kind of random...

Like still statues over graves
we do nothing
Each cowers over
afraid to continue their walk
Mocked
we become no better than the mockers
for we don't stand up to them.
Adaptive
we live with them, when we must run
away.
They are the cursed
when we are the better
But for now we let them win

The sun will stop its rising
The moon will become empty and dark
The earth will ignite in flames
Our bodies will gasp for air
The air will be no more
Our souls will die among the dead
If
we choose to sit
Let us rise up from our dusty stools!
And swing at the ever-climbing vines
that hold us back
Alone we can fight, but together we can win
Grab your shields and swords
take your ground
Let the mockers run and flee
for they can not win against the warriors and
The King.



........yep.

Streets

Both hands dug loosely in your two jean front pockets, the air seems completely clear of the spring pollen. It's brighter today than it has been for awhile.
I love when theres nothing to do and the world can be yours, if only for a moment, as you walk down the busy city streets. A bell sound rings from the door you just passed, as someone walks out of the liqueur store, you keep walking.
The man across the street, standing on newspapers, strums his heart out and sings on the top of his lungs. The music has already gotten to your lips and they form a smile. Not necessarily enjoying the music being played but by the way the man doesn't care who walks in front of him or stops to listen.
His minds only on one thing, giving back what he was given, to the world. His hands never cease strumming and his eyes never seem to look up from the guitar. The old winter hat he wears surprisingly stays on top of his never moving head, banging up and down to the rhythm of his tapping foot. Thankfulness surrounds the little spot at where he stands.
Your feet carry you onward after dropping a few dollars into the open, brown guitar case.

Stores filled with things, things people don't need, line the streets of this city.
Your lungs fill with warm air and you contribute carbon dioxide to the air in return.
Graffiti in many colors in colorful words paint the brick walls you follow. Different cults and gangs mark their territory in the most random of places. It makes you wonder if all they think of their life is just a big game, like monopoly, claiming places with them being a gun player piece.
But once you've reached the end of one brick wall, there, graffiti-ed up the word the world surrounds. It's been there for awhile and is almost hard to see. The white spray paint is barely there, but yet you see it, so clearly.
You take a black sharpie from your left pocket and start tracing, thinking its important, that word we all die for. First the L and then the O, the V was a little more tricky; being on a crease in the brick. And when you finish with the E, you continue to walk down the trash covered streets.

This is the world from ones point of view.