Purple Slinky Poem by Joanne Kearsey

Stay the curse to become a dream,
Delving deep into the madness of the silence of the past,
Clutching at straws to hear your last breath asleep,
Freedom from the soul as this haunting just cannot last.

Wanting what we cannot take as we give up ourselves,
Freeing our grasp on what was not alive,
Waking the dead as the whispers gather round,
Choking the air with a strength to just survive,

Surrendering to the guilty as their verdict cannot be tamed,
The Slayer of souls becoming lost in his own destruction,
Temptation growing as the bodies cry out for attention,
Drawn into life as a menacingly devilish animation,

Relaxing into the pleasure of a new reality that takes you out of place,
Retrieving data that was never thought to have existed at all,
Claiming the cute baby award as you inevitably grow old,
And in these times of need you let go control of the ball.

Getting inside the truth of these paralytical inconsistencies,
Little indiscretions seep their way to the surface again,
Gelling together the existence of another life into the mind of another,
Sarcasm ruling conversation of the now and then.

Rocking the boat as the masses proceed offline,
Freedom to those on a network who cannot see the bigger image,
Living it all up to sing these songs as we get away with murder,
Dragging ourr feet in the sand to complete this dishonourable homage.