I’m on my wits end,
and all I can do is pretend,
as if everything was okay,
when everything has gone cray,
Within a perception that has turn gray.
Where there is so much to be said,
yet no voices remain to be laid,
so tunes can no longer be played,
and all that remains is a never ending dismay.
But if all is lost, then there is no need to be afraid,
and with no longer a need to obey,
I will freely express in my silence, as I may,
and until my last whipping breath is sprayed,
I shall leave trails of inked paper full of play;
full of words and voices silenced by the day,
by the brilliant ignorance that led the world full of faithful into the clay.
After all someone has to claim for all the lies that the brilliant said,
someone has to ask back for the innocence, we all traded for the ray.
By Jan M. Ramos