The Beloved Dead Oracle by Carrie Paris & Tina Hardt

Self Preservation

Holding out your hand I grabbed hold as you pulled me toward Florence Nightingale,
Aids crisis in full blown catastrophe - walk in rooms with full regalia on,
Lost souls - reaching toward please help me - will I die poems written all over their face.

Too young to fully grasp - disaster full speed ahead - look aside,
A life to lead - imprinted with - you just never do know - ever,
Scars etched upon a soul - try to remain bright eyed - when deep down you have seen some shit.

Leave the moans behind a closed curtain - smells of alcohol stinging eyes,
That doctor flirts - he tries to escape the tragedy - knows powerlessness,
Best hope is sculpted with prescription of - take care of business now.

Skeletons of desire - recall lost recollection - last rites,
I wrap your body in white - a hurried convention - quick find a moment,
To wipe tears of lost - as humanity scrapes past - all of the unknowing nothingness.

And now memory - souls of knowing - collide in all moments of pain seen,
Beloved Death is found in - lands scorched in belief,
A toll rings - bells are siren sound reminders of yesterdays pure white shrouds.

A mist rises across earthen blunder,
Pulse of missed heart beats - scratched directions in the dirt,
The best can be done - in shadow casted east to west - hidden revealed.

~Linden of The Bone Lines

The Beloved Dead Oracle by Carrie Paris & Tina Hardt