~ your power and money you protect assiduously are not yours, but somebody else’s belongs

~ to those that stay bend in front of the sewing machines, and sweat from morning to night in the rice fields

~ carving out their backs in faith and in prayer, when you are exploiting every inch of their skin in hidden forms of slavery,

~You, wearing  at your ceremonies clothes made by devoted hands waiting for centuries justice to come and kiss their palms with humbleness and forgiveness,  

~while you still keep covering your misery of habit and greed in silk and playing the saver of those that never gave up on fighting against your lost sense of humanity ...

Beautiful gouls, they seem
to be,  as they shuffle  
along the walkway,
late at night.  Hooded
and unassuming..
sometimes,  barely seen
avoiding possibly,  even
the pain  that the very light
of day, can so very often  bring.

There is a horrible  undoing
of what once  was
in order to leave  for them
what now is.

And when
there was a gold
to be found
in these hills  of black..
the non-ancestral  hearts  
that so clearly, lack

the humanity that tried to stop
the very same thing  that had
happened  in the east:

    the crave  for gain
    caused these tears of pain--
    and a glympse into the true
    nature  of the beast.

America has been feasting
on that Billie Holiday strange fruit
for so long,
drinking that thick red wine
straight off the long thin vine
of mankind’s suffering,
profiting from people losing their sanity,
gaining from the loss of our humanity.

Black as that sweet star sparkling night,
mothers, and fathers denied the right
to stand up and fight,

bullets to the back
as they try to enter their own houses,

bullets to the side
right in front of their children and spouses,

bullets through the heart of a child
in the middle of his imagination,

bullets through her bedroom,
no space to escape
not even some safe head room:

All that agony and desolation
to be constantly facing
violence and degradation
from the so-called authority figures
who only see another dead ******.

Blue lives, white supremacist guys,
proud boys and Neo Nazis
have grown obese.
These foul ******* beasts
have eaten the heart and soul of us
right off our bones and thrown
the rest to the scavengers back home.

sweaty forehead, a gory past
wildly glowing eyes of oblivion
shivering hands, sirens, bars
freedom, imprisonment, razor blades

peru, coca farmers, chemicals
smuggler channels, route 36
franklin's face on crumpled-up paper
rattling coins, benjamins, stacks

gotta make it or take it
gotta sell or abuse it
flashing louis, abundant future
sweaty forehead, ****** present

biker chapters, brothers, funerals
tommy hauled jim's coffin
rick carried tommy to his grave
cut-offs, gats, one call: ******

despair, hatred, vengeance, omerta
mortals remain silent, angels don't
rain of blood, a puddle of codes
turf, plots, streets, blocks, gangs

cults **** cultures, weapons replace
shelter in a group home; the stabbing
"shaun got heart, he a furious one --
can use dat dude, pay him up"

black, white, african-american, chechens
territories of unspoken laws
intimidated witnesses, gay mobsters
lured teenagers, deadly magic of power

the old ones impress the new ones
newbies will turn into soldiers
**** or get killed; headshots of fear
numbers on the forehead, blueish

unwritten are the rules of some
bribed politicians, skippers, knockos
the one who wets, will be wetted
others prefer the clarity of faith

organized crime, rats and kingpins
multilevel marketing, elevators
glass towers, late and secret meetings
route 36, the white magic of death

it's all in the game


"The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life.
Your memories, your attachments, they burn 'em all away. But they're not punishing you, they say. They freeing yourself.

Relax."

(Quote from the film "Jacob's Ladder")

another nihilistic overture,
for the impending hedonism
a callous cacophony
looks to be rather innocuous,
a brazen haze
of a lifestyle,
every night
a bohemian escapade,
thought we came far away
past life abandoned
that felt austere
yet salubrious,
this air reeks of dystopia
such a rootless feeling
keeps me riding
the nomadic hound,
a desolate heart
in a victorian home,
all around I see
empty eyes
and wretched souls,
need a shining light
for the start of something beautiful,
before the world crumbles down
fueled by fattening greed,
trees fall to the hatchet
realizing a dismal trepidation,
the fear of a blank planet.

I drive while I am overthinking,
watching as I run through
a hundred thousand
floating firefly butts
that lessen the darkness of
the highway I’ve been
driving;
  
Reflecting on
the corruption
of politicians,
and businessmen
who are war
profiteering,
arming up soldiers,
and bringing military
grade gear
for policemen
to use here
within our own borders.

How these thugs
take their orders
from the rot at top
and brutally torture,
hearts once hopeful
that now turn to dust.

I am amazed by
the ease at which
I see all that ****
but keep on
swimming through
the gross cesspool.
I know I can walk away
but I am fool
who has something to say.

Evan though,
there are no great
ways to demarcate
stages of human pain. cont.

I have been furnished
with a burning furnace,
a form famished for
seeing those justice ignored
even the score.

You reminded me of gold,
Rarity over the norm, 
Ancient desolation means 
The people are torn.

You're eyes like ruby's,
Blood and greed.
Red is promising,
To the grave they lead

Pathos and sapphire,
Vividity of the blues
Wealth only lifts you up,
When its tieing the noose.

The tables have turned,
The ties that bind,
Were twisted and torn to shreds.
Up came the heat
Through the cracks in the streets
Red from the bankers we've bled.
Steeped in tradition our teeth are all missing. We drink from  Belly of the beast.