OPEN

OPEN by jered feldman

If I close my ears there is nothing to hear, or is there?

Anything else should be easily heard:

some or most,

summer's toast,

some ears roast,

to hear a heightened boast!

Don't lessen the scream, or passively listen to screaming,

or list the amount of the screams;

so occasional.

They're supplied by the stresses that are stretched to no end

and to bend till you're broken

is to mend what's unspoken.

If no words are said

and no lines are written,

dialogue's dead.

Dust is bitten.

But smeared under dirt, dry and decayed,

injustice, that shovel, shoves and buries your cries away.

Away where your wailing is mocked or stocked

full of laughter.

The “age” of the patron's do you no honor,

and instead they yell,

“silence”

“silence”

“silence”.

That “word of the weak” ironically shouted

spoils a hope, ringing with peace.

The codes are kept broken so that

nothing is heard, and if nothing is heard,

nothing was said.

Your distress signals will echo in silence,

cause they'd rather give attention to the

tension of no one.

To screech is to vent,

abruptly in view of unlistening ears.

Useless? No.

Useful? Not so.

But an unquestionable sound to understand

under sub-ordinance is not insincere.

Just simply an “I”!

If I block my nose there's no stench of decay or no

sensual aroma. There is nothing to smell.

Or is there?

Smoke's around me!

Smokers surround me!

Smothering and smeltering and smoldering

scents like a frightened hound hound me!!

So to bark at me,

“Don't sniff and don't smoke that!”

is a yelp of distrust; a howl of the growling.

We're prey to the prowling

where praying is accompanied by

groans, and moans; tears and fears.

It's innocent incense so in a sense innocence can.

Now with an additional

attempted word of a temptational attempt,

I will fume,

“I WILL FUME!”.

I will fume,

“I WILL!”.

If I cover my eyes is there nothing to see?

There IS nothing to see!

There is nothing,

I see.

Or is there?

I roll into darkness. I'm rolling the darkest

shadows away,

away and under,

under a way

way down no where

where no light exists. The plight persists.

Chance is filtered as if “evil it is”.

Choice and charm, these stigmas of light:

need to be lightened but they are defused

by control,

controlled by confusion,

confused in conviction,

conflicting the charge called on as contempt

all the while complicating vision.

Visionaries are and ever will be, not brightened but,

beaten into a thundercloud raining

agony.

Look within hate,

a little or lot.

Unveil the clouds

and shout “I will not”!

If I shut my mouth is there nothing to say;

if I seal away flavor there must be nothing

to taste, or is there?

The structure of strength is not meter

or length, but of savory sweetness in

the word choice we choose.

We choose by choice.

Not everything's determined.

There's value in variety but their buffet's

a vice to delectable destroyers;

the waste of taste.

Our fruit is not service;

perverted by lust;

and it's not to be bottled up in bottled debauchery.

In either case,

a cork is plugged up

or plugged in.

Love is hated.

Joy is a sin.

The caps are tightened and the lids are painted

for a gain that's less reckoned.

A loss is a glory?

Oh, like the age!

The age old story.

It's regurgitated message: the vomit, the bore.

If I puke up my need, will you re-feed me with greed?

When you wallow in everything

am I left to swallow nothing?

You mold who we are

then

scold who we are

and scald our tongues to bow downward.

“Bow down to the WORD”!

Just one? That's absurd!

In both of many cases

to the limitless limiters

“I will not be!”

Again, I will not be.

If I bind up my arms,

tie down my legs,

I can touch nothing for there's nothing to feel,

or is there?

We “feel” away pain by,

empathy?

The drama soaked in tears, but drowning

in sympathetic shrieks!

Don't feel anguish! Don't feel burdens!

They're nothing in relation to dead end nerves.

And, in respect, don't always expect your

un-felt needs to be suspect for healing?

Most miracles are misleading cause they're

missing the mark, not belonging to beasts,

or credited to priests.

THEY touch with symbols that are far less

appealing. It's simply symbolic.

Fish and a “T”.

Bread and wine.

Rocks and stars.

A trite tangible sign!

Un-journeyed hands are layed then raised.

Sojourneying legs run,

not to find friendly gypsy's,

but away from mystical mysteries.

If God created everything, why run away from fear?

Why not touch what's unseen, it's invisibly near.

Reach for the heavens and stretch towards sheol

cause in everlasting life, one's allowed to scream,

“I will not be numb”!

Now for the admission to a pride based corporate ladder;

and the submission of a selective list of references;

go alone we may but prevention is the door

that is slammed shut disgracefully in your face.

The act is degrading, the system disfunctional,

yet, “all in all” it's ignored and perceived as

penetential indulgences.

Don't hold out your arms just to catch alms,

and definitely don't dictate repentance.

I will not be besieged.

I can not be begotten,

and if I should be bewildered,

in time, I will then be forgotten.

I will not be belittled.

I will not be betrayed,

cause I will not be beautiful

to ugly rituals obeyed.

I will not be enclosed.

I will not be overwhelmed.

I will not be senseless.

I will not be controlled.

I will not be.

I will not believe.

I will not be leaving until existence

has left me.

With the door.

Closed.