A Poem I Wrote And Couldn'T Discover A Title For Poem by Nicholas Abaddon

An expression of scars,
Cover the faces of weeping stars.
Lights twinkeling and dying out in the cold,
for modern men their song is too old.
No longer can such natural light be beautiful
unless it can be extracted through universal rape.

Must they be so blind up in heaven?
Like those who have worshipped the sacrament of Eleven
Our fantasies must alone create a desire for the natural
Our Aesthetic selves instead lust after the raping aristocracy.
Perhaps man should have paid more attention,
Instead of turning a blind eye to the Meditations
Of natural Tao masters we mock.
Ignoring the dying beat of the clock

sweet child send your soul up to heaven,
Perhaps then thee shall find your solace
Grasping fragmented existentialism,
While others content themselves name calling difference 'socialism'.
The you alone find peace in the arms of the Architecht.
While on earth we manufacture tools to infect.
Ask the question, 'Where hs Eden gone? '
Why must the Mother suffer for so long?
Perhaps you should text the answer to my deaf ear,
And maybe I shall post to Twitter and we can flee here.