Some call me a saint,
others call me a hellion,
but at some point revolution
must progress to rebellion.

She stretched out across the bed,
her body curved in serpentine suggestion.
Seductive whispers, bedroom eyes
and the beckoning motion of her hand.

What sinister intentions are behind
this divine invitation to partake
in the pleasures of our flesh?

What price do we place on freedom
in a world of consumer slaves?
Do we measure it in the lives
of soldiers sent to their graves?

Do we measure it in the families
who lost dads, husbands, sons;
and trust the politicians
whose solution is always guns?

Do we measure it in the comfort
of never knowing first hand
the way that a child feels
growing up in a war-torn land?

What is the cost? What will it take
for us to wake and see:
if this were the path to freedom
wouldn't everyone be free?

If hate will only breed more hate
and if war only breeds more war,
it ultimately begs the question:
is "peace" worth fighting for?

It started as a puncture,
but the seam slowly ripped;
a thimble can't protect
from a poison needle tip.

She tried to mend it
by making more holes;
the tear only grew
and grew out of control.

At the spinning wheel
her life would quickly dwindle;
frantic attempts to hem
were depleting the spindle.

What started as a puncture
of seductive sedation
fueled the abuse
of machined perforation.

"Don't mourn a living corpse"
were the last words she said
as she drew the needle
that held the last thread.

Time is not a war to be waged;
there can never be a winner.
At the end we're all the same;
the anointed and the sinner.

Take up your arms and you will find
you'll leave with less than you had;
all the fruits of your trying labor
will surely have gone bad.

Instead of changing the world around
try instead to be the change;
raise the white flag and you will earn
from a war you didn't engage.

If there's a lesson to be learned:
you need not hold the line.
All the anger and hate will depart
through the gentle surrender to time.

Why are we all just living to die
when we all should be dying to live?