The Ant House

Location

 


The Ant House


Mirrors

have been guiding us

through the smoke

since as long as man can remember.


Fools;

a society of leashed fools

dancing that unholy dance

that has been danced

more times than can be written

upon the outskirts of the clouded night sky.


We etch our names into holy wooden walls,

trying to claim God's creations for our own.


Vain creatures,

and I am one of them.


Forgive me

for my hypocritical breath,

for my criminal hands,

for my unjust heart,

for my sinful soul.


My glossy eyes tempt my vision in these woods.

A temptation put upon my sight by man,

yes, mine own kind hath ruined mine own mind,

and only the dead tree tops are here for my comfort.


How dismal.

How fragile as the dying limbs above my head.


May the wind sing me to sleep

before I am once again dragged

by these unheavenly hooks

from the forest I call home,

back into the reality of this pitiful world.


Hymns play in the memory of my ears.

I am not dead yet,

and neither is my soul.


I am torn but not shred.

Burnt but not yet ash.

Hope is still alive.

It breaths.

calmy, carefully, attentively.


It tip-toes amongst the tree tops,

swiftly dashing through the light

as we pitter patter in the shadows.


Few of us leave the dark

and walk into the light.

Very few.

But, for the few that do,

we see it.


For change never lied in the ant house,

but in everything around it.


The change I seek isn't hidden,

it never was,

never will.


It has always been

and will always be.


It is in Nature,

all around us.


It is in the way the wind moves,

the way the leaves fall and grow back again,

the way the sun shines even behind the clouds.


Persistence beyond order.


I say boldly

stop following the beaten down paths

society offers to you on a dirty silver platter.


Transcend! Transcend!


The walls of the ant hill are crumbling down,

escape while you can. 

 

 

          


The Ant House


Mirrors

have been guiding us

through the smoke

since as long as man can remember.


Fools;

a society of leashed fools

dancing that unholy dance

that has been danced

more times than can be written

upon the outskirts of the clouded night sky.


We etch our names into holy wooden walls,

trying to claim God's creations for our own.


Vain creatures,

and I am one of them.


Forgive me

for my hypocritical breath,

for my criminal hands,

for my unjust heart,

for my sinful soul.


My glossy eyes tempt my vision in these woods.

A temptation put upon my sight by man,

yes, mine own kind hath ruined mine own mind,

and only the dead tree tops are here for my comfort.


How dismal.

How fragile as the dying limbs above my head.


May the wind sing me to sleep

before I am once again dragged

by these unheavenly hooks

from the forest I call home,

back into the reality of this pitiful world.


Hymns play in the memory of my ears.

I am not dead yet,

and neither is my soul.


I am torn but not shred.

Burnt but not yet ash.

Hope is still alive.

It breaths.

calmy, carefully, attentively.


It tip-toes amongst the tree tops,

swiftly dashing through the light

as we pitter patter in the shadows.


Few of us leave the dark

and walk into the light.

Very few.

But, for the few that do,

we see it.


For change never lied in the ant house,

but in everything around it.


The change I seek isn't hidden,

it never was,

never will.


It has always been

and will always be.


It is in Nature,

all around us.


It is in the way the wind moves,

the way the leaves fall and grow back again,

the way the sun shines even behind the clouds.


Persistence beyond order.


I say boldly

stop following the beaten down paths

society offers to you on a dirty silver platter.


Transcend! Transcend!


The walls of the ant hill are crumbling down,

escape while you can. 

 

 

   

 

 

 

Comments

nickinser

I tried putting this in poetic format but everytime I clicked "Enter" to start a new stanza it would'nt let me.

nickinser

nevermind. I fixed it

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