The Factory (07.28.10)

In my dreams, the real comes alive

Deep within my gear-like mind

This factory forges my perceptions

Percieved of life by my six senses

With every product comes pollution

And other effects by pure delusion

But from the chimney, billows my words

And around it sits, these listening birds

They make no sound, in their sleep-like stand

For they lost their voices, cawing over land

All they do is sit and behold

The laboring gears, as they bear the cold

The factory is guarded, by heavy stone walls

Built from fear, and whatever may fall

From the moonlit sky, where the spiders crawl

From star to star, as they devour them all

Behind the walls, presides the cheif

A man whom seems, so filled with grief

For he himself is lost for words

As much as are, the listening birds

Beyond the gates are shallow graves,

Merry-go-rounds and carriageways

The vivid reminders of what he had

Insights to his mind, as but a young lad

On said terrace, drives mission men

Carrying the love, laughter and the yen

And in their carriages they do carry

Tablets that could keep, all the land merry

While pedaling through their endless drive

These men do write to stay alive

They scrawl their thoughts, in inks so bold

And shine in the sun, like lovely gold

From his tower, the cheif could see

All that light that came to be

Thus lit up the merry-go-rounds

That lay beyond, the factory grounds

The reflection twinkled, in his eyes,

And sparked a thought for which he’d die

His finger ran fast, throughout the night sky

But, alas, he couldn’t see why

Everyone needs some simple things

Even those, in the fighting ring

So in my dreams, I will dream

That the poor cheif finds, his special needs