Light the torches.
Burn it to the ground.
Let the flames dance until the ashes flee this plot of land upon the back of the wind.
This patriarchal house that father built has been stained with the blood of past victims.
The blood of enemies dots the floor while whats left of friends streaks the walls, marking the spot where they leaned for one last moment of respite prior to life escaping them.
We stand here with the warm blood dripping from our hanging fingertips.
Clothing streaked red.
Clearly we all had a part to play.
Whether part of the execution or part of the clean up, we all took part in the slaughter.
Fathers swung blades.
Mothers bandaged the wounded so they may **** again.
Children carried the buckets of blood to be disposed of.
Yet no one wept.
Not a tear was shed in the name of this great nation.
No one wailed during the systematic destruction of our resources.

Roads are crumbling.
Water is poisoned.
Politics are a circus.
The police have become a military force.
And lives have been destroyed.
Fathers are still wielding the blade
While mothers take up the blood buckets of their children who have been slain.
When does it end?
Does it end when we run out of weapons?
When we run out of people?
When we run out of love?
Weapons are only an extention of the wielder.
The bomb unbuilt cannot explode.
Our mother's words should be ringing in all of our ears.
Be good.
Treat people right.
Love.
Instead we jam fingers in ears, scream and stamp feet until even our thoughts are nothing but static.
The hiss and squeal of gunshots and speeding tires continually drown out the sounds of children's laughter and those Marvin Gaye records that Mrs. Jenkins plays on Sunday nights.
This isn't just a story of the inner city blues.
The suburban warriors are also witness to the carnage.
It's time to stay the blade.
Allow mothers to mourn.
And children to play.
Peace is a choice.
Choose wisely.

I fear the bass and treble.
The Stuka's nasal voice ringing out.
The tremulous earth beneath two treads.
The planet itself was set to tremble.

I fear the detonation.
A whistle in the darkness.
Harmonizing bass and treble.
Imminent inflammation.

I fear the bass and treble.

Let the dogs of war
dish it out
four minute warning buzz
annoys the silent moon
chrome dipped stars vibrate the
***** black void into oblivion
a crater blast from the past
oh mother earth
trembles in fear
skin that drips like tears
atomic death in all her glory

It's a bomb on your doorstep.
Wrapped up in a pastel pink and white blanket.
Swaddled in a babys basket
You don't even hear the ticking over all the babble
You just assumed it was designed to protect.
You never asked anyone
Or questioned where the basket came from.
Where it got this baby.
Why it is concealing it's wicker with this blanket.
You bring it inside.

tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick

Wake up tossing and turning
hear a ticking downstairs
In your kitchen.
On the island.
"You're hearing things"
close your eyes.
It's too loud.
Walk down to see just a basket
A blanket
The baby is tucked in tight
You were hearing things
"Go back to bed sweety."
But the basket keeps ticking.
"Baskets are supposed to tick"
you never question it again.

tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick
tickTick tickTick

You never see it explode.
Just find and count the pieces
Wicker shrapnel where there should have been guidance.
Viscera where there should have been eyes.

a woman smiles
while walking alone
dragging her suitcase
she's happy
soon she'll meet her daughter;
a little girl
a red flower
in her hands
a surprise for mom ;
a man is working
the back hurts
but he resists .... soon he'll return home
his wife is waiting for him for lunch ;
two children crying
dad scolded them ;
one man talking on the phone
he'll sign an important agreement;
people
thoughts
smiles
hopes
life
...
a roar
a glow
a bomb !
everything stops
tears
fear
smoke
the ceiling on the floor
a flower on the ground
red into gray
a little ******* the ground
her mom will not come;
a wife at home
her husband will not be back for lunch;
...
a bomb
a flash
and it's all over
hope dies
buried by hatred
...
a red petal
and everything can start again

"Oh just look on the bright side."
That's what my mother always told me...
Every time I reached in the pocket of my life
Hoping to find some change
But instead, pull out a grenade pin.
My mother always told me..
"To look on the bright side."
Sure! I usually thought.
Maybe my good luck
Might start with a boom!
Maybe my fantasies
Will come with a flash and fallout!
..Either way, I could be good or gone..
Because I took my mothers advice.
And looked for a bright side to a bomb.

Maker of the Atomic Bomb

Give me all you’ve got,
Don’t hold back.
I grew up learning how to hide,
Figuring out how to stop others,
from seeing the real me.
I can take it.

I can take it for days,
I can hide it for weeks.
You can tell me everything you don’t like,
show me all the things you hate.
I can take it.

Show me how awful I am,
You’ve always been good at it.
I won’t try to defend myself,
I won’t tell you you’re wrong.
I can take it.

Don’t worry about me,
I’ll be okay.
I will believe what you say,
I always do.
I can take it.

I know you don’t mean to,
And if you do, I know it makes you feel better.
Whatever you do,
I’ll still be here for you.
I can take it.

Years later,
I’ll still be there.
I’ll still care about you,
Even when the whole world is against you, I’ll be there for you.
I can take it.

You can try to show me my faults,
But I see more of them than you do.
I’ll listen as you tell me how horrible I am.
As much as you hate me, I hate myself more.
I can take it.


Just remember that though I can take it,
It’s still there.
A burning ember in my brain.
I’ll think about it for hours.
I can take it.
Because one day I will explode,
Everything you’ve ever said to me will force its way out.
There will be no stopping it.
It will be seen everywhere, stabbing you in the heart.
I can take it.

I am an atomic bomb.
I will be calm and collected, until I’m not.
Everyone will be affected.
There will be debris everywhere,
And no one will be the same again.
I can take it.

I am an atomic bomb.
Violent and harmful,
Leaving scars for years to come.
I can take it.

Look out.
You will be hurt more than most.
Because I’m made out of everything you’ve ever said to me.
You’re that part of me,
The part that causes the explosion.
You’re standing right outside the blast zone.
There’s no chance of you getting hurt,
But you’ll get to see what you did,
You’ll see the monster you created.
You won’t be okay.
I won’t be able to take it.

But for now,
I’ll be fine.
For now I can keep it all inside.
I’ll hide all the hurt.
I can take it.



For now

They say their is calm now,
smells of spent munitions subsiding.
Lying around and ferried under a different blue the viewers and listeners, the diners and walkers.
One witness speaks of the bodies so high his wife could not climb over,
another of explosions a block away.
Carnage the reporter says as a man mentions the sight of men in black entering a music hall with Kalashnikov rifles, him gifted a choice not to enter.
The news speaks of pierced body parts, an arm, a leg, a shoulder, so many dead, 120 the number that exist no more, rising, many many more the casualties of this next step in a new world war.
Flashes and bangs, whistles and booms, sirens scream as forces reign down.
Tears, shock, the misery on faces, much sadness heaped on a peace seeking nation.
We now know some say why they chose Paris, some claim it is the fault of the west.
Others of ignorance by intelligent beings that choose violence instead,of democracy, though democracy to them has lost its edge to a world full of capitalist cronies who themselves choose numbers over humanity, so's said.
We are left to pick up pieces of what is left behind, we will grow stronger in the face of adversity.
Hoping one day that the so called wise people are wise, seeing solutions instead of this continuous cycle of violence and death.
Nos pensées vont à tous ceux qui sont touchés, nous montrons la solidarité avec le peuple français et à leurs invités.