See the emblem waving
Proudly, touted in the sky.
We walk among our brethren.
We recourse, resource the reason why.

All, in trepidation...
We cry out for separation.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?

Citizens of the nation,
Before humanitarians,
First comes clicks of locking doors.
Equality does not endure.

A man of any land should be my brother.
The whole earth, to us, our mother.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?

See the burden being carried
High upon laden backs,
Tautly stretched, with shoulders bending.
Each fear the other will attack.

The words have been the same,
But for intent that's not their own.
For too long, have we been believed.
Equality is just for some -

Is just for some.

Freedom is only for the free.
The lines that keep the captives buckling,
The doors that keep them let them go.
They have no where to escape.

Always there is tyranny
For the landless refugee.
He is no man as worthy as you.
Equality is just for some -

Is just for some.

All the lessons that teach us to love
The home of brave and free
Are based on notions that could not be true,
If all are not the same as you.

And, are they not the same as we,
Who are decorating for our holidays.
Living in our plentitude,
Singing songs of charity and caring -

Charity and Caring?

Gifts are given and received.
Do we remember the lessons taught
About the kind of men we are,
When another is in need?

Do they not rate the same concern
As the presents and the tree,
As we pray in  Holy Spirit,
Singing songs of charity and caring -

Charity and caring?

See the emblem waving
Proudly, touted in the sky.
We walk among our brethren.
We recourse, resource the reason why.

All, in trepidation...
We cry out for separation.
Could it be our own downfall,
Equality, but not for all -

But, not for all?

Words are the seeds of rebellion
A simple sentence may imprint a design of unrest
On the minds of the oppressed
And when watered by the unending tears
Of the motherless child
Of the widow or widower
These seeds spring eternal as weeds in the gardens of the oppressors
How quickly these starving plants grow
In the perceived beauty of the truly demented souls
Of those who used the corpses of the tormented as the topsoil
For their design of a utopia
The weeds of unrest will rise in the minds of those who have lost all
In a sacrifice for the comfort of those who walk above them
They will choke the oxygen
From the society
Who survives off of them
Those who carry the world on their backs
Words are the seeds of rebellion
And they are those who will stand
When these perverted gardens fall around them

This delight,
To inhale twilight.
Ride the nightlight to the stars.

To kiss a breath within
each moment
Free from introspection,
doubt and regrets.
It is here, I yearn to dwell.

No fear of neglect.
No fear of offense.
No fear of fear.

Yet, ever vigil,
to a slight variance of mood.
Of circumstance.
Of changes that determine
outcomes and future.

Fear of loss.
Fear of rejection.
Fear of fear.

I succomb to this perception.
Live in accordance
within the rules and structure
that appear to maintain order  
to each of my days

Yet I await, with anticipation...
To kiss a breath within
each moment

This delight.
To inhale twilight.
Ride the nightlight to the stars

Ah, cell-phones:

I know it dates me
and sounds crotchety
but oh how I miss
the old days
when talking
to yourself
in public
meant you were
crazy, probably
schizophrenic,
maybe dangerous
or possibly
a saint or mystic
with a direct
line to god.

Now it's just a
helicopter mom
calling her
daughter away
at college
for the third
time today
to reassure
herself the girl
can't exist
without the
eternally
present sound
of her voice
giving advice
the kid probably
won't follow
anyway.

Joan of Arc
was burned
at the stake
for listening
to the disembodied
voices that
assault us
wherever we go,
every day.

Doesn't Seem fair.

I wonder who
has that stake?

  ~mce