©2014 Paul Damon 

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                 Poetry

9207 Tide Die Street

I'm an addict of addition,

in a crazy living condition.

Not understanding the tention,

between two parties we dont have to mention.

Got a lot of head time,

but not a lot of bed time.

dreaming eyes wide open only hoping to draw them in closer.

and the black obiss, that insists to sit on my lower lids,

makes me persist to show that dreams aren't just for kids.

The found imagination,

hits a hard rude awakening,

when the body leaves the soul but comes back for more.

So I bid fare a due to go chase yonder dream,

for I am an addicted addict, living on a tide died street.

-Paul Damon

Fear

Car bombs crying moms,

broken laws and we all saw.

Stop the bitching plan the mission,

start submission of the new revolution.

Cant keep cleaning corrupt cops,

Counting colossal campaign cost.

Political postitions pissing on patrons,

patiently partaking in a peace walking demonstration.

Time to tacitally tackle the terrorizing talk,

tormenting and tooling treason for no reason at all.

Bankers banking on the bamboozled boneheads,

Harvesting humanity for a taste of celebrity.

And they still teach ignorance is bliss,

What a bunch of bullshit this is.

To capitolize on kids,

through dreams and myths, how can this exist?

More than just govenrment driving this ship.

-Paul Damon

Sand Filled Christmas

Returning home and sadness I feel,

a small town boy gazing at a city now.

The plastic signs for the plastic world,

no malt shops just huge shopping carts

for the corporate girls and boys.

I reminisce for wide open spaces.

With clean air to breathe and trees to see,

and a melody on your neighbors faces.

How I long ofr the counrty.

Now they hustle and bustle for christmas cheer,

but I see no money in bundles only familes in fear.

Cutting Christmas short, to buy guns of course.

Oh, what a new year it will be, for tis the season of murder and treason,

and I.E.D.s under the tree.

Will they bring our boys back?

only to attack our fellow men.

What a familar taste of blood and steal,

of a place we once have been.

With a political venom flowing within them,

they speak of freedom and choice;

War is on their teeth,

as they read another man's speach and think of their spoils.

Oh say can you see?

Someone sold our country.

-Paul Damon

 

full circle

         You rise from the depths,

     and together we sat, bathed in sunset.

                 -Paul Damon

 

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until the ghosts within me sing again

my heart will burn

a raging fire of poetry and desire

to move into the higher

the higher ground of all sound

bound by one another

rooted to our mother

amplified blaring horns

and clear thoughts sore

i will transform

i will fear nothing in the end 

new journey will begin

welcome a great new reality

where loved ones await my arrival

no more survival from the tower of babble

death 

its the chariot that carries whats next

when your time comes

dare to create the new era

Dare to created your character.   

- Paul Damon