John Ode

Praise is sung and bells are rung, to save us from Alone.
Our righteous legion, our children of region, have chosen to condone,
The empty words of men with seeds of reason never sewn.
Men who thought the meek could not hear deception in their tone,
...

We share our seat cheek to cheek,
Whispering secrets we've heard before.
In this vulnerable embrace,
We found a place that emptiness deplores.
...

What is this thing that eats away at men? ,
This yearning to be good again.
So much spent without thought for cost,
Friends made, broken, then lost.
...

An erratic beat is the last thing I need,
I've got teeth to grind and a nose to feed
Don't listen too intently to the rhythm of my tongue,
This dance and this song have already been sung
...

With fleeting breath I stand for standings sake,
For battered skin and broken limbs do not a hero make.
But when my spine all cracked and broken musters one more stand,
I'll tear the heart and fight from every killing man.
...

There are no parades along the boulevard,
No trumpets, tears, or honour guard.
No public outrage when a Bull is lost,
“It’s a prison guard...they knew the cost.”
...

'It's an unnatural thing', he muttered between sips.
'No sympathetic ears lent or sought,
Shadows of men wait, waste, and rot.'
His hand shook now as words escaped his lips.
...