Storm Theory

 

 

     It’s about sensing what’s genuine ole Man!

You know I believe in you as the relationship is

So intense,

     But why play the game with me?

 

     Take the red pill or take the blue pill,

That’s the choice we’re told,

But as little as I was,

The red and blue were thrust upon me

In one solid cartridge of a pill,

     Several times I might add.

 

     The 2 can fekk a child up,

A man up, a woman up,

Because you’re trying to live

The here and now while secretly,

Subconsciously nodding the future

And because there are those to prove a point,

The future is not the future I saw age 3.

 

     Fluxed if I know, fluxed if I don’t

So what’s the point?

It’s hard old man,

Hard to identify with who is real

When reality is making a buck

Out of all abuse

And excuses are plentiful

As to why I am the way I am

But still,

     The game goes on as nothing

Is done for the genuine in need,

In Africa the tempest storms again

And I’m supposed to be bothered

About the lack of cover for a drain,

 

It’s time not to judge the judged as

Cruel when cruelty is the all I have

     Known, known to the police,

     Known to the mental health workers

     Known to both Satan and God Yourself.

 

     Too many wasted lives,

Too many kids now brandishing knives

Yet still the judgement lies upon me

Like an axe nodding only a hesitation

In the bloodletting that remains in time,

     Unjust.

 

     For if the axe-man be nodding too,

Then he would throw the axe away for

Those judged guilty for the hurt they have

Endured and cures, are what really ails this man,

For the cures for those of whom I really

Do give a damn are hidden,

While a thief goes begging in the light,

Why the spite, why this spite,

Why the spiteful world where life,

Is not in whom you can save,

But in whom you can cheat - a fall.

 

     I ‘love’ – God,

Plain and simple as day,

But disturbance had me done

From only very small,

So I pray and try not to play

The game until, I know,

That genuine people really do

Have the heart that most seem to

Want destroyed.

 

     I love - God,

I love, and lose

And lost, is the man that

Wanted only the best there was

To offer,

     Like end of famine,

     End of poverty,

     End of all that inspires

Only the macabre,

For we know we could be

In honesty the altruist we seek,

Please ole Man, give chance

For what is left of a tarnished world,

And nod only those that have the heart

To help create the peace that seems,

     The fairy tale ending we know

Could be if people were free

From antiquated theory

Of fight or spat of virtue,

For lost if battle continues,

Is another battered bludgeoned soul;

Still innocent, still on knees,

Weak from never allowed to be

Within himself;

     The quiet man that heaven sent.

 

 

Michael J Waite 21^st July 2011.