Neil dawson diary: April 2014

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Life without youth

A life without movement

Purpose

Or ideal.

Trapped in the cage of ignorant perfection

The lions are de-fanged

Old minds succumb to blatant stagnation

All the rebels have been hanged.

The world stops turning

Frozen in time

The flames of passion cease to burn

The bells of creation no longer chime.

Walking through the streets of an urban jungle with nothing but the clothes on my back and three pounds of grass to my name.

The roads stretch on into the depths of hell while synthetic light blinds the heavens above to the atrocities below.

Every word spoken

Every goodbye said and done.

The windows shut

All the doors are locked

Lights turned off

All the ships have been docked.

The dream is over

There’s nothing left to say

No handsome knight to sweep me off my feet

No brown eyed vixen to convince to stay.

Surrounded by ignorance and denial

He cannot speak the truth.

Bound by the chains of his own heart

He is a sad youth.

On a road between worlds

A path between states

I stand alone

Unique by design and intention

In the prison of human thought and limitation.