could this be the final destination
or just another step in the journey?
you and i, and the countless nameless, all
united in struggle—but where, then,
the exclusion, the adversary, the exploiter?
who holds the pen that controls the course of this story?
and is it running out of ink? must we
steal it for our own use? or snap it and
start writing only in pencil or pixels?
or is the paper on fire, opportunity turned to smoke?
perhaps the kingdom of ends and heaven
shall never be inscribed onto the earth,
not even for a brief, hard won daybreak.
divided we stand on the polluted planet,
where walls rise higher and bigger bombs fall daily,
where camps overflow, half starve and so many displaced,
where private capital propels technology
and its shadow of terror and invisible chains,
and genocide is a good price for oil and raw materials.
could this be the final destination
or just another step in the journey?
neither philosophers nor poets can tell us;
if we can find the People, maybe then we'll know.
for now, at least, some of us have tomorrow.

have i spoken of a saviour? rejoice, hear woe.

there is no one to save us, no one to save us:
God was made flesh and died on the cross erected by Empire:
Christ the Rebel murdered, forsaken by Himself,
and a Book brings down Rome;
His suffering image lives on, the Holy Spirit of Resistance lives on
if we choose it: we are absolutely
responsible—absolutely responsible
for our own destiny. wherefore the spear?
it pertains to believers of Truth to move mountains stone by stone.
equality and welfare over wealth!
perhaps it is our turn to cast fire
and we must learn how to set fire to fire itself.