“This Intrinsic Cloud”

From this intrinsic cloud, high above the city lights and busy streets below, we see ourselves. We do not see ourselves as we truly are, for we are not endowed with such perfect clarity or perception. Instead, we see as an outsider looking in; a spectator beyond the border of a frame that holds a much larger, more complex picture within. And from that viewpoint we learn to understand, to see the horrors we’ve become, to recognize the atrocities committed by our own kind. And suddenly, it becomes clear. Our wars are fought, but never won. Our lives are brief, yet poignant. We fight for our freedom, but we do not earn it through bloodshed. This has only been a method of condemnation. Our race as a whole, our countries undivided, stand upon a common battlefield; a battle that exists only within ourselves, which costs us our souls, our dignity, our pride — and yes, even our innocence. For none of us are innocent, and history is doomed to repeat itself, time and time again. We see and understand, but we ignore all hope for peace and equality.

Even when we first stepped upon the moon, we did not see how small Earth really was, how infinitesimal; a tiny blue spec in an endless space, spinning and twisting, plummeting in circles towards no particular goal or destination. A journey with no end. A hamster-wheel turning round and round, with its occupants caught in a never-ending rat-race, scurrying like ants. Obediently, we do as we’re told, but not as we should. Our lives are not our own. Our paths are laid before us by those who have not earned or purchased the right to show us the way. We allow it because we have no confidence in ourselves to take charge of our own lives. It is simpler to entrust our existence to those who have catalogued us, counted and categorized us. Faithfully, we fall backwards into the open arms of our world’s governments, trusting them with our eyes closed, only to find them reaching towards a separate agenda, blind to our greater purpose.

“The Oncoming Storm”

We trace over our bloodlines, through a bloody history of war.
A timeline unfinished, etched deeply to the core.
Following in their footsteps, we trample our own shadows.
Laid scattered before us, stretched, broken and torn.
In a sea of indifference, on the banks of disillusion.
From shore to fiery shoreline, we wade in with the tide.
To battle with our demons, our memories and ghosts.
Haunted by our pasts and principles, washed up on the coast.
Adrift upon the foam, the spume of brothers long gone.
In the eye of the oncoming storm, we see ourselves forlorn.
A cloud, dark grey and menacing, looming over our thoughts and fears.
To threaten our landscapes, with waves borne on tears.
Washing over all that we’ve destroyed, the badlands that we’ve built.
Quenching our thirst for battles fought throughout the years.
And wetting our appetites for the blood that we have spilt.

– David Allen