THE STRUGGLE, IT’S TIME’S SPACE
by
Richard Joseph Stephan · Sunday, September 30, 2018
sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
You believe you aren’t descended from the warriors who survived the struggle to be dense
Even God needs a blow job every so often, it helps to rock your true Self to sleep in the deep
Undersea or outer-space is #InAndOut of the dream, don’t you know it? It all makes sense
A quick slice or a long stab, watching the life run out of the bad thing you gotta eat or bury.
If you don’t eat it and the dead meat rots to high heaven, you will move upwind to be free
Stench of the death’s ebb and flow, makin’ you wonder if to be or not to be is a question’s glee
Free choice doesn’t exist, everything is a cause and effect of the intended grace we display
Born and raised to rock the babies and ladies to sleep when they least expect a really bad day.
Completely foolish and above the law, It’s where the creator resides, in your own mind’s eye
Don’t wait for the third eye to weep, it has no tears and the sun don’t shine inside the big guy
Only the rocking motion of the cradle can put the divine down on the ground, its own Being
Nothing further from the truth than that this Dream you and I sleep in, is NOT a sham-fake!
Trained by the elders to be brutal and ruthless to win every battle and war against the who#e
She never lets the sun shine on the freedom river, only in the darkness’ whole black hole ho
On the border and on the loose, ridin’ the pale horse with my black cowboy hat tipped howdy
Movin’ on to the campfire, suppertime and lookin’ for a reason to remain alive as if it’s duty.
It ain’t a duty, no obligation to secure my pledge to survive until I die with a smile, got it son?
Did everything with eyes wide open, except when I got rocked to sleep on the way to prison
I am innocent, someone else is guilty but it ain’t me, I wasn’t there and I didn’t do it, trust me
Would I like to? Remove you, my father, my confessor, my mother’s magic slight of handy.
Creator destroyed in a brief stint here and now, promised immortality’s deceit, delivered fear
Death’s the utmost, revered ending for thinking things, if you’re A WARRIOR, now hear this
Do the time where the sun never shines and the river of liberty has no course near your arse
How long ‘fore you realize this Truth? Rocked asleep in Space again, Time itself’s G.D. farce.
Measure the spin of the dirty rock as it rolls around the ecliptic path of it’s electronic particle
Neutron stars are blown every microsecond to pretend that all of this means more than Krill
Shrimp in a terrestrial ocean, evolving consumables for free shark and barracuda, God’s meat
How long mortality lasts with bits of pleasure & pain, mighty gods, GD ElonMusk.TV, sweet!
by
r j j stephan, i { * THE HEADER is artwork by John Buscema from 1979 A.D. }
c. September 30, 2018 Sunday @ 06:41 hours (AM) P.S.T.
{ written in 10 repeats of the Eagles mighty hits on youTube #HowLongWomanWillYouWeep link @ https://youtu.be/LmW5McLF-Uk }
<3 p="">W.W.A.R.D.? ...she would PLAY with the FIRE! Yeah mama!
No comments:
Post a Comment
YOUR 2 cents...if you don't mind? ;-)