The Rhythm of Picking Sides
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

Circles of energy, electric anger in love…
The falling sky, ominous and foreboding presses gravity upon
the soul and the tribes of humanity groove on hatred.
A luxurious love stalking insanity.

Reason to rage at the Sun and the Moon for daring to exist.
Gods of rhythm mystifying mortal time with death,
while dancing in Heaven, mocking relative eternity…
Time has no father, it is a bastard of existence.

This tribal dust clinging to life, charged with awareness,
and lost in knowledgeable confusion… Seeks relevance.
Spiritually blurred in the shadows of good and evil,
blood tides rush to fill the voids of boredom with war.

Logic becomes a twisted tale of priestly poetic disciples
drunk on the divinity of expressive imagination.
Only by death can the living define peace, hatred is the noblest love… a gift of meaning.

Why is the cry, the essential tears of pain
shared in common by mothers picking sides and sons seeking blessings. A benediction of
martyrdom, of whine turned to blood…
food for hungry passion eclipsing reason.
The tree of knowledge is ignorant and bears fruit
of bewilderment comprehending blame of innocence.
This melody of life and death is played
repetitively to the beat, to the war drums,
to the rhythm of picking sides.

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