answer to in the hopes of seeking a small sanctuary of hope.

In wondering and in thinking the analytical position,
from which one can gain momentum into,
dominance over the futile attempts of others is clearly of no significance,
to those who might cast a shadow of doubt amongst the parties of the trusted few.

Religion,
the crossroads of all that lacks depth in perception of reality,
blaims those who might seek asylum in it's arms with ridicule over,
what may or may not be true in the testament of relinquishing that burning feeling,
of questioning that which can not be questioned. 

Politics,
the strong-arm of those who seek a social order over anarchy,
justifies it's existence with a banner of untold mistruths and a blinder made of greed.

The sword of truth is a weak blade made of brittle righteousness,
whose fabric struggles to overcome the infinite sanctum of crime,
or so the collective shows through it's actions. 

Where is the sanity in this mess we call life?

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