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.

What is it
to visit
such explicit
anguish
upon
one
whose family
and nation
has been
vanquished.

To compound
sins of violence
on the bodies of
those who were loved
but no longer
linger on here.

When the carnage comes
on the beat of
wicked war drums
does anyone,
but me
sit around wondering
what all this chaos means.

As shattering screams
follow collapsing buildings,
bringing in nightmares
for years and years.

As the household is demolished
a whole family line finished
in one horrible instance,

what the hell is the purpose
of all of this horribleness?

Even though, I wish it was
the federation that I love
which we lived in,
I know it is more like
the dark empire of oppression
that we exist in.

Instead of,
grand scientific explorations
made to expand
our humanity
with science, philosophy,
art, and poetry
we are subject to
the dark depressing view
of watching the wealthy few
work toward expanding avenues
for their prestige and power
to grow exponentially.

Instead of, refined officers,
like Captain Picard,
we got an army of
dumb storm troopers,
thuggish brutes
of ill-repute
that do not serve
me or you,
but work at the behest
of the E.U
world bank, U.S.
and other United Nation’s
corrupt interests.

So, we rebels few
who dream of being
something new,
who dream of freeing
all of us, and all of you
are ****** to live
in the dark side.

Somebody’s daughter
is standing on the corner,
covered, almost smothered
in several layers of
***** old winter clothing.

She has mastered the art
of begging with carboard pleas
for something, anything to eat,
while stranger’s have mastered
the art of never seeing her.

Further down the avenue
somebody’s son is sharing
the same sick despairing
hunger pains, and ragged wares.

****** features slightly uneven,
but no one is really looking.
No one ever truly sees him.
So, he scratches his brown beard
and plants his feet where
he thinks he might find
someone with a kind
and generous disposition.

Hundreds of cars roll by
in the day to night sky
with only handful
of hands out the window
to offer him
any compassion.

Stupid is as stupid does.
Tupid is as tupid sounds.
Upid is as upid sounds.
Pid is as pid sounds.
Id is...
Donald.

Your life is a loaner,
and being born in
a specific nation
puts you in hoc,
under the scrutiny
of those who control
the weekday work clock,

The same guys who got
all the politicians bought,
well they think they own
the work you’ve shown.

So, you stay all day
and work extra late,
till you are exhausted,
till it takes your health
and your mind,
well you’ve lost it.

You work all week long
and if you’re lucky
they will let you rest
on the weekend.

You do this for your family,
but you barely ever see them.

Till you are no longer breathing,
or you beat the odds and retire,

but you probably won’t.
Most likely you’ll expire
on the job, long after
your heart and soul
vacates that flesh
those working hours stole.

It is not dreams of space exploration
that pull me from my comfy bed.
It is not grand heroic battles
that keep me dreaming deeply
as something brilliant
stirs within my head.

I am not certain if it is hope
that moves me lumbering
like a starry-eyed fool
always falling forward
failing but trying to improve.

I cannot say if it is fear
that pushes me on
while time devours
every past second
of sweetly flowered
and cherished moments,
succumbing to the numbing
of distance and distortion.

I do not know why I struggle.
I have longs since lost the notions
of fairness and love,
social drugs and idealism
do not override
my late-night fatalism and realism.

In truth I do not have anything,
nothing is mine cause all is transient.
Even these words though poignant
are less then digital dust
in time’s furious
and unrelenting movement,
marching on beyond everything.

It doesn’t come easy,
but harrows the soul completely,
those murderous men
beast masters wearing
army fatigues
that bomb everything.

Children, and parents,
dead or dying
while family members
crumble crying.

Politicians parrot
strategic obfuscation
of crimes against
another nation.

Water sources stolen,
democracy denied
when it does not supply
capitalistic outcomes
of wealth for the
already really wealthy.

There are real monsters,
call them soldiers and leaders,
killers of the poor hungry people
who were already struggling.

There are real monsters,
businessmen
who are profiting
from the wars in
other poorer regions.

There are real monsters,
ones that we vote in,
that were bought and paid for
by those who want more war.

They paint the world red,
while we go merrily
ignorant to bed.

You heard what I said,
but you will just
stuff it in
a box you never intend
to be opened again
and forget it all.

I wish it was easier,
that, that ***** didn’t
seize the girl
and with violence
end her fragile world.

I wish there was certainty,
that the just would rise
and we would see
justice served fairly.

I wish there was a scale
that balanced good
and everyone could tell
evil would be discovered easily
and the bad guys would always
end up in jail.

If I had more clout
or courage with less
bouts of doubt
I would turn these
wishes into
a reality that serves
all of humanity,
one that helps us
get over
what the **** dudes
with entitled attitudes
put us all through.