Torn from the womb, rushed
into a warriors labor. A failing
patriarch with eyes of sterling,
sleek in shape, displaying a
desperate smile.

Engaged in foaming conversations,
which seemingly drip effortlessly
upon the ear drums of systematic
recoil.
Cause has effect, descriptive, and
random, while tragedy nurses
folly.

Monsters leaving carcasses,
one after another. One more steel
ringlet latched around necks
like a noose.
Prophecies of habit, of vengeance,
seen only when one comes clean,
the acceptance, the truth of
religious martyrs, religious sages.

Still teetering on the edge of
impossibility, human form
infected with fantasies, and reality
based television becomes the
docility of technocracy. Easily
trapping the ignorant watchers
with denial, while fallen soldiers
lead a life of misfortunate
revile.

Gather together the worlds
inequities, and think only of each
bygone quality. Bind them together,
coalesce the congregated minority,
and strap them upon surface to
air missiles. Ready, aim, fire.
Rain down manufactured hatred,
upon their difference, their
deference.

From the windows of paradise,
I see this perjury, praise be to simple
solutions too enigmatic, because
the tactics are so similar to prayers
and hopes. God drain them of their
breath, strip them of their life.
Hold onto the image of a
limitless sky, while another rocket
races across centuries.
From one aisle to another, from
one dogmatic doctrine, into the
hands of priests, bigots, and
demi-gods. The clerics whose
spirits are our questions with
out answers, not the worlds
intentions, driving these vehicles
of intercession.

Drawing the curtains, so the early
morning sun cannot lash out at
my eyelids, whose images create
dreams within themselves.
We can see the blood running from
***** and body, reminding that
life, no matter how defiled, no
matter how tragic, or how inexact,
is still a science, a process of do’s
and don’ts.

The limiting of ambition, restrained
by our reality, relegates progressive
proposals to fictitious daydreams,
or to a drug induced psychosis,
yet this cancer will grow, extending
tentacles exponentially, cradling
the heavens.
Death after death manages to
make reality so simple.

A suggestion of ******, of
genocide, an elimination of
competition, of difference, of
doctrine, of compassion,
without interruption, the dream
of our future is the plight of
those being tortured for
sovereignty.