The bloviate voices bellow
unbound by morality
or the clarity of logic
that rational people seek.

I search the multitude
of men and women
for the ecstasy
of a poet’s euphony.

But the unmoved masses
do not parlay that way.
They simmer in their hate,
rage when they
don’t get their way,
causing strangers
undue amounts of pain.

In an autumnal day
I am impelled
by the sharpness
of these unmovable hearts.

However, my mettle is molten
marked by my persistence
as I seek the betterment
of all mankind.

If your dad set you on fire because you ****** him off. You would have him arrested right. So why is it acceptable to tell little kids that they will burn in hell if they don't do what they are told?

In order to maintain the status quo the government targets dissidents with obscure laws and media slander. Once the counterculture started to decline the rebellious individual were easier to target, because they lost their collective power. The progenitors of our hippie and beatnik history have been silenced by spin doctors, and we have lost the message of peace love and understanding it has been replaced by consumerism. Isn't fascism a tricky little ******.

Enlightenment requires quiet moments of reflection so that one can listen to their subconscious. This is almost impossible to acheive in the hustle and bustle of modern america. Do me and the whole world a favor stop breath relax and listen to your subconscious, do not be afraid of the quiet. That is not the sound of death nipping at your heels it is the sound of tranquility trying to find you.

It is a gush
of cultish greed
that sees me seed
these gray streets
with cement
and litter.

Searching for
the stars that glitter
in commercials
and window shops,
the tyranny
of humanity
swells in my heart.

Callus to the collective
because of the things
I seek to collect.

Then with each purchase,
and each pleasure pill
I use to conceal
the depths of
what I truly feel
I lose
a piece of
the empathy
I once cherished
and loved.

Till, my leather worn face
turns bitter
and the last of my humanity
escapes me
because of poor scheduling.

Your consciousness is restricted by your self-imposed ignorance. You are so much more then your consumerism impulses, your romantic fantasies/heartaches, your political ideologies, and your religious dogmas. You are a universe of potential, something that can be developed in the stillness of introverted introspection, something that is unique and beautiful, something that longs to be shared with the world. You are your own mechanism for self-directed emotional, intellectual, nutritional, and  neurochemical evolution. You just have to look beyond the predefined prepackaged reality and realize just because it is done this way does not mean it has to be done that.

It is a lonely voice that cries out into the night, seeking its own echoes, longing for a shadow that reflects its mournful lamentation. Are you there? Am I truly here? What is the point of this fruitless struggle if I am bound by flesh and destined to die? I cannot crack the code of destiny; though sometimes I can divine just a spark of hope from inspiration. I pay the steepest penance for my arrogance. While others can cloud their minds with the daily confusion, I am humbled by how little I truly know.

However, I remain if just for this fleeting moment a mortal attached to the plane of matter and energy. Life holds boundless possibilities beyond my ability to imagine. So with my limited faculty I imagine something better. I picture love transcendent, love that feels without desire, love that lives without want of ownership. I give you, the world I adore, the greatest gift that I have to offer. I cannot send you cash nor will I conceive to write my feelings with the way of war and bloodshed. What I have is in essence what I am, so I give you love, and hope that you cherish it. For this love is fragile and precious. This love is the best of me and now it belongs to you.

Be my castle
Chase away the demons
Make me your queen
Love them less than me
Make me the chandelier
Make me as expensive as the prettiest ruby

We are not poets.
Nor are we artists.
         We are the bleeding hearts
                                                   Daring to rebel.
Society cuts this world into careful little blocks.
Devided by cold cut stones forced to comply.
And yet,
             If you look a little closer, you will notice,
                  Not us, for you will never see our face
   But you will see our fragments.
             The pieces of us we leave behind for you
                Scattered among these cold stone walls
Words we have carved into the stone
             With our own ****** nails.
                              Proof that we exsist.
                                               Proof that you can to.
So here we are,
                    Strings of letters
                                       And scattered lines,
                                 All echoing the same war cry.
                          “We Are Here.”
                                                    "Are You?"

my cat is smarter than the president
there is a problem with that

How long will I be happy
That I am alive
When injustice
Corruption
and
Unemployment
Deprived me of living

I am a living death
For I am a tool of dependency

How long will I be happy
That I am alive
When I cant cater for my life

When my fellow mortals
Cheat and deprived me
Of better live as they trade
My soul on poverty lines

It is better to die
than to fiend on
Path of long pains
Hoping everyday hope
that never comes

Accomplishing nothing
By inflicting pains
To fellow beings
and nature as well

Written by
Martin Ijir