Jabin 5d
The children, they don't need us.
In fact, they repeat us.
And what ungodly error.
Collecting our wounds en masse,
spreading our crimes so fast-
continuous looping terror.

We spit upon the face of the devil
and bring ourselves right to his level,
pray for consuming ignition.
With triteness we scheme for money,
and laugh at things unfunny
to dodge the hard decision.

Kill me, my God I'm not ready.
This burden feels so heavy.
But will it save all creation?
My child, I love so dearly.
I see what love is so clearly,
and gained such appreciation.

Remorseful I am for pain I've caused.
With arrogance, I've rarely paused
to accept the pain of my brother.
And in my soul harbored hatred
and never known what is sacred,
Blamed this disease on father and mother.

What shall we do now to gain redemption?
Life's too vast for our comprehension.
Apes that we are, we continue to wrestle.
Domination, we damn those who're different.
Though we fall from a common descendant.
I pray to our God, re-brandish the pestle.  

Live for each other, I'll tell her.
Into bondage, I'll never sell her.
But unto the enemy, I'll submit.
And those who subscribe discrimination,
and from torture derive their elation.
I tell you the truth, you're all full of it.
Isn’t interesting how much fear we hide even from ourselves? I think that if we’re mentally healthy people, this world and living in it is a terrifying experience. The thought of our inevitable death alone is enough to humble anyone, if they let it. Some people are stronger, and some are weaker. Some pretend to be strong, so they don’t appear weak. That is a dangerous path. When you start deriving your self identity from the thoughts of others, you become as weak as a person can be. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to be angry. We have to accept these realities, and if we do, I think we can begin to accept each other more thoroughly. We just have to realize that we all have control over our own lives and our own selves. Look deep into your being and seek out the truth. Let it guide you, because lies are stumbling blocks no matter how you slice it. The sooner we become more comfortable with the truth and the telling of it, the sooner we can actually deal with our problems in a healthy way. I think a lot of violence, depression, anger, etc. could be avoided if we made honesty more of a priority in our lives. And the truth is, we will fail in this quest from time to time, but it's one of those things that gets easier the more you do it. And you will feel much better about yourself if, when you realize you are wrong in a particular moment, you are able to openly admit your error out loud. It doesn't feel good in the moment to be sure, but pulling those weeds up as soon as they sprout will always help ensure a more healthy garden. There is an idea that everyone lies, and that might even be true, but by repeating that mantra throughout the generations, all we do is justify our own dishonesty, because hey, everybody's doing it. Do not be afraid. You might lose friends or even family over honesty, but sacrifice is a fact of life. And who's to say that your influence won't open their own eyes, leading you both down a path to a better relationship in the end?
Sarah Parker Jun 2
There are countless stories
living, breathing in my bones
begging to be freed,
piercing the unknown.
Each day conjures a tale
that plays out within my mind,
a world that seems so real to me,
who knows what I may find.
My subconscious divided
between this world and my own;
A thousand lives have settled
and made myself their home.
Once we were on fire
Young    rebeliouse   free
We stormed the castles and took to the skies we flew we dreamed
We were ablaze our light setting raging screaming fire to the world around us
When our thoughts could not sit in silence any longer
When the kids were engulfed by a wave of fury of the injustice done by this world before we were even here
We screamed and demanded
But now it rains
Now the cold heavy water blankets the restless
The fire has been drenched in worry and stress
The brutal downpour has distracted all with false life or death
The blaze once 100 feet high now nothing but a charred soul

And all the ones put out by the rain
to tired to fight again,
pray on the generation next
That their fire is enough to best the storm
when you grow up
in a world where old is not useless
but means connected
to other times that made yours possible

then the weathered beams
     of an old mountain farmer’s house
          lived in for generations
give you a feeling of security and continuity

the solid doors of venerable city buildings
     signal achievement, comfort, safety
     knowledge and culture
     brought to you across the centuries

the crumbling arches of old castles
      remind you of your country’s history
      some of it glorious  some not
      for better or worse

even your faded family photographs
      can make you wonder
      suggesting all the generations
      that passed so you can have
      that special feeling
Joe Thompson Apr 18
If you should come upon a painting by Mark Rothko in a museum -
I'll assume you are not one of those billionaires who has one hanging on the dining room wall, or hidden away in a secret room behind the bookcase -
but either way, do not just look at the painting or you will see nothing.
Well, except color. You will see color. Rothko loved color.

But wait a while and you will begin to hear it whisper its secrets:
How lives are layered upon lives;
how painful sacrifices
get buried beneath petty ambitions and lies
and joys and succes as well-
oh, and perhaps another layer or two of color.

Each generation scrapes the parchment clean
and blithely scribes new marks on its surface -
confident that they will not forget the lessons
that seem so absurdly obvious.

Empires disappear beneath overgrown vines
and dieties who, drunk on the blood of virgins
would feast on the hearts of conquered warrors
but now shuffle past each other
with oblivious nods, grousing about the food,
wait for the day someone remembers their names.

Listen and perhaps you will learn
how every layer of life is a forgotten secret
discernable only by its subtle influence
on the layers that are built up above it.

If not. There is always the color. Rothko loved color.
Well shoot the dog
and bark at me
I threw away recycling

I'm in my car
down the road
not doing any bicycling

My car's not electric
my clothes dyed and stylized
made of combed bleached cotton

I throw away a lot of food
its not gone bad or expired
and no, it isn't rotten

I'll live as I want
no one can tell me different
knowing the best for every instance

Doing perfect symbolism
forgetting any/and
all substance
It would appear that the future is somebody else's problem :\
Living in a world where "how it appears" is far more important than any "actual substance".
Where is your shame,
Great Mother of blame?

The sins of generations are coursing through your vein...
But when all the blood is spilled, there is nothing left to gain.

So where are you going...
Who is left to play your game?

How many more pawns must there be?
Before we can clearly see,
The mistakes that are destined for me.
Aa Harvey Apr 18
Once upon a time

Be sit yourself upon this chair, I have a story to tell.
It is a tale I have told you before;
You have already heard it and you know it well.
But still I insist I shall tell it to you again,
So when I am gone and taken from this world,
You too shall sit someone down and begin to explain.

This story is truthfully a metaphor;
A tale to teach an image, upon which is born,
Inside a mind, not yours or mine;
But these are the words we were taught long before.

As age creeps up on us, the words may change,
But the fable and its meaning shall remain the same.
So even when we are each gone to our graves,
These images we portray shall be pictured again and again.

In winter nights when all around us is cold
And the candlelight our only protection.
We shall each of us be able to speak of this day
And the years that came before; we shall slumber with contemplation.

In dreams we shall picture the noises we have heard;
They were told to us many times, by him or by her
And as we curl up tightly in our beds at night,
We will find ourselves taken away to a new place with these words.

And when we arise in the morning light,
We will contemplate a new meaning we have gained through insight.
We shall realise the motivation to pass the torch to a new life
And the story will continue to evolve
And to grow with each passing hindsight.

With each time the story is told, it will be open to interpretation;
With each foretelling, with each piece of knowledge gained,
We are able to choose whether to tell it as fact or fiction.
The story is ours and we are all free,
To be the ones who decide if we will allow the stories ending to change.

(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
SoVi Apr 7
Sorry to interrupt your schedule program but I need to talk with the Mr. and Mrs.
Lead the children out I don’t want to shock them with the truth I am speaking
The world is ending in a couple of minutes by a force of our creation
No point in fighting just try to crying for mercy
Correction no point for begging cause there’s no escaping.

Your parents are wailing but you are all laughing at hands outstretched across the horizon
Maybe you aren’t scared of my image because you have no basis to draw your perceptions
You are still individuals not products of your parents’ dreams and fears
You still have free will, no concept of living, of course, you won’t be afraid of dying
You aren’t affected by my presence since you have yet to be introduced to me
But eventually you’ll fear me, join me, and you’ll be the cause of your child’s undoing.

© Sofia Villagrana 2018
Next page