You were a butterfly
fluttering in the headlights
of a car.
A wolf looking up at the stars
and crying to the moon
a vigil for the resurrection
a epiphany born of introspection.
Sad souls are bought and sold
the tired get old.
Cold frozen hands
cut the cloth
to form gloves
We lose our love
in the pursuit of what drives us.
arriving in the arms
of a woman’s charms
love, sex and capitalism’s false religion
got us sitting in our own supermarket in superstition
old mechanisms for control
they own our souls
freedom is for fools anyway
enslave yourself pave your own path
the aftermath of life isn’t death
it’s a body, a cage without breath
or is it that the soul
Who wants to look with wonder
and ponder
it’s own reality
it’s own sweet and sour.
By Daniel Hooks