The Tower

sunken eyes fill sunken ships

we’re on the cusp and in the grips

of an ancient civility depicted in noir

Aztec linguistics; traps set upon the Killing Floor

and for what’s more

coming to the surface were our most faithful missions

we’re transitioning, revisiting

The highest lows;

reveling in mysteries we carelessly wrote

true depth dividing pure sympathies

our lower realms have revoked;

Now thriving in the highest with

the Divine in me;

illuminating the Seer and her Seen reality

Beyond submission we’ve been feeling less free

as the Guardians wait above in towers to receive

word of the exile, hunted for gain

gazing through rifles, cheap

one-shot-one-kill game

as they scatter and slink behind barriers

borders thievishly impose

from above the bombs are dropped

somehow the safety signal failed to switch off

as false witnesses rehearsed in this play we’ve reversed

cursed sight always seeing the worst

now all bets are off;

better to perch here than to aimlessly walk

To lead is not simply to talk

so directionless was the flock

forgotten beneath the Tower at the base of the dock

The Harbor refused and left men wearing locks

newfound slaves neatly bought,

“They couldn’t even talk”

still ridiculed, left in shock

life in chains within a box,

kept in tiny cell blocks

Finally we’re urged to uncloak 

In ill-constraints the prisoners never spoke

of the in between and void Unknown

in rhythmic realms we swam upon;

sand ruts capture ankles in a breathless struggle

knee deep in devestation and still digging through the rubble

ailing disgust; an insatiable trust

the tall-lit towers tremble and sway 

falling to dust as the winds call on us to seal our fate

A destiny in servitude lest we change our failed ways

Unsightly space that never came

giving way to the new rebellion

We’re free;

as lanterns light

the pathways we seek

further awakening

the Mystic in me

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