There are only so many
species of drugs
designed by the gods
and the rest is filth in a vial
but who am I to stop
the hands of fools who poison their own hearts
There are decades of nostalgic scenes
that flash within my shifting mind
with innocence that tries to save the youth
but we’re no longer living in those years
and dreams may bring a locust swarm
to prelude larger problems still
So here on the front porch
butterflies, birds, and falling leaves
provide a purpose more fulfilling
than any served upon a liquid screen
and the sun is triumphant
in a sky that’s been tortured
by schemes that seem to mirror
forces that seek a dystopic end