Waking up.
Cannot see.
Ords of skeletons
Guided to hell.
Cain kills Abel.
Pure children of white drenched and torn of red leaviathans.
A whole humanity slashed by blazing blood splattering.
Gatlings trespassing skulls and brains.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
Young died.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
Black sky
Drenched-by-venom eyes.
Hollow.
Your flag triturating bodies for metal shards.
I cannot see.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.

Fans from both sides
Yelling at the referees,
Telling them how to do their job.
I wanted to defend the referees right
There.
But then I thought, "How could I plead my case
Regarding a sport that most of the audience knows
Better than I do?"
I rested my case in my head.
Even the coaches were mocking
How they could make better calls
And how many the referees missed.
I guess that's why my dad and brother
Didn't give a **** about the tension.
They've seen tension not only from me
In the family,
But they have an awareness of sports
That my experience cannot contest.

I have thin skin, I can't let these situations slide.
I couldn't be in an arena
Where every fan was booing the officials.
I had to leave; my hands are still marked with
The filth of unsportsmanlike conduct
On every animate being.
Sure no sport can come clean,
And everyone in my family and most outside my house
Had to remind me in basketball, piano, football,
That it's "just a game."

I left this so-called game early.
I wasn't really rooting for any team;
I don't even think I was watching a real game.

The Aftermath of Injustice

In Memory of Neil Aggett
1953 - 1982

You crossed the border to offer your expertise
To render a service to a people without a voice
A people in hell
To a nation stripped naked by gross injustice
Like a tree with no leaves
Stripped bare in autumn
Left with no shade from the scorching sun
The fruits had all been stolen by wicked men
Devoured by the debauched in khaki attire
Swollen and puffed with pride like pastry in an oven
They took you captive like Jesus once was
Punished for doing good
Until your heart cried out with an inner voice
Why the whips and chains
Wet and cold electrified feet
You knew then ... You wouldn't get out alive
Your passing cruelly induced
To end your life ... Your only relief
Like a whisper in a crowd
Who would hear your cry
Of course the papers had to say
He did it himself ... He did it his way
Oh how I wish I was invisible
There in your cell of hell
To name and shame the faces
Who unjustly got saved by the bell

Written by Sean Achilleos 25 January 2019©

Additional:
In this life it may seem that there are people who get away with almost anything and everything.
And perhaps they do.
However, only in this lifetime.
But sadly not in the life thereafter.
Like an alarm bell that breaks the deathly silence early in the morning.
It's not what you want to hear, but a necessary truth.

the choppers blades
unaware
the cleansing of color

twist in the wind
like the means of unfit mothers
champions
of unfounded snare

who's revolution
of her weighted intent
should be held to account
when justness is spent

the judges, juries
and executioners trail
hovering the bluster
as appellants flail

<------------->

the choppers blades
unaware
the cleansing of color....

I address this grievance to the flag of the divided state of America, and to the nation for which it stands, one electorate under law, rhetorically divided, with liberty and justice for sale. Where supply and demand is the law of the land, America. Land of low fat low carb gluten free gluttony. Home of the diet double espresso. Nation of a decrepit prescription of the common condition based on callous repetition of rhetoric. We can't Compromise the promise of compatibility for a culture of coercion through coined commerce currently creating currency through craving. A public sporadically radical, showing signs of torrential existential turmoil and torment. Imprisoned by cuffs and shackles, chains and whips, butts and ******* and legs and hips. Now there’s bookbags full of mags and clips. Classes taking cover, news flash another weeping mother followed by the voice of the mass’ biased thoughts and prayers, and to think that this once was rare. My country tis a fee, land where it costs to be free. Home of break back opportunity and men maintaining slavery but nicknaming it economy. Establishment of laborious lobotomy. Land where justice is blind except to class and color line, federally funded crack ******* genocide, slyly twisting the rhetoric, the difference between prescription and criminal addiction is aesthetics. Yet they try to blame the ****** epidemic for mass incarceration invading the lives of those too poor to be patients. Enforcement is cuffing crack ****** while cops get nose bleeds with escorts behind closed doors. Outlaws working corners and streets while all rights are reserved between corporate sheets. Private prisons profiting on human rights violations using correctional castration to remove voices by stripping votes and choices. Rehabilitating via dehumanization. Now chain-gang gathered cop shot corpses litter the monstropolis its a matter of time and we ain't as fast as the clock is. Tick Tick bang there goes the next kid, would've rather he'd been arrested but for those below so it goes, unnoticed, no mass hysteria. So it goes when you're made in America.

blooms sweet
rains savage
decayed mush
remnants

earth's alarm
cycles hard
hands damage
unhinged

bind thugs
stifle stench
embrace Maker
reprieve

Its never my intention to settle down.
Always a crook more than a clown.
I look into your eyes and find they are forever friendly.
Going down the road. Wherever you send me.

The real injustice is when justice wins and locks you up instead of settling sins.
Where to begin?
Even those who claim to be holy said we're born into sin.

Those who really know me would say
"Personality is a thing to weigh and then be pinned up"
when sin is not enough.
Forever grateful.
Then walk on along your way… smashing the grape bowl.
Into wine, I find we have a more pleasant conversation.

Imagine this while we kiss, a moment of blissful sensation.
You're on the planet of misfit toys.

Meanwhile this guy is happy with his new Rolls Royce.
So happy he might as well rejoice.
Well guess what?
Its not a choice. Not an option.
You must go about your day.
Til death pops in.
You see we're all just locked into fate and settling down is just a wait...

Instead you do something about it.
Rock your head… invest your wit.
Set fire to an entire island.
Have a fit.
Don't address the silence and the silence wins.

You saw them suffering everyday as you passed by
So somedays you threw money in their little tin can
But their pain lies far beneath the surface
Homelessness is an illness that costs more than pocket change to cure
Starvation and injustice can't be paid with a full tin can
Their lifestyles cant be changed with ten thousand cans of change

Pump me full of iron and lead
Shoot me in the head
Wait! I'm already dead
Police brutality it is
Irony is my fatality

Died from a figure of speech
From exercising my freedom of speech
Well life's certainly a *****
When your body rots in a ditch

Maggot ridden I am
While blue collar ****-for-brains
Parades for justice and truth
Order and peace? Well ******* sis