The Abstract Art Gallery
Broken, confused writer Jack Thomas puts the images in his mind on display in this "Blog." He dives into personal experience and his observations of the world to share his take on morality, childhood trauma, creativity, relationships, sex, politics, religion, violence, reality and more. Using countless formats from narrative driven short stories, to poetry, to song lyrics and philosophical explanations.
The Raged Cattle
It Casts a Hate Shadow
Inside the Cage, Rattled
Awaits a Great Battle
Piercing eyes forced
Through blackened hearts torn
Twisting steel Born
With angered horns
Real, their shiny sharpened tips
Slicing, poking, making rips
Blind by red the blood lust drips
Freed, this slave just waits and sits
Loud voices. How annoying.
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No one escapes the box
No holes, can’t breath
No sunlight to see
No hope, can’t leave
In the dark the mind plays games
Demons and shadows, no faces, no names
They dance and battle
Confrontational, no shame
From inside the cement box
The cement blocks the outside’s clocks
Tossing glass inside stone houses
Sharp shards prance
All the small pieces
Individually, no meaning
Prisoners, no feeling
Illusions of identity
Profound how having ears to the ground sound loud
Shouts drown down
Nothings on the other side
Beg to die
But this prison named hell has other plans aside
There’ll never be goodbye
Stuck here beyond death
Fucked clear to regret
In this short poem Jack attempts to express his mental prison to the reader.
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Bird watching from inside a cage is no fun
All the flight possible is witnessed with our own two eyes
All while bound behind bars, the cage door open
What fun is flight alone?
What fun is gliding the wind without a flock?
There’s no point in leaving the cage
But staying inside no flight is possible
Having clipped wings might make it easier
But not all caged birds learn to sing
Iron bars become the norm
Comfort the enemy
The rainbows never come visit
Neither do the rain clouds
A bird that learns to hum a fallen soldiers honor
It needs no more than another fallen soldier
Is this its purpose?
What good are wings on a corpse?
...to escape from polluted neighbors.
Captured by their force of nature.
Stuck, always facing one direction.
Unable to move how desired.
Unable to shift and see new things.
Weary eyes must always be fixed on those most blue.
Tending.
Balancing, keeping check.
Assuring tides are not too drastic.
Assuring tides are not too tame.
It hurts, but staying is the only option.
And whether or not explained.
Denial is always present when the wise tell of the most unpleasant decent.
Excited, no one heeds warnings.
Ignoring stories, having no worries.
The glory is there was never any stopping this.
It’s nature’s course.
Unavoidably, it inflicts its force.
It all...
