Word. Spirit. Power

Some assume I write
from a dark place or
find my words bear the sting
of negativity, a tinge
of the dark side.
But only in regards
to the affairs of men
does my positive outlook
come into question.
For when I bask
in the rays of the Sun
countless hours will disintegrate
like those unnerving wasted thoughts
upon the follies of man
that fade into nothingness
as if they'd never existed
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The Funeral

Kensal Green. Oblivion - Copy

Attended a funeral 
for brain cells again
Seems an extended family
I bury them every weekend
Sometimes during the week
I am their killer, their priest
and undertaker
Sometimes on Mondays
I have to guide those that remain
as they appear to be wandering
within a dense fog
Seems the drink I consume
to forget
is like a pandemic to them
and I can vanquish
countless hordes of them
like some angry cerebral deity
I know that day will come
when they all will succumb
to oblivion, that grand day
I leave this phony world behind
and bury the last one
in a great fermented flood