Birds of a feather,
On an isle of ladders;
Here now, together.
Climb to nowhere,
That just gets ever higher;
One way up, straight and narrow.
Rain pours in,
Maelstrom showers;
Prometheus cowers.
Overhead, stars twinkle;
And at least the view is beautiful

Fight the fight, and
Rage into the silent night.
Bid goodbye only to
Hubris. Trust in instinct,
Trust in insight.
What you know and can prove,
Not what you hope inside.
Love, guard, and take the word of
Those who are allies;
Act only in turn, when you are more wise.
Barter acting in plain sight with guise;
It is not the sacrifice of advantage,
Nor the trade of surprise.
Keep to your bonds, keep to promise;
Protect the people, protect the country.
Protect the planet; nature, everything.
Uplift virtue, promote democracy,
Prioritize education, ensure & expand rights

Love your neighbor like a brother,
Cherish your community;
Across collective nations,
We can have paradise

I have no fear of anyone who opposes me,
Shall I live? Forever, I am
****** to die, regardless
Of the life I lead. So,
To nihilism and cynicism; should I cling?
Or fight for my ideals and beliefs?
What is it, to fight? To be violent, to the pacifist;
To resist violence, with pacifism.

I fear no man that would oppress me,
Shall you live? Never, would I
Bend the knee before being
Brought to kneel. Rightly,
You can **** me
But what I die for lives on;
Drown in the wake
Of those that love,
Those that bleed

What peace allows;
Time to think, of
What freedom means

What galavants as another,
Stuck out
Always staring in?
What sparks,
What smothers?
To capture a view,
Only to envision?
Walks the tightrope of light;
Cleaving night, like rays of a beam?
Put together by others,
Yet lacks a seam?
Has power, that
Blossoms only as a flower?
Looks upon the empty,
To see something?

Who knows nothing?

With a voice that fails me
I aim at the lines between your hope and my despair
With a needle, in an effort to achieve precision
To stitch our thoughts together
They’re so similar, so different
You think of October as a warm home
And I see it as a cold houseguest
And we co-exist in this oblivion
This circle of this or that
I admire your willingness to fill spaces
And you question my fear of being heard
You relish in the colours of fall
And I dread the looming winter
How is it that we left September
Hand-in-hand, wishing for rain...

Everyday it seems, more of the same:
Some kind of sick & twisted head game.
And to what selfish end, I can
Only assume it, to be
In the aim of amusement.
Kicks for you,
Joke on me

Often not, is prayer
In fear of God
But of our fellow man

A voice,
I was familiar with
Previously, deviously
Reaching out
For more of what she had
Before

the old wives
say it must be
the left hind foot
of a rabbit
shot with a silver bullet
or not shot at all
simply captured
one way or another
ideally on the grave
of a criminal
the more wicked the person
the more potent the charm
with the foot harvested
while the poor creature
is still alive
it has to be done
in a cemetery
during the night
of a full
or new moon
though others say
it should be
a friday
a rainy friday
friday the thirteenth
if the foot is to become
one of those lucky ones