i've heard it said of friends who can only bare the weather fair, that they are better left in that climate, there that of all your loves the ones who don't give up slog through the **** all for the prospect of living it up that's who you do it for
open your heart open your arms open your mind free the soul
i see myself - unshaven and distraught, at peace with who i am and despaired by a world i saw coming but couldn't prepare for. i see myself - sitting in the old house, civil war ghosts whispering through the cracks in the dry red clay. sherman burned this town once and now i get to watch the sun do it again. i see myself - the hedges are overgrown and i never stopped smoking cigarettes. the shadows on the walls are mapped out, a mimicry of life in an empty heirloom. i see myself - head in my hands thinking about history. The Last Gilded Age. The Second Gilded Age. what good are comparisons if no one's left to draw them? how does the past make room in a world already strangled by its present? i choke back - the same addiction that made geraldine shoot herself. it occurs to me that i am probably the last person alive to remember geraldine ever existed. i think that's what drew me to history - i've always had the past living inside me. there's a whole family tree intertwined with my ribcage, like kudzu over tarred lungs. i fill my - flask with weedkiller. i inherit an open wound. i try to find my place in a history that no one will ever read.
so basically i've been thinking what the world's gonna be like when i'm an adult-adult. wouldn't recommend it.
we are the true cursed generation worrying incomers for worried nations we see the world in its darkest colours so very different from our fathers and mothers unfitting cogs into a broken machine grown to hate world that so far has been our planet's on fire from sins of your past we know we are lost, world's not gonna last poisonous air is choking our lungs avoiding conflict and holding our tongues to yank the torch out from your withering hands to purify humanity that begs to be cleansed voice of reason in a cacophony of lies slowly reclaiming the sky full of pies
The sky is a generous grey, beneath whose pending charity, sentinel palm trees stray. Whilst impetuous Atlantic gusts, act as a guide to the tourist of Saharan dust, from our heritage far away... yet unclaimed.
And so it shall remain, for domiciled within Barbados' Summer paradise; I would ask only for the rain; that it might wash these seared whip wounds of Sun's splendour... away.
The fruit trees are as my family's; their abundant branches intertwine and then once more, rewind to form a clan. Yet, their want of leaves says to all, of the prospect of Summer's well-fed famine... they had made no plans.
So, we would ask only for the rain; that it might wash away the browned chlorophyll of a cruel Summer's plague. Much like nightmares... to be preserved only within the introspective and reflective archives of Yesterday.
Upon bent knees, I humbly appeal to the Holder of Divinity - Nay! I pray, for but a half empty, half full cup of rain.
They say hell hath no fury Like a woman scorned Well we have scorned this mother of ours Like no child of hers before We have stripped her body bare and ****** her **** dry We’ve tried to beat her to submission and ignored her anguished cries
And even if humanity attempts escape into the sky There is NO way to escape the father’s ever watchful eye In outer space away from mother is a lonely place to die
And mars is not the place to be For a resource hungry race That couldn’t recognise true wealth If it slapped them in the face We are now blessed with abundance But even that seems not enough Infinite growth, on finite planet Is a monumental bluff
And if we do not learn to share and embrace equality The primal world will bear the brunt Of our ways of gluttony The white man might be spared the death That comes quick and without warning But while everything around us swiftly dies We’ll feel the heat and even rich men will start squirming As they powerlessly face their imminent demise
We are approaching our extinction and aware of it Yet those who wield the sceptre Would rather not admit and would prefer to line their pockets while our house is lined in flames They’ll have to learn that there are violent ends to their violent games
Dominating the indigenous the women and the weak will only further seal our fate which at this rate is looking bleak
If we don’t act before we know we’ll reach the point of no return In that case there will be no future for which we all so deeply yearn Now is the only time for action To prevent the chain reaction
Perhaps this earth life was a test Laid before the human race To determine our deserving Of even reaching outer space We have potential to ascend As a peace civilisation But if it’s hell in which we strand it is of our own creation
Though we have the rocket power If our direction stays distorted From this womb that is our earth We’ll be the ones being aborted For nature and the human kind Were irreparably misaligned
Yet I believe we have a chance to heal this earth If we realise our nature In ourselves, our inner worth In my heart I feel I’m part Of this nature regeneration To rebel against extinction And protect all of creation I believe that’s what is right This is the peace for which I fight
This is a poem to shake up people still sleeping on the fate of our planet!