Poetic Speech

If being free begins with the freedom to speak| Let my words travel across transmissions| Across wires connected from land to land flowing through streams| The freedom that sparks a speech| Arise the spirit of those before| Instilled in the words connecting patterns into one single message| That may be interpreted into thousands| Evolving from one single question| Convey the meaning| And in it you find your own reflection| It means nothing if you don't see through the letters| It means everything when you perceive the hidden lessons|

Her ability to feel no longer lingers from her inner chest| Replaced with an emotionless sense of the world around her steps| Instead of looking up she sees only the ground| Not the faces which once laughed and smiled| She built her own road to walk on| But nothing in the background| No grass| No trees| Only a deep black screen| Static hides the image| I once dreamt of where she would end| On a road with no hope| A slope hill heading down towards the abyss| I once heard laughter and joy created from those lips| Anger took her soul and wrapped itself around her shoulders never to let go|

Amount the time given for a life| As the minutes pass another hour lost| Time stood still as the clock changed hands| A mass ordeal| Seemed lost in the vast appeal| The deal broke through with one foot left standing on crutches| Passed down from generation to generation| Applause to make those less worthy feel equal within the equation| Subtract those unneeded and multiply the ones in front of the class| Mask the wrinkled face| Alter the underlines with a more a chiseled outline| The gravitated figures| Replace them with cardiovascular enhanced figures| Increase the workload for those without a voice| keep them in line| With a straight lace running up and down their spine|

I turn my tongue green with a pint of mint listerine. A blistered knee. Eyes bleed from the passing of a centipede. Don't stand close to me I erupt in a millisecond, conforming into a catholic priest. I stand high underground. The sounds of an orchestra swimming in the mud with the sounds of an orca. I boast I had it all, but now I can only hope that they don't take away my last adderalls. Don't test with a number 2 pencil, give me a red pen so I can pencil him in. And they call me a backpacker. Hike up your mountain till I find the erupting fountain and go for a deep sea dive, only to come back to land in the space of a spaceship, blasting off with my sins. High-class noon, blast off past the moon with a fork and a spoon, I went too far; now I need to rewind so I can get my piece of the cake, in a cheesy plate. Its an arms race to the finish line, my A.K. is too heavy to glide across, I could only make it past half of the track. I had to make a pit stop and grab my Tech ...

One glass too many| Better yet one cup too empty| Overflowing wine burst from the edge| The taste is bittersweet| The outcome is delusion in the sheets| Mass confusion in the streets| The outcome is a body shattered| Broken bones scattered across the street| Breathe with an infected lung| From the vision's inability to see the road ahead| Abstract images counteract the reality of the beast|

I have never been the type to shy away from my emotional side| I display them| Allowing the limited few I fall for| In like an open door| Yet the women I have fallen for| See this as a sign of weakness| A fault| Am I too old fashioned|? And they would rather have a man with no emotions?| Is what they want only a protector?| Someone to feel safe with?| And not someone to confide in as well?| Or am I just swimming in the wrong sea?| Should I just let the breeze carry my emotions to sea?| Until the correct hands grab onto them and return the emotions back at me?|