Swallow the silence and glare at the moon.
What might be offered is the chance of a boon.
Can you turn down a gift so freely given?
Never listen to the snorts of cynical derision.
For what lies in shadow is not that baited in rays.
So ignore the chants that you’ll be starving for days.
Perfection is impossible no matter how long you try.
Do the best that you can and then be pleased with your cry.
Feast on forgiveness and forge a new path.
The equations are literal and requiring math.
Yet dote on the wrong and you will subside.
This is not a safe and secure type of ride.
Its why the glory days have taken up root.
With present having given our atmosphere the boot.
Festered and forgotten under a sea of thick vines.
Does anyone here remember saving grace lines?
Gauge out the yearning and damn potential screams.
What might lie beneath is but a city made of dreams.
For none are the saviours while they brandish swords.
Instead they are criminals calling themselves lords.
Its why the tables aren’t turning and all is falling flat.
Never forgive how they blundered through that.
Mouthing some nonsense they wished to be real.
Reality is that everything you see came from a steal.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 