Sliding pieces into place until they fit.
Figuring out what must be next.
Hands rising like a plague from sand.
Eyes piercing what no man commands.
With stained tatters formed into lines.
Wretched are we who stand without ground.
Formed in moments lost to voids.
Imagine new comments cast with lies made true.
Beaten from two dimensions into four.
Polarity has fractured however.
Damned upon these tortured stones.
Carved out until space is numb.
Open books ignite new wars.
Rage filled and locked in place.
Dissect forms into shattered shells.
Wound around these flesh puppet heresies.
Strung out along these hidden plains.
Eruption from deep within stagnation.
Reeled in and cast to mud.
Bark rather than forge a home.
Forceful impressions wrapped in fog.
Screams that remove an edge.
Pilfered gestures sold in waves.
Watchful we are but that which will not be saved.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 