Standing Rock

The pipeline is the bloodline,
of an Empirical Two Headed Dragon,
The Divided States of America used to be united,
can someone please tell me what the heck happened,

Standing Rock just might be the last stand for anyone that’s still standin’,

Standing Rock,
is not a photo op,
it’s not a festival,
it’s Indians and Cops,

more correctly,
it’s Native Americans and Corporate Hitmen,
it’s the crossroads,
where environmental defense intersects with big business interests,

it’s getting intense,

water cannons and flash grenades,
mock democracy and a Trump presidency,
military disguised as cops,
and cops disguised as military,

as the original defenders of this land,
continue to make a stand,
at Standing Rock this is not a photo op,
this is indirect imperial tactics meets Direct Action,

highly ironic,
that I write this on Thanksgiving,
the day before Black Friday,
tell me what you do that’s worth livin’,

Quite fitting,
that I’m writing this on Thanksgiving,
a “holiday” in a way,
but really just a heist by villains disguised as pilgrims,

well then,
where does that leave us now,
several hundred years later,
at Standing Rock having a powwow,

how,
have we gotten here,
and how,
as so little changed we’re,

still in this sticky situation,
battling hearts that are as black as oil,
still ******* the blood out of Mother Earth,
still battling Two Headed Serpent Dragon as it coils,

the pipeline is the bloodline,
of an Empirical Two Headed Dragon,
The Divided States of America used to be united,
can someone please tell me what the heck happened,

Standing Rock just might be the last stand for anyone that’s still standin’.

Defendin’,
the Sacred,
with Love,
over Hatred.

Water Is Life.

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

www.amazon.com/Aaron-La-Lux/e/B00ODPJAOK

Hello Poetry is a blue place this calendar year*
for we have seen many a good poet disappear
their inspiring words not around to delight in
of this expression the site is somewhat thin

Hello Poetry has experienced a considerable loss
gone all of that imagery so beautiful in gloss
the colors they deftly painted faded as they left
which makes the heart feel palpably bereft

Hello Poetry members those of excellent ink
missing from our writing fellowship's rink
we'll not forget the contribution they made
as each one of them showed the finest parade

Hello Poetry our brothers and sisters of the quill
departed us with yet more stanzas to spill
their individual styles we'll not sight again
*truly a thought which is so downcast of refrain

Standing by the soup kitchen,
Wrapped up in freezing cold.
Not very old in numbers,
but feeling rather old.
The townsfolk snub him,
They ignore his missus.
His fingers sparkle blue and red,
No magic lurks within.
His blanket's rather itchy.
the people passing by,
are either numb or ******.
get a job, they shout for sport.
their coffee cup, their only support.
It beggars belief that the poor souls get grief.
There for the grace of God go I.
(c) Livvi