Relieve me of this cruel,
Subterranean passion,
Or douse dispiriting reason,
Cast out the angst,
Heart distressed,
Regain your soothing rhythm.
Return to me
Resilience,
Revoke this grim oppression,
Please recall
Lost resolve,
Compel its requisition.
Don’t consign me to
Nor evoke malign surrender,
Be wise, heart of mine,
For luring wind songs
Are the primary cause
Of many a heart’s demise.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 8:37 PM UTC
In my trials and tribulations,
Be they however great,
I’ll forever own the splendor
In the sanctity of faith.
You, my precious God,
Are my hope, guide and way
Throughout this realm of ruin
Where I patiently remain.
You amplify my vision
When blurred by policies
Of godless constitutions
And scientific fallacies.
In a world marred by feuds
And depravity of endless bounds,
In the midst of wretched waste
My resolve you surround.
Allowing me an exodus
From spiritual regression,
Providing me asylum
From this decaying prison.
In all my allotted days
Amid triumphs and troubles,
You are my brilliant beacon
Through lifts, and minor stumbles.
Upon my last, departing day,
I’ll lift my heart, mind and soul,
Up to a timeless, sacred haven
To you is where I’ll go.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 8:32 PM UTC
We wake before the light arrives,
Not dawn, but something staged,
The clock declares the hour as real,
Yet the body feels confined.
We dress and move to take our place
Beneath a borrowed sky,
And learn before the day begins
Which truths we must deny.
No iron binds the wrist or throat,
No warder guards the door,
Yet something tightens, notch by notch,
More certain than before.
It does not bruise, it does not bleed,
It leaves no mark to prove,
Except the grim compliance found
In everything we do.
The lights hum low and never die,
The dark is never whole,
A thousand windows flicker blue
And substitute the soul.
We scroll through polished ghosts,
A life confined to frames,
While something sacred disappears
Behind the human face.
We practice small submissions,
The nod, the tempered tone,
The careful check of many thoughts
We fear to call our own.
The ones who speak without the veil
Are marked and set aside,
Not feared for what they do,
But for what they will not hide.
No scaffold splits the public square,
No sentence rings aloud,
Yet silence serves the very same
Beneath a docile crowd.
And those who feel too much withdraw
Or stand at silent odds,
Not broken, yet unwilling still
To bow to lesser gods.
Something in them will not yield,
Though everything is tried,
A knowing none can truly teach
Yet will not be denied.
What strange affliction, then, to see
A world that has gone mad?
What sickness lies in naming loss
For all we truly have?
If order asks that we lose
The core of what is true,
Then let it keep its fragile peace,
We know what we hold to.
So, mark the ones who do not yield
Though standing set apart,
Who guard beneath the weight of things
An uncorrupted heart.
For though they walk through fractured days
Where hollow kingdoms gleam,
They are the final witnesses
To all we might have been.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 8:22 PM UTC
We wake before the light arrives,
Not dawn, but something staged,
The clock declares the hour as real,
Yet the body feels confined.
We dress and move to take our place
Beneath a borrowed sky,
And learn before the day begins
Which truths we must deny.
No iron binds the wrist or throat,
No warder guards the door,
Yet something tightens, notch by notch,
More certain than before.
It does not bruise, it does not bleed,
It leaves no mark to prove,
Except the grim compliance found
In everything we do.
The lights hum low and never die,
The dark is never whole,
A thousand windows flicker blue
And substitute the soul.
We scroll through polished ghosts,
A life confined to frames,
While something sacred disappears
Behind the human face.
We practice small submissions,
The nod, the tempered tone,
The careful check of many thoughts
We fear to call our own.
The ones who speak without the veil
Are marked and set aside,
Not feared for what they do,
But for what they will not hide.
No scaffold splits the public square,
No sentence rings aloud,
Yet silence serves the very same
Beneath a docile crowd.
And those who feel too much withdraw
Or stand at silent odds,
Not broken, yet unwilling still
To bow to lesser gods.
Something in them will not yield,
Though everything is tried,
A knowing none can truly teach
Yet will not be denied.
What strange affliction, then, to see
A world that has gone mad?
What sickness lies in naming loss
For all we truly have?
If order asks that we lose
The core of what is true,
Then let it keep its fragile peace,
We know what we hold to.
So, mark the ones who do not yield
Though standing set apart,
Who guard beneath the weight of things
An uncorrupted heart.
For though they walk through fractured days
Where hollow kingdoms gleam,
They are the final witnesses
To all we might have been.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 4:51 PM UTC
While aversely obliging
decadent demands
of the reigning, endorsed affluent,
an internal voice howls
interposingly loud
and insists I really shouldn’t:
“pitiful, weary worker,
Coerced, uncaringly ordered
and ****** by upper class rules,
will you ever tire
of being a servile martyr...
of acquiescently singing the blues?”
Yet indignantly yielding I remain,
for on the altar of entrenched conformity,
sacrificed is this entrancing sound
of truth and reason by an ear-piercing,
reticent silence en masse.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 4:47 PM UTC
Whilst bequeathed
are the grasping wealthy
with pilfered, false grandeur,
plundered and encumbered
are droves of working poor.
As the rancid wind
of wrongness rages
and fiercely blusters
in your faces,
arise, my brethren, arise,
effect its due demise,
for benumbed you’ve been for ages…
arise, ye battered, arise.
For shackled are your weary limbs
by gilded chains unseen,
and dulled are noble minds
by contrived and poisoned dreams;
whilst hollow men of arrogance
in swollen excess bask,
ye toil beneath oppressive suns
and seldom pause to ask
why palaces stand radiant
as children starve in gloom,
or why the fruits of countless hands
so seldom freely bloom.
As venomous decrees descend
from towering halls of stone,
and callous tongues speak coldly
of sufferings unknown,
arise, ye burdened laborers,
ye trampled and betrayed,
for tyrannies grow monstrous
when frightened hearts obey.
Though battered by exhaustion
and the grinding weight of years,
though haunted by uncertainty
and disciplined by fears,
still flickers deep within you
a fiercely sacred spark,
unquenched by all the cruelties
that thrive within the dark.
For they have long divided you
through tribe and hue and tongue,
lest unified remembrance rise
from old wounds deeply wrung;
they’ve taught the poor to war amongst
their fellow castaway,
whilst those who feast upon them all
slip quietly away.
And lo, how false the pageantry
of pomp and polished greed,
for no abundance justly blooms
from institutional need;
the banquet tables overflow
with spoils unjustly won,
whilst widows count their final coins
beneath an absent sun.
As ravenous machines of gain
consume both flesh and hour,
and human worth is bartered cheap
before the throne of power,
arise, my brethren, arise,
let not your spirits bend,
for apathy toward wickedness
invites the bitter end.
Let conscience be your lantern flame
amidst the gathering night,
and truth your unsheathed instrument
against corrupted might;
for though the tempest howls aloud
and drenches earth in dread,
still tyranny grows fearful
when awakened souls are led.
So arise, ye battered, arise,
though scarred by grief untold,
for dignity was never meant
to bow before mere gold;
and though the path be arduous
through sorrow’s bitter haze,
far better fierce resistance
than compliant, shackled days.
For fleeting are the monuments
of empires built on pain,
and fleeting too the arrogance
of those who rule through gain;
yet everlasting is the cry
for justice long denied,
thus arise, ye weary multitudes…
arise, and turn the tide.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 4:38 PM UTC