He stood and shook,
the crook who took,
us all for Schnucks.

Pulpit pusher who
spit venom and lies
at those guys
in the pews.

Promised eternity,
but it was up to me
if I suffered
or excelled
beyond the pits of hell.

Not a wit of wisdom
was given
just lies proclaiming
that I should be taming
any skepticism.

He passed the plate,
but I left earlier
while others stayed late.

I am free while he
takes his sheep
and prepares to leave
for the end of days.

Looking forward to
the pain, plagues,
and the agony
of oh so many
people who do not
share his faith.

Seems like only a sociopath
would accept that
the majority of humanity
will burn for eternity.

But that smug mug grins
looking forward to
the bitter biblical end.

The heartbreak is there.
As we move on
loved ones disappear.
Still, we sing them alive in songs.

Everyone we know
will surely die
and in this simple verse
I sit and cry

He lets it get darker.
As each sin begins
to cave in his skin,
he feels the death
of another friend.
Then the passing
of treasured kin.

The ground collapses
and he descends
to face the final
stage,
and rage against
that awful fate.

Streetlights go dim,
and a warm wind
starts chillin.

The sidewalks cracks,
and after that
the sounds of animal paws
and raven caws
ceases.

People stop speaking,
and he starts seeking
any redemption
to prevent him
from facing
that creepy sleep thing.

Not a bright light
or a dark scythe
cloaked guy
flies by.

It is just a light drip
like a leaking drain
with no pain
that that slows him
down.

The chasm calls,
blackish blue
and glittering pool
of infinite reflection.

The liquid is cool
as he slips and falls in
not quite drowning
but losing the outer edges
of conscious thought.

Foot, then up to his knee,
and he can see
sparkles firing lines
of lightning
sparking then fading,

Up to his but
then pass his gut
as each little light dies.

Lead heavy eyes
still crack red and dry,
as the murky water
gently summons him
to fall in.

One last breath,
then his mouth and nose
goes under as well,
followed by his hazel eyes,
and ***** brown hair.

The he sinks
no more thoughts to think
after he drinks
a little bit of this liquid,
and ceases to respire.
Instead, he expires
and his body
falls slowly disintegrating
in the space of eternity

The space bound
non-painted clown
acts like he is
on fire waiting
to back down
from the fight
he hasn’t found.

He is seduced
by the lies he uses,
for the art he confuses
with truths.

Paints reds and blues,
with pink petal hues
and terrible tints
that don’t compliment
him or any artistic endeavor.

Still, he believes he is as clever
as any other creative.

I am talking to myself.
Every verse that works
is a conversation
of my own making
with the brightest
fool I know.

Its not so bad.
I am the almost famous
Cinderella man
looking to expand
my influence
over a land.

Too bad I got good
just in time
for mankind
to face the boot
off of this planet
that we abuse
and pollute.

This is what we are dealing with
a lifetime of killing it,
by feeling our ****
while others split,

by writing duplicates
of the same poem that fits
with the scheme
we are obsessing over,

replaying the scene
in our dreams
as we get older,
and shoulder that boulder,
such a bad mad monkey
that scratches our back with
facts we would like to ignore.

What a ***** of an addiction
that makes us explore
our pains in poetry,
while others just fall, crawl
and convulse on the cold tile floor.

They said you were great,
so, I was willing to wait.

Set up the fourth
so, we could explore
the depths of our
shared history and more.

What a wild party,
made me feel
a little bit ill,
like a *******
I fell to fast
for the last
lies you told.

Don’t stop,
I hear the cop
shout out
as something
comes flying in
piercing my skin.

I know you don’t
love me America,
but I thought
we could be at least friends.

The elephant may never forget,
and neither will
the families of the
enemies we ****,
and the kids who were
separated,
from their parents.

America,
I thought you were special,
but you’re driving drunk,
using your vehicle
to plow down
the innocents you found
in favor of your favorite
heirs and heiress.
I thought you liked justice
but your just obsessed with
all that rich *****
can do for you.

Want to spend hours
paying to play
in the Macy’s day parade
while protesters pray,
you march and spray
sic streams of mace
and gas the faces
of those like me
who you seem to hate.

What a rough date.

America,
I think we should see
other democracies.

If I am
gonna be better,
I better be deep,
get enough sleep,
so I can go on
working out
to break through
those natural
plateaus.

May take the
longest time
but I will find
the perfect line,
then make up
a better one.

Not gonna
slow my role
or loose my cool
anymore,
cold feet
can hit the road
cause I got
places I want to go,
and while I am
driving
I’ll be learning
things I didn’t know.

Since, I know
this show
will be cancelled,
and this fool
won’t live forever,
I’m gonna get
real freaking clever,
making myself better,
so I can enjoy
this one life.

Who wants to go get therapy,
expose all of those darker
pieces that are broke in half,
then reapplied to the darker side
of my glass figurine
that got smashed to smithereens.

Who wants to talk about my teen years
of hormonal chaos that cost me
so many nights of tears, anxiety,
and snot that made me cough.

I’d prefer not to be disturbed
by revisiting the pain existing
in memories I have put behind me,
so, I think I’ll pass on that whole
talking and letting go, so I can grow
and get better therapy scene.

I’ve been looking,
through glass windows,
reflecting city lights
of the night life.

Strange phantasms
pass like distorted
carnival glasses,
mind mirrors broken
from the harsh words
spoken.

I’ve been searching,
seeking the smiling hearts
of brave angels
who face hateful strangers
that are full of poison,
and spitefully spitting
sick syllables,
possibly contagious,
as they go
instantly viral.

I’ve been watching
cops stopping
particular people,
seen one to many
real life movies
that end in tragedy,
and in observing
the hurting
of children
and elderly folks
I have fallen
to tears of rage
and anguish.

I’ve been wondering
if in my wanderings
seeing this sideshow spectacle,
of disrespectful,
cruel, and hateful
authoritarians,
have I found the true face
of America?

What a fatal flaw,
this frail frame
that holds my name,
faulty flesh
that bares my flame,

how easily I can be
deceived by what
I think I see
or how I want
reality to be.

How through
the lens of sense
that I use
I can unintentionally
obstruct the truth.

Tragic that
all the facts
that make up everything
are beyond the comprehension
of this insignificant human being.

The statues are down
and the flags have been
thrown out.

The war is over,
and yet again
we see our kin
with different
tints of skin
falling.

The battle is won,
or so they claim,
but that is just the way
they hide their lack of shame.

Divert, distract,
change the facts,
lie and lie
to divide
people who
should be allies.

Symbolic
concessions were made
so, we should all feel great
to live in this state
that greed and hate made.

Still,
our compatriots feel
the sick and shrill
anxiety turning to fear
that their children
maybe killed.

This is so strange.
Real life has become
a weird painting,
of mirrors showing
past reflections
and present hopes.

The art of love
has become
the style of dodging
bullets from guns
that are yet to come.

The nightmares
from which we run
hold no promise
of waking from
them with the
rising sun.

Either or
has transformed
neighbors into
states at war.
People who do not
know what this
violence is for
still spout off,
instead of asking
for a little more
information.

All the saints have died,
and now we spy
exhausted angels
in nurse’s attire
that collapse and cry,
while moms walk and try
to convince strangers
that their child’s life
is worth more than
a policeman’s
tarnished pride. cont.

My light is one suicide
at a time,
as love and hope
crumbles and dies
with the rich man’s finger’s
around the earth’s throat,
as the media tells
his favorite lies.

Tonight, is the fourth of July.
My neighbors sit and celebrate
a nation not yet made great
because it wallows in filth and rage,
boiled in a stinking stew of ignorance.

I will go to sleep.
Then tomorrow
as I awake and shake off
the dust
for a second, I will be certain.
I will smile with hope.
Till, I see my reflections
and remember this
is a world made from
a collection
of bad decisions
after bad decisions,
while few even listen
to the words of wisdom
that have been written.

Still, I will write this poem again,
just a little different.

They are complacent
with nearly naked eyes
that seem anesthetized.

Orderly placement
of perfect soldier ants
that accede to the demands
of the most brutal man,

their sweet layers
of complexity
are surrendered to
the wealthy few who
who do not give
one ******* ****
about the masses.

Massive stone structures
collapse and succumb
to a cog like position
under all the dictator’s
thick heavy thumbs,
making minds of
inspiration numb
with unearned dedication.

Thus, such fleeting stars
are lost from view,
dying before their sparkle
can touch me or you.

I am getting
really ******,
as I hear
those who
spreads fear
and ignorance
make claims
like this is
worse than
being in
prison.

Seriously,
you’ve
got to be
kidding me,
this is worse
then being
locked in
a tiny cell,
a slice of hell
where you are
just a number,
just cheap labor
to save corporations
from having to pay
one sore lonely body
minimum wage.
Where there
is less humanity
and the guards
can get away with
treating people worse
then garbage.

Then someone
has the nerve to say
that they are slaves,
because they have to
wear a mask;
What world
are they living in
that they feel likecont.
it makes sense
to hold such
a sick pretense.
Come back
and complain
when they take
your loved ones away,
when your back is
shredded raw
from whips
and this is
supported by the law.
Please remind me
how this
inconvenience is
relative to slavery.

You got some *****,
like when cops
treat the innocent
like they are
thugs that need to be
imprisoned,
then turn around
and whine
that they don’t
get a fair shot,
after another cop
shot another
black man,
tear gassed
peaceful people,
and their other
brothers in blue
just ran through
a crowed of protesters
with their police car.

Look the city is burning.
Can you see it?
This will not be
super flashy
or rise up like a phoenix.

Sleepless eyes
are set in red
aching dry
from crying
for the dead;

While shaking fist
chant and resist
the oppressiveness
that lit this ****
to begin with.

Violence
erupts,
but it was expected,
from seeing the shame
of those who claim
they should be respected
whilst acting like thugs.

It is an irony
that they don’t seem to see
begging for relief
from a similar anxiety
which they imposed
on those
who are just asking for
the grace of human decency.

The city settles
the chaos will resume shortly
and I watch brave warriors
struggle to catch
their tear gassed breathes.

I’ve lost the road.
forgotten
that this life
is rotting,
so I should be fighting.

Never seen
this song I sing,
just kept writing
trying to set fire
to the ground
were lost soul
were found.

Lava like fury
working in a hurry,
searching
for the end
of all this hurting,
whilst seeking the speaking
of dreams
into reality.

So, I am coming home
to a place that never was
creating my space of love.

I am so tired.
Can I sleep?
Will they let me
rest in peace?

I could use
a little laugh,
and a couple
cat naps.

Exhaustion
is the norm,
fatigue
fits my
full form.

Like a worm
that works
its way in
till my whole
body is shrinking,
till I wither
and I fall
barely able
to stand or crawl.

Coffee
is a sweet reprieve
but its effects
are very brief.

Can I please,
just go to sleep.

I wonder
wordlessly,
wearied
and alone.

Sometimes
I stumble,
a bumbler
who cannot
make his way
back to a home
that was never safe.

Then on a whim
I will catch
a hint of her,
chilling my thoughts.
I will find
myself thinking
what I should not
cause she was never
a healthy obsession.

I meander over
online conversations,
equal tumblr confessions
of our shared affections,
and slip into states of
melancholia love
wondering if
she ever thinks about me,
or if I was just a blip
that doesn’t even register
in her memory.

They beat the candy blues
into her thoughts,
as she sought
and bought
the sugary sweet,
multicolored gum drops
which were used
to subdue
her hunger pains,
but did nothing to
nourish healthy views
of living.

They trained her
to comply
to an almighty on high
father figure,
white bearded guy.

Whilst televangelist
propagated
hateful ****
pompously
requesting those
who were suffering
in poverty
to send them
the money they needed
to maintain their greed.

They were teaching her
that the measure
you need to reach
to say you succeeded,
is a measuring stick
that tends to extend
beyond previous
measurement.

But she bought
the glittering jewels,
sought to capture
her fantasy alpha male fool,
and achieve
the American dream
in which she believed.

A noble nation
would not distract
from the facts
that hurt.

Fairness,
and justice
would not be words
bandied about
without
a single thought of
those who
suffer out of view
from you.

Our dark history
would not be
whitewashed
for general
complacency.
You would be
forced to face
previous tragedies.

Melanin
in a stranger’s skin
would not
make them
kin or not kin.
We would not judge them
or sit and pretend
to be color blind
when seeing color
is not the problem
we are trying to solve.

It would not absolve
the behaviors
of civil war slavers
elevating hating
to a monumental
status.

A noble nation
would see the struggles
each person is facing
and desire
to help all achieve
the “American dream”
of which they so
highly speak.

I stutter.
I shudder.
I rage;
When I am calmly
trying to explain,
instead of having a
debate
on race and hate.

I cry,
cause I can
hear the pain
when people
try and describe
the horrors
from which they came,
while knowing
no matter if
they are showing
true scars of abuse
the world will still view
them as an other.

It is obvious to me
when I study history.
I can clearly see
said sorry tragedy
of human suffering.

No specifics to share
cause this is just a poem
to say that I care,
and despair
of seeing
indifference
or people not believing
what others are experiencing
after four hundred plus years of proof.

When your answer to
me telling you
what’s going on,
is “but what about
the deep state,
Bill Gates,
five G,
that’s antifa,”
or “that just
fake news”

What is the use
of telling you
the truth
in verse
when you
haven’t heard
a single word
whispered,
yelled,
cried,
or transcribed
about the
horrors committed
in people’s lives.

I remember her so dearly.
The third-grade girl
who chased me.

Cherubic face
blushing
while I ran away.
Now I wished
that I had stayed,
letting her catch me.

Similar soul,
I know
we were reading
the same books and
standing on the outside
of the same social life.
We talked a bit
and went on one date
but by the time I realized
she was something special
it was far too late.

Not all things
work out for the best,
but facebook pictures
makes me think
she is pretty happy,
so I am happy for her.

I am a bit of a thief,
a killer king
stealing things
that are not mine,
to write
another line.

I pilfered
the filtered
through which others see,
to expand
the breadth
of what I understand.

I leveraged
past experiences,
to supplement my view
that despite my ambitions
come off slightly skewed.

I even bargained
and borrowed
my voice
from tomorrow,
so I could pass
pleasant wisdom
down to
all who
come to
view
this poetry
I wrote.

I’ve been
dancing
with the dead
who are
waltzing
in my head.

I was raised
in the place
you set ablaze
with your venomous hate,

sat astute
in my Sunday suit
to salute
a god who rebukes
real wisdom,

forced to worship
a sic sorcerer,
that enforcer
for the acts of
crueler dictators,

but I’d prefer
to speak plain,
to abstain
from the mundane
which chained
my childhood
to no good
creeps and cheats.

I’d like to set sail
and prevail
against those
who would jail
innocents
in favor of
corporate interests;

To beat thieves
who seek to
take these dreams
and make fortunes
in ashes and destruction.

I know some promises
can’t be kept,
and I can’t expect
to make the world better,
but I’d like to be
a man who tried.

To be loved is great,
but to be love
is to elevate
others
before yourself.

It is to write
a world of compassion,
to press kind imprints
of humane intents
on the hearts of
women and men
whom you meet.

It is what I long to be
not a president or a king
but a leader of empathy,

an avatar of love
and peace.

I am not a really fit
dude who can take
a super anime hit.

Even though, I
have a great gift
that lets me
write a bit
I don’t expect
my words will
change ****.

I am smarter than
most humans,
but this brain I have
won’t solve the world’s
problems,
won’t beat
the greedy goblins
that I meet.

I can make people laugh
but I know that
is not uncommon.

So, my greatest aspect,
or so
I suspect
is my gentle disposition,
desire to show respect
and above all else
be kind.

I’ll rock this ride,
till the day I die,
driving high
into the night.

Tired as I am
I move with
no plan,
just step
one foot forward
away from the herd.

The spirit that resides
is the light that I
give to this life.

Engine full throttle
no time to coddle,
the cattle is coming,
and I keep on running.

So, I drive
moving in time
as each glow
fades fast behind
and I know
I will not find
a single second
returned to me.

I won’t miss me
when I am gone,
and I am sorry
if I was wrong
but this river
only runs
in one direction.

When it’s finally over
and you sign the disclosure
to satisfy this sick
back room deal closer,

when you bend down
to submit to the controller
that hellfire holder
who was bolder
than the wiser
and the older,

I will kiss
the sharp bits
that ripped
at your lips
and bleed
the same
pain as you.

I will scrape
the nape
of my neck
till my spinal cord
is open to explore
and you can see
all the electricity
that makes me, me.

I will stand and confess
that you were
the worse and the best
parts of my humanity.

After the plowshares
have been turned
into swords,
and we have been
conquered by
make believe lords,

I will bend a knee,
take a boot to my neck
let you see me
be put in check,

just to prove that we
are brethren,
and we can stand
together again.

I will write
a sharp and
contrasting light
to provide
hope in this
damning night.

Sending sweet
splinters of my
being
for anyone to see,
I will sing
“I love thee”
and be grateful
for this chance
to live.

With eyes of honeys
and lips buzzing
you have me running
straight into
the hive to get to
your delicious mind,
cause it is so stunning.

You can paint infinity
on a set of plates
that lay here before me,

share a season’s story
leaving out what is gory.

You can dance in skewed
perspectives,
make rainbows cry
while a little child
staves off this painted rain.

You can make manifest
the spirit over which
you give dominion
to all who live in
this little world.

Let lovers walk
from pools reflecting
many shades
that illuminate
the end of days.

Can take the infinitude
of every instance
that made you, you
and summarize it
in multiple tints
of blue;

Take the beauty
and wonder of
a stranger’s face
lit by inspiration
as she reads
by a windowpane,

while I can take apart
and break the art
you made with your heart,
to write this silly little poem.

Lonely, I watch
strangers from the dock
stand up in time to fall off
and get lost in the brine.

I watch others
going under
as their vessels
start to sink,
and the floating wood
falls away
under the horizon
I was eying.

I see the seas,
and these
foolish dudes who
get lit and want to
plunder you,
in their sick slick siege
of these shipwrecked cities.

Thick lips
that drip with
ill-intent
from their fist,
swearing
they aren’t wearing
the flags of the elite.

Eyes of defeat,
I can almost hear you think,
“Wouldn’t it be
super sweet
to surrender?”

My fellow
dock dwellers
fall in line
whilst I sneak off
the dock to find
a safer seaport.

I am not sick,
or a sociopath,
but I’ve got years
of watching people
laugh at that
which should bring tears.

So, when I see
a young girl crying
in solidarity
with the suffering
of a stranger,

I think it is beautiful,
and I cry to.

When I know you
can sympathize
with guys
whose lives
are so different,

Then the numbness,
the cold shield
that I built
to block myself
from feeling,
slowly starts melting,
the tears start falling,
and I finally feel
connected.

I am sorry for my ability
to smile and laugh
while others are
are being torn in half
by acts that
can never be taken back,
by folks who joke
about cruelty to blacks,
cause I am living
pretty **** comfortably.

My white privilege is showing
and it makes me feel so guilty.

I am sorry,
but do not
bother comforting me.

I am crying right now
but you will not read
this poem for many weeks
after this sadness
has passed.

These are not tears
of self-pity.
The water works
are because it hurts
to see others get hurt.

This isn’t a woe is me
small set of verses
for people to see.
This is saltwater anguish
as I watch others suffering.
This is outrage
at the outright inhuman displays
that these authoritarians play
as they spray mace
in a little child’s face
while her mother is
looking the other way.

This is a tongue held so often
that my own words
can no longer soften
this brutal reality.

This is my shame,
cause I claim
to be a good person
but I am not out on the street
with other protesters
cutting my teeth
letting cops bludgeoning me
with their nightsticks.

There is no justice today,
when allies say wait.

When they need to get paid
to keep their people saved.
So, the truth coming out
might be a little delayed,
but please just wait.

When fear of violence
keeps white allies silenced,
but they forget
fears where this ****
starts.

When I sit back and write
with a hollow sense of pride
but I’m not a ride or die ally.

I am the good man
who says he understands
social justice demands
in facebook posts,
and when I’ve paid
lip service to those
hurting,
I go back to my
comfortable life.

This time the excuse
that I honestly use
is fear of covid 19,
but the last time
I could’ve helped,
I was writing out my guilt
to help myself.

I haven’t stepped foot in the fray
since 2011
when I was advocating
for the rights of lesbians,
transgenders, and gays.

So, this is my shame,
such a stupid hypocrite
cause better men then me
are on the streets getting hit,
marginalized,
terrorized ,
brutalized,
while I get to wake up
and live a pretty tame life.

I am not noble enough
to sacrifice it all
in the name of love;

To feel each bullet
that was born of hate
fly through my skin,

To stand and march
and see my heart
get broken again,

To feel my pride,
being barely sustained
as I push on
when I know
that I push in vain.

I am not a king
among men,
nor princely in stance,

I am not a knight
made for the battlefield,
not a soldier who cannot yield.

I am more of a mix,
clowning jester,
sagely bard,
lonely lover
who writes with heart
to remind you how
others feel.

Now, I kneel
to your steel,
throat exposed
in fancy prose
cause I am not a hero
but maybe
just a little bit of
a martyr lately.

It’s been said in songs
but you forget,
been written down
but you won’t let
the truth overcome.

We need to breath
collectively,
so won’t you please
get off our necks?

We need to see
stranger’s as family
and keep the violence
in check.

Life is change.
The world is strange,
and danger is
gonna come,

but the only way
we make humans great
is when we come together;
When we celebrate love
and stop letting other’s
elevate their hate.

I spend my regret
like it’s a foreign currency,
higher value
in my current deflated market.

I take my memories
and hold them till
they ulcerate my mind,
till seizures set in
and in my trembling
I find the curved lines
that connect us.

I take all the time
I have not wasted
in seeking purely
pleasurable moments,
even if I needed that leisure,
and I give it to the body you view;
Let this meat collect
compound interest
as it grows and thins,
flabs out and tightens
gains and loses muscle.

I am just a vessel
of borrowed flesh,
a thief of the present
that I steal for myself
and share sparingly.

I devour the world
and excrete neat
lines of love
and give them
to all of you.

I want to be
super lean
and ****,
so one day
someone
will say
they love me.

I got flab
but I’m not
that bad.

I eat clean,
except when I don’t.
Then I am mean
to myself,

but I know
that though
I work hard
to get buff
it won’t be enough
to earn somebody’s love.

Funny thing,
makes me laugh,
knowing this
should make me sad,
but the truth is
that I am useless.

All this stuff that I do
won’t make someone
I love
love me to.

Hell, it ain’t even enough
to make me love
myself.

While you were swallowing
the t.v. news
that the corporations use
to sell sick perspectives
that get sales projections
and stock market values
going up,

I was back here loving you,
watching while you choked on
the pricey drugs you use,
to numb those American blues.

While you were slinging the gospel
casting your almighty god spell
so, no one would buy in
to that fact that you are trying
to deny facts in favor
of your favorite brand of lying,

I was trying to learn
the lessons you spurned,
so, I could take science and poetry
combine them in this flow you see
to share our shared humanity
and help us be better human beings.

The cool blue aquatic,
silver fish swimming
whilst shimmering green,
is such a beautiful thing.

The cute colorful clown fish
wiggling,

The turtle slowly moving
across that underwater world.

The rapture, of something
so pure,
or at least the illusion
of ocean life purity
is a relief to me.

A nice break
and what I need to see
to escape this
terrible tragedy
we call humanity.

Teenage dreamer
was embittered
cause he figured
nothing he did
mattered one bit.

Another life lost,
another child fatherless,
another man shot,
another human brutalized
and we see it happen almost live.

T.V. Bobble heads
spin talking points
to demonize the dead;

Drive by mace spray
of those who seek
to make a change;

A little girl cries
and needs milk
to washout her eyes;

A parade of storm troopers
patrol the streets
forcing innocent bystanders
to retreat, get beat,
or arrested on live T.V.

Rubber bullets pounding
against soft skin,
less lethal but still
penetrating,
blood seeping
from those seeking
a peaceful end
to this prevailing system
that locks them in
a recycled state
of grief and suffering

Just to show those
who were seeking an end
to police abuse
of their family and friends,
to all of our human kin,
they give us ultra force.

So now when his peers
cheer for hope
he still feels
the ill-will
of those who seek
to reap
their thrills
from the greed
that kills the seed.
of what we need
to be better.

You are charmed by the harm
these beastly beings bring;
eyes glittering giddily
as the violence you see
proceeds to bleed thee
in its thick sticky webbing.

How pretty your petty predators are.
How visible are those streaking scars
that once wept tears of wet red.
How you elevate those men
who came in like a whirlwind
stinking of ****, war,
and other forms of destruction
as they name woman ******.

No longer wearing nerves of steel,
now I am nervous and feel ill
as I watch your heroes ****
beauty and wonder before
science and art can bring in

We brought down the system,
took all those new weapons
they were selling,
took out the businesses
that made a profit
from making hell.

We took out
the politicians
who sold out
and kept our poor conditions
for a political position.

We wrote verses to inspire
strangers to strive for higher
ambitions than greed.

We took care of those in need,
reinvigorated the earth
with mother nature’s seed.
That’s how we made change
and taught others to succeed.

Then one day I woke up.
Now I no longer believe
that we can be better
then what I have seen.
I hope sturdier hearts than mine
keep striving to achieve
my old dreams.

Couldn’t be bothered to remove your knee
from a man’s neck.

Couldn’t be bothered to protect
the huddled masses of poor,
when you and your buddies can make more
from building machines and waging wars.

Couldn’t be bothered to tell our youth
the deep and painful truth
about our history.

Couldn’t be bothered until you were
inconvenienced;
Until your bosses see this
and you get in trouble
for vile rants.

Couldn’t be bothered to be
a decent human being,
and you wonder why
people cry,
let it burn.

Curious I discover,
a hunger for wonder.

Ravenous and ready to
see and consume
every sight and sound
that I have found,

and learn,
and learn,
and learn.

In turn
I grow,
ready to show
what gifts of knowledge
I have collected;
Pack them up sweetly
in all of my poetry
and give my presents
away for free.

But I am burnt
by their brazen indifference,
scorched by their strange adherence
to the philosophy
of hate and ignorance
flamed by their arrogance.

Pox lipped punks who
speak volumes of bile and drool.

As these dreams
of greater things depart
I am broken hearted,
realizing it was
a fool’s quest from the start.

It is the pink parchment
of desire which he wishes
to devour that which is
delightfully delicious.

With lip and tongue impressions
marking ecstasy’s visions
his passion is his artistry
even when given in passing.

This evolved lover of loving,
master stoker unleashing
a sea of swelling waves.

Resolved hardened by soft moans
knows in this moment he owns
each ounce of ecstatic attention,
each breath of pleasure given
an explosion to multiple conclusions,

and then it is his turn to erupt exhausted
and sleep soundly satisfied.