by David Douglas Neff

A reality shared by so few, a dream routine for so many.
A phantom in the shipyard, a rifle cracks baring no banner of Protection.
And darkness now cast against a Seattle clear Blue Sky.

Twenty-seven by 365, a sense of immortality.
But the reaper's reflection becomes that final impression.
And now shut close those Caspian Blues.

"Giveth to me my own Seattle deep Blue slumber.
So that I may escape the emotional abyss ^ÑReality^Ò.
'And summon the spirit to complete these untold stories."

Awake and alone, disheartened by the Grey we have become.
A specter in the night shadows, the sound-horn of the hunter.
And the lights flicker out in the skyline of this working class town.

19 ticks the clock, perfect ivory smile with a laughter of the tomorrow.
But a coward's path once crossed, becomes a bullet in the back.
And now a deep contrasting grin is met only by cold black pavement.

"Cast open these wounds as raised hands reach for meaning.
So that this guilt called 'Mankind' may escape this my corporeality.
'And these scars will remind that a passion to remember burns with red.

Two different lives. Two sides of the track.
But unbridled inhumanity for both a final act.
Because all men are held to be equal
By the hand that wields Cold Blue Steel.
And humanity is more distant than any single shot.