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Gentle is the night
after a day's boiling over,
now bathed in small hours
drifting closer to morning.

Weight on my mind
falling softly on eyelids.
A passenger for a pillow
and a meal for the blankets.

...and gentle is the night
when no words are spoken,
for when day break calls,
you again will be broken.
Your lavender love
it falls to pieces
falls to pieces
everywhere you go.

Your lavender love
hits the ground
and scatters
all around
all around.

You walk in trails
of flowers blooming
in all the sounds
of harmony
a magical touch
which heals all
pain, and words
which soothe
during midnight
rains.

You come on the
breath of the winds
you leave that
same way
too.

Your lavender love
it falls to pieces
falls to pieces
every where you go.
Where it comes from
where it goes
I really don't know.

Your lavender love
it falls to pieces
everywhere
we go.
https://soundcloud.com/steven-roth-10/lavender love
Turn the other
into an object
that's where
genocide begins.

Manipulations
of the economy machines,
Sweeping labels
capture all,
That's where incarceration
to
slaughter begins.

Rapists
cockroaches
infidels
the unclean.

I put this log
into my woodstove
the pill bugs
scurrying for cover,
I feel a heart felt flicker,
Light the match,
Go upon my day,
Never looking back.

What does it take to treat
people
that way?

Where conscious
loving
living
human beings
transformed
by a look
into
pill bugs scurrying
for cover
with a fire storm,
No one
Every one
knows
is
coming.
Beginning with Expanding Consciousness, this poem is Volume 2 on a world of politics and genocide, one more to go and I'll be returning to other themes. I know, as Samuel Goldwyn said several years ago, if I want to make a movie with a message, I'll send a telegram.
But sometimes you still gotta write a protest song.
One third of our life is spent asleep
25 years off in some dream...

Another third spent in work or class
50 years gone, ****, just like that

25 years left...
But of course there's more.

1 year spent using the bathroom.
Now only 24...

6 years' time spent on cuisine
Down to 18...

4 years doing housework,
A year looking for things lost,
And another 5 in line we wait.

75 given, only left with 8.

2 years watching commercials
Where did it go? Only 6?!

For a woman... 1 year is spent choosing the clothes they're wearing.
But it evens out.
Men spend just as much time admiring their choice by staring.

So down to five
But I'll end it here
It's on you now
How to live your final years.
Do what makes you happy.
It's two in the morning
And something jolts you awake
It's death in a black cloak
He's sitting beside your bed
A sickening grin upon his face
He's going to take your soul
Before the sun even spills
It's golden rays upon the plains
Death senses your sorrow
And his chest rumbles
With doom-laden laughter
"You lived with no zeal
And you'll die with regrets
So many regrets"
And as orange hues
Lit the early morning sky
All that's left is
A hollow body in a bed
we can't erase what is already on a canvas
but we can always paint over it
it seems as though someone is passing around info about me getting in trouble with the law over seven years ago. i am not proud of it, but i own my actions. i paid my debt by serving six months in jail, as well as taking a good beating for it. the past paints the future, and experiences change our lives. i am a different person now, and i can't dwell on the past. if others want to, that's fine.
born with a halo shattered
human afterbirth in dirt
withered wings, feathers tattered
protrusions of pain and hurt

only an angel can be born
held by the devil's hands
flesh becomes hard when it's torn
only an angel understands
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