Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

what exists in a breath before it expires
what is conspires to chew up the scenery
torn bodies flung here and there
when revolution comes rolling in

when it actually breaks into a grand sweat
and loses its holds and all heck breaks out
when the wind folds like a house of cards
and the old coat collapses on the hollow cloud
when the gasping voice crashes over an Egypt
flip the flags are burning in the singing sand

the words are like vague wanderers
or howling specters of floating paper bags
that hug the ground but long for the clash
they come in their scarves and torn bloody rags
of mystic sounds to rise from the rain ruby sky
to tare the creepy curtains off the museum mask
to dare stand in the middle of the lions circle
of raining projectiles on the gathered crowd
to come from the rugs of the alleys hidden in calls
to sit in dark rooms like birds in the halls of records
to flog the reasons, the bad we excite the sounds
they are like music that has found no match

to light the skies above the empty palace of doom
the empty eternities of stuff we read on blacken wall
about the things that fall when nobody is looking at all
so here I sit hitting the keys of collapsing voids, blank
as the fires fingers caress the air in another foreign land
and the hand of fates paints the sun creeping down town
the smoke coils like a long lost serpent and spent then coils
again out of the wreaks of vehicles and what is left of them
the cries still resonant from the people that came out at last
to cast their eyes proud, when the revolution comes rolling in

nice, well captures so much

you capture the processes that turn turmoil into hope....the steps that lead to something new, good, bad, better, worse, the move away from the status quo.........