Stuff

I try to sleep but think about
an endless sea of endless
crap.
It churns and moans and
screams out: "More!
How dare you think you've calmed
my storm?"
Its waves beckon enticingly
like Sirens, chuckling,
"Come and see..."
So in the eye a glitter forms
it twinkles, reaches, wants for
more -
more things to fill a dragon's lair
a mansion, grand, filled most
by air
enslaved by echoes, frequencies,
which cloud the mind
deliberately
Now there within this stony wall
these sounds, they build up,
start a thrall
a tale, a story, of the times
a narrative which seems
to rhyme
but deep within the Siren's spell
the truth, unnoticed, weeps
and wails
while glory dreams littered with stuff
forsakes the heart, an
unfilled cup
that now sits, rotting, in a chest
neglected - broke -
not laid to rest
This hollow, lonely, beat up husk
tries desperately to reach,
to trust
while violently, the Sirens sing to
all these hearts entrapped by
things
that glitter, fill more palace walls
dampen the sound of unheard
calls
so words, turned whispers, from the heart
drown and choke;
unspoken thoughts
broadcast by dragons fierce with greed
who'd rather hoard a host
of things
that have no value, truth, or use
except to look at and
abuse
while unloved hearts, they wither, crushed
under the weight of endless
stuff
and still no hero, pure and just
comes riding in to clear the
dust
that gathers, day, by aching day
upon weary, torn, and strained face
who've, Stockholmed, lost a simpler past
a time which long's been at
half mast
a memory which now'll be raised
requires no worship, and - or -
praise
but only if each; every! heart
could stand and stretch and
wash the salt
which gathered, built up from neglect
of one another's broken
wrecks
those husks of hearts entrapped in stone
could break their walls,
be vulnerable
silence the echoes, stop the fear
replace the lonely stinging
tears
with warmth, and love, and hope, and trust
rest
weary hands once filled
with
stuff