if we can not imagine ourselves
as better than we are
then our children are as good as lost
if we cannot find a way today
a day too soon
there will be no tomorrow
There’s nothing left to say
that isn’t another cliché
flags flown at half mass
because last months solution
was less than half-assed
more dead kids
more thoughts and prayers
and the mountain of bullshit
is only dwarfed in comparison
to the pile of money being made
by the repetition of violence
but dont worry your pretty little head
as long as its not your kid
lying on the floor busy being dead
just give it a week or two
and all that guilt will fade
until the next gun loving
american mass shooter decides to
rinse
reload
repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat
repeat
...
some of us are born fools
some of us are born goods
and some of us
are born wise enough
to know there is no difference
you can see a yard full of weeds
or a garden full of wishes
never let your perception
of what is beautiful be cruel
we are all but specs
waiting to return to dust
Akira Chinen Jun 4
Our hearts become abandoned churches
housing the broken stained glass colors
shattered in the reflection
of who we used to dream ourselves to be
while being afraid
to face what we have become

and we have become monsters
much worse than any of the ones
we use to fear
living beneath our beds
and in our closest
and down dark alleys

men who murder truth
children who kill children
mothers who grieve for attention
fathers who hope for death
clergymen who prey
prayers of hate
spoiled milk and rotten flesh
no longer the kin of kind
only the kings of misery

and then petition the empty sky
for the answer of how we became so cruel
that we would abandon our hearts
with the churches along roads
too overgrown to find or travel down

looking for the devil at the crossroads
so we have someone else to blame
for the shameful mess we have made
of who we use to dream ourselves to be
Akira Chinen May 28
What’s is it that we are looking for
as we stare blankly at the sun
pretending to not be blind

what is it that we hope to find
in the lost space weaved
throughout the colors of our eyes
is there anybody there
we would really want to find

what is it we were thinking
when we lost our train of thought
I can’t remember were there
even any passengers on board

what is it that we are waiting for
before we can see the white
of one another’s eye
is it the lost meaning of the life
we are about to take away

different god
different country
same pride
same loss

killing in the name of who created who
the last whisper of a man praying
to a god praying to a man
pretending to not be blind
as he stared blankly at the sun
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