Nut-job Factories

Hazard factories spew
fearful nightmares
laden with monstrosities,
water oil and grease, what of god's lifelong lease?

Body's giving out?
Worn and shoddy
waste no worry
he's not sorry,
save your story
quit imploring.
The gift of you is enduring.
No if, and, but, or oaring,
excuses are boring, else
in awe, is curing.

You with your broken wing,
may you never fly again.
Excuses mean nothing,
lay instead of lying.
Use your thought making thing,
your humble brain can ascertain
survival as opposed to pain.

Deem main means versus vain dreams,
a world now torn at the seams
where nobody returns
'lest they learns.

Livid evil awakens one's role
of cajole with hate in one's soul
imprint itself upon the spirit,
token of moral demerit.

Lullabies play
to mark the day

Demonic incantations,
strained gradations
of situations, and
the nuisance of nations
to sort frustrations
landscape looming lamentations
Persian carpets,
we lose the sound.

Fixed eyes graze
and grasp the sight
of creativity lost in light,
somehow cast into the night
with inner plight.

Suffer, struggle fight
scale the opponents height down
and beat them at their own game,
though it might be lame,
It's lost just the same,
Show them who's to blame!

Beat the man insane,
beat the man insane.

Fist hand on a horizontal plane
Pounding a face in cold rain
droplets drip and his skin drains
he's deaf but for the trains
mind numb, remembering names,
Johnny, Jimmy, or James?

Jovial lackluster brain-dead bum
now he's bothering everyone
look what you've done, he's dumb
and can't remember where
he's left his thumb.
Right hand has none,
walking pun,
making ridiculous revelations
'bout slavery of cheese and
factories with playgrounds
and metal swings, slides,
cow hides, sheep rides
diets and riots
medical problems that have no cure
Shamans to heal that don't assure
people that love those who don't adore
assholes just asking for more,
jobs that man should not endure
a popular one: becoming a whore,
and so many people,
so many are bored.
In their own city the world they have toured
through their brains their hearts have poured,
on suffocating concrete streets
can you hear the urban beats?

Bodies are talking
wishing for walking
outside of themselves
disposition another delves.

Maybe half inside, is out there;
True love left out, sheared pair?

This is love's mystery,
and how does it does make sense to me.