#NightengaleWingedAngels #NativeFlutes & #RockGuitars #SacredDrums

WHITE & BLACK IN A GREY AREA

by

richard joseph stephan * wednesday, rocktober 17, 2018

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Whatever it takes to be or not to be will be done, step the lead-off first base, a stealing kind

That you and I are fortunate to have had a microsecond of the millennia, a sacrificed behind

Even though we didn’t know the innocence nor the flutist call for consummation of old calves

All of the runs to get home with more runs and win the game of innings, quarters and halves.

White bear from Chicago, groomed near the lake by packin’ Cheese and Hoosiers deadheads

Hippies sixties, beatniks’ fifties, sent me to cold wars, slept in Plato and Karl Marx waterbeds

I protest the protest of the protesters, if that makes sense, if it doesn’t then I still protest, son

Give it some thought, use logic and reason then divorce rationality, you’re a GD phqn moron.

It’s just begun but the ending was easy to see before the lights came on in the darkness’ glow

Bringing a song and a dance over to the party of One, I see nothing but myself here and now

Possible that there’s a high probability that life will turn out fine, I’ll die and nobody will cry

Nobody’s concerned if nothing exists in reality, when you die your life dies, boom, so just die.

The long, tall tale of the chosen ones and the descendants of the original men and women lied

Fear of the unknown, fear of the death of your loved ones and neighbors was the hated stench

A smell of rotten blood and meat, uncooked, sunburned but in the heated fire’s tongue french

Excitement about the trip from ignorance to enlightenment, in check until ecstasy, let’s ride!

Pulling the sand together with the random words and sounds from the holy wood, windblown

Spells and sounds formed into the potion to demand the intent to be realized, Nothing’s sewn

Yet stitches and scars remain, it keeps a gaping hole uptight, out of sight of holy sycophants

Creative force without a form, without substance, Nothing in Full, demigods? Not a chance!

by

r j j stephan, i { not a psycho-sycophant, no pining at this age, an anomaly, it’s my dream! }

c. ROCKTOBER 17, 2081 A.D. @ 5:55 AM PST

{ drafted while listenin’ to #ShamansCall from #AThousandRoads by R. Carlos Nakai & my soul recollections on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/ey5v268s7ZA }

YOU KNOW...IT'S ALL 'BOUT THIS...W.W.A.R.D.? #CloudNineOverHere