Left or right?

Which shall I choose?
As I stand here alone,
I see two avenues,
unfolding infinitely in two very different directions.

One door leads left,
and the other right.

The left leads towards the unknown,
a striking and cold mountain range,
stark against the sky,
regal in its beauty,
the biting chill,
sharp against my skin,
a redwood jutting from the stone,
in the cold I grow aware.

The right leads an open meadow,
a familiar hum brushing against the grain,
sunflowers as far as the eye can see,
the smell draws my eyes towards a solitary object,
a single tree,
scared bark,
with my name scribbled against its skin,
I can feel a certain warmth in the breeze.

Both choices are beautiful,
both serene,
from the orange of summer skies,
a rainbow strewn against canvas,
to the white of winter as the wind sings,
swept between mountain crag.

I have a fear,
it's not that I'm afraid of the future,
I'm afraid of a realization,
one I had last week.

What if...
What if it's downhill from here?

My childhood was amazing,
my parents were excellent,
but the real issue was my friends.
The fun we had was real,
it's just not the same,
academic discussion,
scientific deduction,
dissection of stories and ideals,
what's it all mean?
My favorite memories are not of discussion,
but action,
actions I keep written on a piece of paper,
strapped tightly to my chest,
a eulogy of youth,
time spent as kids.
Through the haze of years I see,
low rate movies,
bonfires burning just a little too bright,
Wendy's runs in the dead of night,
skinny dipping out on the lake,
firecrackers bursting over head,
roman candles,
no small talk,
real talk,
girls,
near death experience,
you were there right?!
Mario Kart,
video games,
disgusting food combination,
skating behind the moped,
sledding behind the SUV,
basketball on black tar,
mustard spilled all over the car,
splints and broken wrists,
word games,
collective humor,
stupid and indecipherable,
socks with sandals,
up all night talking in the basement,
not a care in the world,
no ambition,
dumb little kids,
messing around doing dumb things,
throwing common convention in the fire-pit,
flickering flames,
nostalgia on release,
gone our separate ways.

I had realization last week,
those guys weren't my friends,
they were my brothers.

Depression?

That's easy,
just change your perspective,
pop a few pills and you'll do just fine.

Anxiety?

Why can't kids handle stress these days?
It's not such a big deal,
just man up,
take your meds and chill out kid.

Gay?

I don't understand,
just stop being gay,
its a choice.

Terrorism?

Just blow up the whole country,
it's just that easy,
the government is just too weak.

****?

Just don't get *****,
its easily avoidable,
just stop wearing short skirts and smiling like that.

Drug abuse?

Just stop taking them,
my uncle quit smoking last week,
its not as hard as people make it out to be.

Child trafficking?

Just get those Navy Seals in there,
the whole thing will be over in a jiff,
its not so difficult,
people just don't think.

Third-world decay?*

What does that even mean?
Just let em go,
they're not doing anything anyway.

No.

Just No.

I do not keep a diary,
no journal for my thoughts,
instead I speak to you,
through lyric,
line upon line,
poetry,
and though the quality is questionable,
it's one of two outlets,
the only two I've got.

One is my poems,
the other is a girl,
our relationship is absurd,
I do not lie to you,
my inferiority obvious.
You sit and comply,
listening to my most sickening cries,
the feral thing inside me,
the natural man,
an enemy to God.

You listen and you do not strike me down,
you allow this ******* to stand,
taking my hand in yours,
and for that you have my love.

In this world,
there are numerous denominations,
split by human hand,
divided by persecution,
as blood spills to the sand.

Genocide,
no,
xenocide,
and by these actions everyday,
we commit patricide.
We feud for who knows what,
killing in the name of our God,
be it Elohim,
Allah,
or the dollar.
Civilization?
Progress?
Humans are far worse than animals,
people are cruel,
we **** with hidden agenda,
we cannibalize our beliefs,
there is no such thing as civility.
I have a dream?
What did that man see,
but the barrel of a gun?

Humans are created equal,
this is espoused by many,
and practiced by none,
even I allow the stitches of the American fabric to show.

I am no poet,
I am the greatest of hypocrites,
and in my futility,
I scream.

Despite any valid points I may have,
disregard me,
no matter the connection that begins,
pay me no mind.

I am a Mormon,
and by that decree,
I am handicapped.
I have lost all credibility,
through all the searing rage in my veins,
the cold creeping of hate,
the warmth of love,
the doubt in my faith,
I am inert.

If I were important,
things would be different,
the world would listen if I were another breed,
but I am white,
I am uninteresting,
I have nothing to say.
Many treat Mormons with contempt,
they're not Christians you say?
I am told this country is free,
that's not something that I can accept,
who are you to tell me what I believe?
You may not agree with the existence of God,
but tell me,
must we experience a holocaust for you to respect my beliefs?

Racism is as American as apple pie,
as American as a Colt .45,
cocked and held to the head of equality,
this country is built on a lie,
freedom for every white man.
Post-racial America,
what a joke,
it's no wonder you confuse Muslims and Sikhs.

There's nothing wrong with being Islamic,
they are not a people founded on hate.

With modern advancement,
a new light to my eyes,
suspicions confirmed,
race isn't based on genetics,
it's based on social delusion,
truths twisted by pigment,
and the crooked nature of human design.

Sickening men steal children,
born naked,
smiling just as all children do,
they steal the light in their eyes,
their one chance at a normal life,
their futures,
husband,
wife,
mother,
child,
and still the globe turns a blind eye to instinctual cries,
children that never become adults,
from the sickness that spreads,
the fear in their eyes,
and still,
we hide,
placing a thin veil over sight.
The world criticizes intervention,
you say it's not your problem?
For God's sake,
(a phrase often misused)
fight for your brother,
despite the color of his skin.
No matter how many children the individual saves,
it is not enough,
the smaller part cannot save the whole,
and by turning away,
you fan the flames,
blood stains on the hands of the majority,
kindling the depth of sorrow that exists today,
we are the root of the disease,
the twisted smile that grinds the skin,
tears the flesh from the unprivileged.
I believe that even if I never answer to God,
this life is a test,
and in our cowardice,
we will all will drown.

But, remember,
disregard me,
pay me no heed,
I'm just a Mormon,
no latter-day saint.
I cannot make sense of it in my mind,
and so I'll label and dissect,
leaving the remainder to ignorance,
an entire country,
hands tied,
no longer listening for our father's decree.

Here we are once more,
back to the beginning,
not a thing has changed,
continue on your way,
treading lazily upon unspoken trails,
politically correct warpaths,
a migration of misguided souls,
carefree and careless,
not losing a wink of sleep.

Look me in the eyes and tell me what I do,
and do not believe,
tell me,
that I don't understand,
tell me your truth,
my skin is made of porcelain,
and that's the only thing that matters to you,
my actions are futile,
my words fall on deaf ears.

You may curse God for your misfortune,
but if you ask me,
we're the ones who created this,
we are our own mistake,
we the people,
have sealed our own fate.

I'm Adam Patrick Beckstead,
and guess what?
I'm a Mormon,
no latter-day saint.

No matter what I write,
not a thing will change,
no reason to this world,
no magic in the way I see it.

I believe in peaceful rebellion,
but it that enough?

No one will likely listen to my words,
they will listen only to action,
but what can I do?

Violence seems to be the key,
wars waged in the name of virtue,
change founded on a mountain of corpses,
America's truth.

And though I struggle,
nothing I do or say will be heard,
my opinion is worth little.

Is this the world in which I want to raise children?

A fragile peace,
fought with secrets,
with fear.

A savage place,
segregated by race,
and aggregated equality.

A world without change,
laws forged through bloodstains,
sanguine writ,
the only truth I see.

And so,
I retreat,
this world estranged from me,
a hermit hiding,
in what ought to be.