The bombs & the bells
Bombs are the same as bells. But you fear the bombs and not the bells.
When a handful of stones are thrown from the brittle hand of a bitter black grandfather,
They flee from the loose splinter like a stray cat – and never notice the ringing
Voice that explodes in painful sound waves. That is the sadness of the noise
on earth. Not because the audio pictures revolve around the industrial darkness
supposed disadvantage of mortals. It’s easier than that. Floating gravel never
flies to the real you. It plunges into illusions that you are vaguely aware of –
Targets that communicate with dead phones like dead soldiers
shredded bags. When there is nothing to communicate, silence does not
Solder in objects and think terror is comfort. It’s easier than that. Silence
never approaches the secret of the relationship. That would be the birds and the
Bees (if these are the bombs and the bells) – these are the birds and the bees
with the absence of angles. Half mast, your mind is a consideration, not yours
Consider. Silence is the clatter of metal as an angel spirouette to an honest fiction.
But bombs are the same as bells – let’s not forget why we’re here and show ours
incongruent faces. The world is the way it should be – there are golden bells
wants to ring the bell. They ring like submarines with bombs and bells that live beyond
Earshot. There are gentle bombs that want to fall. They fall with bombs and
Bells like autumn leaves from a white breeze that can’t feel anything. The world is the way it is
should be – bombs and bells reverberate immediately. But you deny this correspondence with yours
unwise policy that forgets that there is nothing to fear. Half mast, go ahead and be considered.
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