Escape

 

 

Escape is not the haunting that decides

Only ghosts of previous lives roam free upon this Earth,

It is not I beg the conditioning of another form

Of life when a meam presents death upon each fallacy we live,

Although, I wait while chewing toast to be

Presented with another day to waste.

 

Death could be the escape we dream in worlds

Written by bogus Walter Mitty,

Like hokum candy snaps the ventriloquist

Can never eat; there but, too brittle hard and

Crunchy to swallow while you’re toyed by

The hand of God up the rectum that sits daily,

On seats that come expensive for all the

Muppets that we are,

                                    Pretending pretentiously to know how to talk posh when,

None give a fuck at all!

 

Escape, is found only in the here and now!

Dissecting its existence is futile if you ponder only

How challenging it is to find another way when you live

The other way any way you please,

We are the Escape,

We are the free of yesterday but none

See any of this at all.

 

There are slices of another existence within

The landings of the flats that have imprisoned

All your souls,

But being John is not the entirety of the other world

We seek, only yet once found;  it is as dead

As the life you live within the imaginations of

A return to tell the tale and,

Escape, can only be the death of all we know of you.

 

There is Sanctuary in quarrelsome minds,

But the leap can be just too fantastical an afterthought

Of living,

            When the Goodbyes become so unbearable;

            That escape is not the want at all but, Freedoms.

 

Michael J Waite 12^th May 2011.