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In the beginning it's all a dream
A dream where all of us are numbers
Number one
Number two
Number three

But then all of a sudden the arithmetic
Comes in, numbers that were "equal" now become "more equal"
Greater than comes in lesser than  comes in ,the equality that was unity yesterday becomes a boundary between the numbers.

Moreso the unknowns on the other side of the equal sign.
Some are on left, some are on right.
far from over on the other side of the equal signs there is (x) and (y) all unknown to the other side of the equal signs
Oh no some numbers become determinant(s)of (x)(y)
The slash sign of Power  separates the numerator and denominator  


Mockery at it's peak ;the equal signs are replaced by greater than or less than.
As if that is not enough
In the second method improper fractions emerge as former numbers become decimals
Graphs of anarchy, imperialism, dictatorship and religious annihilation scatter across the x~axis of humanity and y~axis of ideology

Third method
Proud Rounding up/off begins
Continental Arch's mark the trajectory of division along lines
Shapes of character finally emerge
Assume the value of (x) is that "all this is a dream"
Syntax error; this is no dream

This is reality and remains relevant today
Pure maths is yours dear mathematician!
This cry of anguish is rooted to the cat rat relation with my mathematics teachers ;even when mathematics wasn't my cup of tea it still delivers the painful truth we all know and continues to remain relevant in a modern society that boasts of equality and democracy
So, the end came:
Some flew a white flag
Some flew a black
Some stared into a future
With no hope at their back.

All memory was cancelled
Family ties stretched thin
Bullying & cruelty
Gave the vengeful and the wicked
Power over everything

Some went to work as normal
Some knelt programmed to pray
Armies walked the streets
In case anger
Came out to play

Travel was kept to minimum
Holidays were abandoned
Wages were food
Hunger meant obedience
Compliance was demanded

A new Prime Minister
Declared himself
Winner of the pageant
But no-one knew who voted
Or why only one vote counted

The status quo is always that
It's just power-speak
For we know best
If things don't change tomorrow
Then assume we failed the test
Acta Non Verba ... Deeds not Words
Tommy Randell Jan 16
So, the end came:
Some flew a white flag
Some flew a black
Some stared into a future
With no hope at their back.

All memory was cancelled
Family ties stretched thin
Bullying & cruelty
Gave the vengeful and the wicked
Power over everthing

Some went to work as normal
Some knelt programmed to pray
Armies walked the streets
In case anger
Came out to play

Travel was kept to minimum
Holidays were abandoned
Wages were food
Hunger meant obedience
Compliance was demanded

A new Prime Minister
Declared himself
Winner of the pageant
But no-one knew who voted
Or why only one vote counted

The status quo is always that
It's just power-speak
For we know best
If things don't change tomorrow
Then assume we failed the test
Acta Non Verba ... Deeds not Words
Oculi Sep 2019
A collection of donkeys
Reviewing the depth and girth of light
In a circular channel of platinum white
While the Cold War's puppet master smiles

What is in the creases of the temple?
Built upon the Aztec temptress's armpit
Discovered by the Spanish butcher
And burnt by the pale ghost

Japanese pilots land upon
Upon, upon
A lake of black tar
A lake of black tears
A lake of black tar
A lake of black tears
And question the times.

He asked me why my hair was soft
I severed my ear and lent it
The pianist, unsurprised, played on
With a pyrrhic victory among black and white

Plagiarism runs amok
It is my good friend, the light in the dark
The lightning coiling around my mind
A brilliant idea strikes the gutter

Japanese pilots land upon
Upon, upon
A lake of black tar
A lake of black tears
A lake of black tar
A lake of black tears
And question the times.

What's your answer?
Among the darkened rain clouds?
What's your answer?
Among ****** handles?
What's your answer?
Among the trumpets and horns?
What's your answer?
To the performance of a life?

Sing no more!
Silence!
This is my noblest music!
The buzzing of nothing!
Issachar Bacang Apr 2019
for all trade, a tariff- for all debt, a war
in my hand, the future and a **** to its door

under my hand, dear empress,
now you must understand
under my will, this nation
under my will- this land

a strongman's ire
to those who oppose
tear down the bulwarks
- who dare arose

Orwell, dear prophet
your tales of future design:

"you delusional *******..."

This nation, a reign of infamy,
this nation of mine

for you, dear empress-
costs any you dare
for your comfort, o empress
no expense to spare
this is how Imelda Marcos got 3000 shoes
Stark Oct 2018
Thousands poured into the Great Hall
Waiting
In this haunted, empty room
For something to happen

Nobody sat upon the throne
But order still remained
Maybe it was in the fear
That left them silenced

The throne was industrious
All blunt, sharp lines
Of cold, heartless steel
Fogging up as the peoples’ breaths brushed it

No heat in this desolate hall
Only people’s nervous, frantic heartbeats
Echoed through the room
Marking their place as prey

Footsteps followed
Each step
A quick, sudden staccato
Steady with every beat

The people spun around
Looking for the one that approached them
But there was
No one

Anxiety wrecked through the large hall
Rebounding off of the delicate stone arches
Sailing across the cracked, concrete floor
Filling everyone’s bodies with dread

The footsteps stopped
And their leader materialized onto his cold throne
His gaze held no emotion as he crossed his legs, staring at his people--
Who returned his glare with downturned lids

He bore a crown of silver
Glittering with the madness
Atop a thick forest of black hair
That you could get lost in

His eyes were a dark stormy blue
Appraising his guests
His people
That lay scattered across the hall

A slender frame
Overshadowed by a black velvet cape
And a white collared shirt
Pure of the injuries that he had wronged others

Form fitting grey pants slung tightly over his hips
Along with a matte hand pistol
Further accentuated by his knee high leather boots
That shined with the sweat of a thousand shoe polishers

He was their dictator
They were his people
With a snap
They rose to meet his commands

Without him, they were nothing

He called for disease
Infection spread rampant
the sick fell at his feet

He called for war
The clanging of swords broke out
And wet, hot blood began to coat the slick ground

He called for famine
Hunger gnawed away at the empty, acidic stomachs of the starved
Many fell, glazed eyes betraying their desire for food

He called for death
And suddenly the survivors fell
Only a hundred of the thousand had been left
To die at his feet

The hall was empty of all souls
But one
His

He commanded all that his people could give
And left with nothing to bear
But a single throne
Of cold steel
And an bare skyscraper
With a single, Great Hall
at times we tend to think
our democracy is safely founded and secure
only eventually we recognize
the need to constantly defend its fundamental rights
work steadily against their stealthy abolition
watch carefully the words of politicians
       lest they betray what they pretend to say
think twice for whom we cast our votes
avoid contenders who too often bray
     that these were not their quotes  
listen to those who have good arguments
     do not unleash too easy sentiments
and in the end cast our votes when called

in short  
democracy turns out to be hard work

     in case we shirk this
     we soon pay the price

unfree societies have known
     dictatorship  corruption  vice
have often needed centuries
to remedy injuries done
to find their four freedoms

and to recognize
democracy remains a living promise
a brilliant idea with many faces
always a work in progress
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Freedoms
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