You worship yourself,
and pander this as loving,
not narcissism.

Your America;
Ghost of Andrew Jackson, or
genocide elect.

I wonder if they
hear freedom ring in Iraq,
or Afghanistan?

Unlike how you can
cover your eyes and still see
a beautiful world.

Covering your ears,
and nodding, "I can hear the
bells of liberty!"

You do not love them.
You love them like a dog you
neglect, then put down.

To me, it's a joke;
Your love of people is a
bastardization.

Papers and pens expensive,
careful the words selected.
Prose:
Cautious
Considered
Calculated
Discussed
Digested
Politically correct
Stilted.

But since the advent
of cheap communication,
words are thrown
right and left,
democratized into existence,
bullied down before anyone has time
to grasp the meaning
or the consequences complicit
to disrespecting the dialectic.

I wonder:
Where can I find those mourning
the death of conversation?
Perhaps resigned
to the penance of unabriged silence.

...means,

             never having to

                                          ask

              ­ permission.

I have things
to say-
but there are
276
requests
for my silence..

Rab országban rab a lélek
Álmukban látják, hogy eszerint kélnek
Sokszor érzik, hogy tenni is félnek,
Mert elmenni vagy maradni egyaránt vétek.

Rab országban rab a gondolat
Megfélemlítő a véleményáradat
Köves partjain töredezik a vakolat
Bélyegét rányomja az uralkodó-i hangulat.

Rab országban kirakatválasztások
Üvegarccal ellátott ó-rendszerváltozások
El nem feledett múltbéli hazugságok
Alkotják fog hegyén a megrekedt átkot;

Hisz rab országban megállt végleg
Nem érdekel senkit a rothadó lényeg
Belülről zabálja széjjel a féreg
S démonok torkából zeng az ítélet,

Hogy a szabadság nem egy állandó tényező
Csak addig a miénk, míg van hozzá levegő
És nem nyugszik bele búsan a független megvető
Hogy szépiaszínre vált lassan egy gondolat, oly felemelő,

Hogy csak szabad országban lehet szabad az élet,
Tengerkék igazával megvetettek a remények
S nappalok, holnapok, éjszakák vagy fényévek
Távlatából sem csorbulnak a ránk váró jövőképek.

We should be hardened cynics,
Putting plywood on our windows,
Yellow tape around our homes,
Cautioned shouting,
Never doubting
Who is number One,
In a race that's nearly done.
The finish line's stopped moving,
We hope to be disproving
The infallibility of man.
And thus we sit waiting,
Anticipating chaos,
Spinning the wheels of commerce,
Leaving treadmarks on the innocents
Who needn't to be literate
To mark their X to obliterate.
Like a ****** on a mission,
With cross-hairs on the decision.

I have words
   good words
      all the best words
         they come out of me
      in fountains
   cascading
waterfall words
   flushing away doubt
      over the edge
         over the precipice
      I speak
   falling words
splashing words
   drowning words
      there are rocks at the bottom
         broken bones
            buried treasure
               known unknowns
            wrapped in reedy words
         left here by thrill seekers
     terrorists, murderers      
   rapists
jumping off cliffs
   swimming over rivers
climbing the walls that I built
   I am a great builder, you see
      but it's not all about me and my words
   I have questions too
Why do the bubbles breathe when I can't?
   Is this light refracted a mirror of the dark?
      Is there such a thing as a grindelow?
         Can't we stop them?
           What is this weight
              pulling me down
                Can I swim?
              Will I drown if I don't win?
            Don't look too closely
       for I don't know anything
   I never did
Let me back in
   I always win
     You'll be sorry
         You will be sorry
     all that will be left
   is a scorched blonde wig
a scorched earth
   a pile of empty emperors clothes
      and legislated words
         captured in email,
            cooked until raw
         served over the body politic
      burnt and broken by the fall
    of ***** grabbing brawlers
  drowned and forgotten in a furore
of water hurtling towards the forgetful sea
   and it's endless tides will bring the bodies back to shore
won't wash away the misdeeds, you don't know that half of it
you will never be clean
  But not me
    I am very rich you see
       I will float away on an endless tide
         of empty promises
            corporate endorsements
               and established exploitations
                  leaving only the roaring echo of the flood
               in which all your words
            all your worthless worlds
         were washed away
      so ask yourself
  on voting day
   who do you hate less?
   who do you hate more?
will it always be this way?

Politics is a group of "respected" adults
Arguing...
Whining...
Insulting each other
Like children in a park

And yet......

We let them run our countries

We are the States of Hypocrisy
We are the States of Democracy

Well Outsmart
Well pull the people a part
Well rot their hearts
Because they are a piece of art

They are tacked
They are tracked

But what if they met their pride
the art of the most abstract?
Our only way to counteract
Is to divide
and extract