500 years ago,
On a shoreline in northern Peru
More than 140 children,
Were ritually sacrificed,
Their chests sliced open,
From the sternum,
And their hearts ripped out,
Literally, all in one day.

In America over 5000 catholic priests
Have been reliably identified,
As child rapists,
And that's just since 1950.
And only in one country.

Over 300,000 child soldiers exist today.
The worst of the worst,
Had to ****** their parents,
On the day of their abduction.
Think about cutting open your father's throat,
And watching him bleed at your feet.
Over 30% of child soldiers are girls.

This poem won't trend,
Almost no one will care,
And I am certainly no saviour.

But somehow, someday, somewhere,
The essence of us must change.
Only art can save us.
I know that now.

The mist appeared,
Seconds after the sun finally came unglued
From its passionate kiss  
Of the brush and edge of a prairie horizon.
Its last bit of linger,
Promised a rainbow.

Dawn needs a witness,
A town crier,
Someone to shout outloud,
That no one is forgotten,
To assure all who early rise,
Hope is earned and alive.

Hope lives, hope endures, hope loves to surprise.

I don't care.
I've given up.
**** it, I'll be runnerup.

The lies, the truth,
Which is worse,
Be clear almighty universe.

I'm better than you,
It says so, boo,
On the bottom of my shoe.

There is no out,
Best plop right down.
Lived my life as an angry clown.

What you think its real?
Maybe it is or maybe we forgot,
How to untie all the nots.

Yeah, I'm done,
Lived life so recklessly,
So fecklessly in constant perplexity.

No more thought or tears,
I've had my fill,
Time an enemy I could not ****.

I went to the doctor.
She said my obsession with *** was killing me.

How so, I asked,
And thought about yesterday.

The drugs you take to get *****, get high and get hard,
Eventually your artifice
Will burst your boldness, she said

To die of a balloon burst heart,
In the slingshot of ******,
To exit while rocketing into Nietzsche's abyss,
My eyes clenched,
Ten billion endorphins,
An ****** inferno,
This fusion of soul and pleasure,
God's great whisper tickling my ear,
A lover's last kiss,
The tautological tango of two wet tongues,
A soft breast,
An alert ******,
The slick and slippery slide into madness,
All of this as the one memory I will reclaim for all eternity,
How could I not demand that death follow, I said.

To each his own, she said
I would rather die dancing.

Dare any swain escape his youth intact,
Soon after the fringe of courage will discolour into fade,
Until one day the pause,
The morning mirror, the tics and taunts,  
Who is this clumsy old man his story will complain.

His bruise of reputation echoes back as tease,
The ***** and sag of masculine decline,
Is journaled in the bloom of brown blotch on his hands,
The tattered skin, the oaf and clownish frown,
The aberrant fur in ears and nose,
The quitter’s curve now cues to crooked spine,
There is no bath, no rub, nor miracle devine,
From here on in he culls and manages decline.

I promised myself to never write when I was depressed.
And then I realized I would never write again.

So yes, sadness has its flavour, a taste acquired,
Like all the finer things in life,
A bit of bitter often brides us better,
The sweet of things misleads and makes us dull,

So yes,we have arrived to suffer, to ask and persevere,
Our fate is not to believe but to become,
We are God in the making, we are the design.
So little time.

You can't go back  home, to a home that's unknown,
To a cache of hard memory, constant new treachery,
You can't go back home, to a home all alone,
Each morning's new fear, made me disappear.

I can't go back home, it's my no go zone,
No need for revenge, I just can't comprehend,
Why we hated each other, why we all felt so smothered,
Not one day went by, we weren't living a lie.

I won't go back home, my heart marble and stone,
I cannot forget, I age with regret,
Anger, self-hate, for me it's too late,
My bitter divide, still nowhere to hide.