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Moving Down the Line

                                                Moving Down the Line                                

 

 

 

Walking now,

     Walking head down –

Close to host of ghost like

State,

            Yet only around the tired

Wooden floors of a rented home

As I’m placed unwittingly under

House arrest and I detest this

Passing of a wasted time,

Blinded by grey while

Rain slashes harsh upon

Another faded town.

 

 

            Tick-Toc shouts the clock!

Stopping only to see if I acknowledge

Its presence, no other sound to break

A guilty wall of silence

And violent;

I await the crack and thump

From a gun with lust; a shot

To slave a thousand screams

Tired from their pleas.

 

 

 

     I cry within,

The din of distant

Drum muffled – seemingly

Altogether out of reach and speech

Checked upon a warring nation,

I’m touched by how the people bruise

Through the wrangle of a rational

That mangles every intellect,

Torture by a system using

Technology as its tool.

 

 

 

            I can feel HMP Britannia

Seething underneath and I look

To the floor whilst agitated on

My feet,

          Dancing like a zombie,

Dancing like a zombie as my iris

And my pupil disappear revealing

Shells like moons daubed by blood

And I’m shocked, this desolate of

Substrata, a Biosphere where the

Silent Orchestra drop their arms,

Let the songs of saints fall dispassionately

To the ground and like I,

     Roll their eyes behind the back of mind.

 

 

 

          Soulful tunes are broken,

Stolen,

          Dead!

               Dead!

                    Dead!

 

 

 

 

Then I wait upon the march of

Time to be taken like a shadow

In the line,

     Taken like the next

                        And the next

                                  And the next.

 

 

     And I feel,

Internment camps bursting

At the seams from those once alive,

Waiting patiently the cull,

                                   And there’s just

Nothing left,

                   Nothing left,

                                      Nothing.

 

 

 

 

Michael J Waite 28th September 2009 0155hrs.

 

 

 

 

 

◄ Prayer to K-PAX

Tickle _ Hurt ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (5812)

Sun 11th Oct 2009 13:35

Hi Mike, your recording blew me away. i have read much of your work, and have been moved by your anger, sadness, love, injustice - the whole range of emotions really...but only through my own voice and intonation. listening, after reading first, added so much more for me in many ways. haunting x

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