The Face

look to the skies when you are without yourself,
look down to the ground and see what you have found,
where are your eyes but upon your face,
look straight and try to gather your last days.
who are you but a man and his face?
look at me and speak,
for where is your toungue but locked away in your daze,
but can you see me as your tears leak,
for look!the man who cries but cannot speak!

are you a man who has not seen his face?
are you so modest that your beauty sinks beneath your skin?
can your words hear mine? do they not rankle your senses?
to rebel,to break my solitude with your expressions,
would you not do any of these to stand up against this submitting life?
what does your name or your face matter anymore?
for it is not your time to decide.

listen to your will for it is more precious than your mind,
for thought would tempt those vivid distractions,
night and day have become so worthless to you,
that time is not enough for you to grow with the ages,
and in everything else you find reasons to hope for.

lying with your head,chin resting upon your chest,
do you stare at the blank walls that face you like a man,
as the wind has lost its way and you can hear nothing but noise,
the way you stare at everyone else who do but show lively,
the smiles and the tearing glances that fall on you,
and leave you freezing in a pillar of snow.


but leave behind your shamed filled lies,
for there are other minds that would prefer to suffer,
than endure the inhumanity of this progressive future,
for now would you control your sanity,
for how you see the world in your true eyes,
so is it becoming the dream of a reality,
and so shall tomorrow rise and it is the dying that dies.

call upon fate,if you will,
but destiny does not exist but in your mind,
call upon those echoes of a dream,and they will say that you are deaf unto your own voice,
and they laugh and scream,the mirth of hysteric confusion,
but you will stand a man,human above all means,
as you shall see everything as it has to be,
and live among them as a shadow that trails in the light,
for this seething mass has a voice that chants into the night,
you hear it in your sleep as the night is silent by the moon,
and yet you woke to a life that spoke about it all too soon.