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

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