Who champions the weak
giving a voice to those
who cannot speak?

Who lights the corners
where shadows reign
and people strain
to catch a breath
that flees from pain?

Who flips the switch
bringing in rays that
clear the dark,
allowing artists
to open up the park
so kind people can plant the seeds
that grow what humanity needs
to open strangers’ hearts
and clear out slick city sharks
that scowl and prowl
in a predatory style
whilst slowly devouring human decency?

In a world where villains
almost always win,
who is the everyday champion?

The world spins,
blowing up
from within
amidst this
human destruction.

Forest and fields burn.
Still time turns
an orb in space.

Fur falls to cinders
a painful reminder
as those who cannot
step up
find they have
very few defenders.

In a hundred years
when they are
no longer thriving here
who will remember
the wonder of the wild.

The world is going to hell,
seems to be a ball of fire
set to expire in a vacuum,
set to become a bare black tomb,
and we are either on
the edge of no return
are already falling off the precipice
into eternity’s dark abyss.

We know them best by their first names,
Names ingrained on our brains;
Mouthed by millions being slain,
By the viral ego of the politically inane.

Adolph, Idi, Kim and Pol,
Francisco, Mao and Nicol.
Other names have come and gone,
None rise so high, as Despot Don.

Tens of thousands die prematurely,
The man's bereft of human morality.
Preoccupied with re-election,
He risks a healthy population:
The aged, sick and compromised,
Won't cast a vote when they die.
The word is out throughout New York:
He ain't famly, de foykin joyk.

You were born
untethered from
the greed of men

who would
usurp all the good in
the land for their
great fortune

Let that agenda wane
into the wind
that you may be
human again

Evolve into
the quiet dance
for you are in
the company
of trees

return to your
birthright and love
what is good
and unhurried

Are you pleased
with the capitol
that these corrupt
institutions seized?

Are you happy
with the aftermath
of the blood bath
for which you asked?

How does destruction taste,
is it a bitter brew,
to see those who
you slew
in the name of greed?

Tell me did you need
to seed said chaos
to make us,
so ******* great
by bringing in
more ignorance
and hate?

How do you do
with this ****?
How do you feel
about misfits
who don’t fit
with this society
of war and depravity
in the name
of capitol games
that we now call
progress?

Watch this
and tell me
if you really believe
in the American dream.

We all love a good story.
With a good ending,
What is going on today is not a story
It is the reality, of mad virology scientist

It’s hard to say it out loud without breaking in to pieces
It’s easier to live a lie,
however,the truth needs no translation
The poet became an unhappy Ambassador,
he believe in worldly- views:

Nothing is final to a poet eyes and ears
. But to a mad scientist: it say progressivism
To him man or language wasn’t created equally
Every poet should be responsible for his poetic language
while every scientist should be held responsible for his action.

As well as his emotion and excretion
either from the mouths, or from the other end
the smell, textures even the tones
as long as  the world  acknowledges
them as the Lever of things to come

it’s hard to say it out loud without breaking in to piece
where there is action they will be a reaction
Leadership money and power
is this what we are dying for


"Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue
keeps his soul from troubles"

It used to be
a very pretty
glass reality
that held all of the
grandeur we saw.

Now we see
sharp shards scattered
as glass figurines break,
leaving prickly parts
to cut and stab,
bleeding the good
and the very bad.

Dreams are demolished
and turned into
razor thin
glass things,
refracting
the reflections of
higher beings.

Fragile feathers
fall slowly down
settling on this
****** ground,
as angels realize
there will be no more
soaring high
in those amazing skies.

The world cracks and breaks
like Humpty Dumpty,
but there are no more
soldiers or horses
to turn this chaos
back into
our former world view.

Nero fiddled,
POTUS diddled,
The outcome is the same.
Handbaskets are in flames.
I, said:
Others are to blame.

I have attended non-events.
Stood on the curb,
But no parade marched by.
I have cheered from the bleachers
But no team ran out.
I have entered the Church,
Only to smell the lingering incense.
This time,
I will fill in the empty box
To banish the void.
Humanity is the event.

Crack the skin
see porcelain
bleed lava flows,
hot blood goes
boiling up and out
to singe the stuff
that flops
all about.

Ink splattered hair,
hands clasping
gasping breaths
of pain and despair.

Reality breaks,
her body quakes
with feverish rages
of sickness.

The one who witnessed
all these human tragedies.
Salt pillar people,
small flecks flying in the wind,
those dessert storms of dry death.

Who would buy this
art of pain and destruction,
as we all follow her
breaking down bit by
crumbling bit.

Welcome to the duality,
of love and rage.

See there are two strange
men in me,
a beast,
and a fellow of
morality.

But lately the shadows
are slowly blending.
I’ve been thinking
and in that,
bending
to a new understanding.

There is blind violence,
the exploitation of
at risk populations.
There is bigotry
and blatant acts
of cruelty.

Anger seethes,
cause all it sees
causes an aching,
that turns to longing
for some justice.

Love believes
that we can be better,
but in seeing society’s suffering
is transformed.

Passion and expectation
causes a weird transformation,
turning love and empathy
to anger and outrage.

The beast is moral, in all his heartbreak,
and the moral man becomes the beast
pushing back against more brutal monsters.