Monkeys on Mute

Here is a poem with its eyes cut out,
bound in darkness,
blinded by ignorance,
branded with a mark on its forehead
that would make Cain
toss and turn in his grave
from disbelief.

Here is a chest with a hole in its center,
bled out from the empty cavity,
hollow in the bones,
ribs picked clean
and sold to the vultures
that lurk greedily
with lust dancing
through their wicked little thoughts
of carnage.

Here is a song that haunts my soul,
just released,
spun fifty times on repeat
to reflect Revelation
as silenced ghosts from the past
materialize on the scene anew,
weeping and wailing
along with the sounds of devastation
while they linger
to cast aspersions
on all of the love
that went so wrong.

Here is a tree cracking in its trunk,
swaying in the wind,
snapping as the storm
splinters its spine to shatter
rings of ancient wisdom
that have grown burdened
from too many years
of trying to hold up the weight,
finally toppling at the highest peak
as the crown crashes
to the floor of the forest
with a thud
resounding in reverberations
felt throughout
an empire fallen.

Here is a sign screaming from the sun,
bursting with beams of black light,
boiling the oceans,
burning the fields,
breaching the contract
between heaven and earth,
unseen, unheard, unspoken,
left now to wallow
in the wastelands,
left now to pick up
the pieces

Scott Thomas Outlar is a lover of truth and enjoys researching philosophy, psychology, politics, spirituality, and any other facet of consciousness in the pursuit of reaching a higher state of vibration. He also enjoys writing rants, poems, essays, short stories, and prose-fusion screeds covering such subjects. Scott Thomas can be reached at You can also watch and/or subscribe to his YouTube Channel Read other articles by Scott Thomas, or visit Scott Thomas's website.