I walk through this twisted garden
Passing idealic, idiotic stone statues
Who are trying to achieve that
Which I also dream
Uncaring, unfeeling, incapable of moving me
They saw the air too much with
Their lack of movement.
Confused and disgusted, I try
Crying out, reacing for a hand or
Voice that concurs, one that can
Instead, I find dead, stoic eyes
Looking, not into me or with me
But through me
Not seeing me at all
Still, I push, wanting to give up
Wanting to quit or become like them
To take the easy way
I don’t
As time passes, I become more of an out cast
Perhaps I’m a weed, poisoning these
Self-proclaimed gods of all things
That spit venom in their sleep
How I long to be in that Golden State of bliss
There I found comfort
There... my God
There I was one of them, I was a statue.
But I left
No going beck
Only thrusting forward
So I turn on these voices
Crack the blinds in their frozen minds
Watch, as they shatter, splinter
Fall, blown away into infinant particles
I may be in their garden,
I may even be a weed, threatening their roots
But when their dead
When all the fruit that they could bare
Has been lustfully plucked
From their strangling vines
By the trolls who have the mallets
That smash the gardens strongest diamonds
I will continue to grow, to evolve,
And to take over and make their garden mine
And then, all will be welcomed