It came in a dream.
It was an hourglass of tar and sand
burning through the sides of painted layers on a wall.
This wall, we'd built from flesh and bone and history,
a textbook story, clashing colors of a rocky mountain waterfall.
Rapid wind and earth and fire, murky shadows;
it was only sweet surrender
as we promised to never let another person see our hearts,
never let another child steal away a precious summer.
Word by money, by pride, was only dignity swept away
in faded paper clips and tie tacks used to keep our lives together,
so we could walk in circles to ourselves.
My dream, this nightmare whispered of deadened ends and forlorn paths
through concrete foliage and mechanics singing nature's song.
We all fell down to a ring of rosy, ruby glimmers,
possessions for us to swim in,
castles and cottages we wish we lived in.
Every hope on display for the window shoppers,
hijacked autobiographies grasped from the sweet corruption.
I sat back and watched the world's abduction of a sunset in a picture frame,
cheap excuses for the problems that won't go away.
I saw the world crash down, turn black in sickness
of our clever concepts to make this place a pretty face,
to turn the globe into a silver platter.
And the servants of our mastery come marching down
with open arms and open guns pointed to each other,
pointed at each end of the horizon
in miscalculated warnings of fire on the edge of falling, faltering at its end.
And when the night painted away the glow of animosity on a soldiers face,
the red of hatred was replaced by the golden glow of fear,
turning purple hearts to hand grenades
and whispering lines in broken headsets to speak of how we made ourselves this way.
And never will I wake up to turn away from every nightmare,
to close my eyes to a day that writes of every reality
that lives outside my eyelids, that lives outside my head.