It is a testimony to humanity
That like the sun that warms us
There a few good souls among us
Who seek to light our path
To a better, brighter world

It is a poets job to feel what we never felt, to be where we never were, and see what we never saw.

The war is coming rising rivers of dark red blood will be spilt, stop
Innocent lives spent in the pursuit of greed, glory, and hate, stop
Machine gun turret, grenades, poison gas, planes, submarines, stop
Bullet, blades, blood, enemy-entrenched, death in the mud, stop
Children becoming men before their time dying on your dime, stop
Next war, with oh so many new ways to terminate life, stop
New technology, modern mass media telling us how to feel, stop
Building bombs to **** one another leaving behind crying mothers, stop
Bigger bomb tap that atom go out and get those yellow *******, stop
Pandora’s box opened up with bitter metal bearing baring hate, stop
Two cities decimated, burning the earth, Heaven cries black tar tears, stop
The cycle continues from war to war the tragedy never seems to end, stop
Human horror, I am begging for the love of all humanity please, stop

Someone you love dies it is a tragedy.
Two strangers die in your town is a tragedy.
Ten strangers die in your states a tragedy.
Twenty-five strangers die in your country is tragedy.
Two hundred strangers in another country die.
You don’t even blink an eye.
How the hell does that work?
It’s a tragedy that you don’t see it’s tragedy.

On wicked things
My confidence is spent
My passions pent
Do not relent
But spew as they vent
Desire classified
As what you eyed
What we spied
Others despised
Told lies
To restrain the vain
To maintain
Their golden veins
Morality impugn
Tricks imbued
The trickster
With new power
New class and classification
For the ossification
Of our nation
And bends our wills
To theirs
And decrees shame
For what is natural
Fear of what is original
Yes they call it sin
But I call it life

It is the snake that eats itself
Swallowing mortar and brick
From the bottom up
Consuming lives destroying families
Corrupting people
Greed begets greed
Desire begets desire
The top may stand for a little while
But as the building cracks
Floor by floor
The fallen scream
Said serpentine
Has cut the netting
Needing a helping hand
Quicksand men are sinking
Until one man stands
Deaf to poverty’s echoes
And then he starts falling
With no net to catch him

I believe that the world is blind
Must be ******* blind
Because the horror images
Are so easy to find
You can see the sick disgusting
Blood and gore
Results of war
So ******* better be blind

I belief that the world is deaf
Must be ******* deaf
Because the voices are there
Strangers crying
Brothers plying better poetic wares
Screaming out you better beware
Poetically, comedicly, musically
You have got to be kidding me
When you say you do not hear

I believe this world is *******
Must be ******* *******
Change is overdue
And we cannot undue
The climate calamity
The span of our inhumanity
How the pain spreads
Like bubonic plague
While you walk
Your blue bonnet *** away
Oblivious

I believe in you
Has to be you
You have to choose
Because I can’t do it for you
Perhaps you can see beyond me
Look beyond my fatalism
My sad and painful cynicism
You can’t be worse then I once believed
Maybe you can be better

That which hurts and haunt us
biting at our skin
gnawing at what’s within,
may begin strengthening
and thickening our skin
as well as our will power.
Though it may hurt at first
you may find in time
that the pain is your friend.

Oh dear in dressing to be a princess
you cut your feet on glass slippers,
ate the poisoned apple of conformity,
had *** with a big abusive beast,
wept deep in dark dreams as you slept,
gave up the sea and your voice,
forgot how to sing, swim, and learn,
traded childhood dreams for adult schemes,
so you can aspire to other’s desire
to confine you to your pumpkin carriages
and strange boring marriages.

Do birds still welcome the morning with their song in a besieged city
do they still build nests and raise young
or are they unaccounted refugees along with all others
if the morning chorus is silent and the birds no longer sing
what hope for a poet in such a Godforsaken place
except to sing of death.

We do not run
laughing and dancing
splashing through
puddles in in the rain.

We do not watch
the storms start
and stop
sitting together
talking about the weather
whether it is raining or not.

We do not play tag
or duck duck goose,
take off our shoes
and walk through the mud.

We do not
laugh and play
like the children
of yesterday
but maybe
we should.