Frozen prophets hang crucified from the walls
Familiar texts in forgotten fonts
twisted symbols foolishly displayed
understanding...replaced by amusement
pseudo morality unfairly prejudged by its owner
exorcism of morals reverted
smothered hope drowned in delusions
angst deluded hate reverted contained unreleased
the makings of a postal worker
buttons with letters next to electronic rodents
the present funded by the past
in hopes of repayment of innocence
circles in squares providing wisdom
Maybe someday you could live on the edge of
a little village called understanding
But then the game wouldn’t be as fun
and all the impulses would become all the less psychotic
everything means something, the little things so much more
Look through the window, just try not to fog it up