Nobody's honor
Should include brutality.
A heartbroken people
Fighting for a forgotten cause,
Shrieking children
Running from guns,
Running from fathers,
Defending themselves against the
Electrifying terror of
Torture.

Yet we hardly bat an eye at war,
Creating a vanishing sympathy for
Pain and destruction.
People hardly remember what it was like to be a
Human.
Just watch the news.
Just go to the movies.
War is now entertainment.
Destruction is now praised.

I hate war.

I sit amongst rampant consumerism,
Yet I smile as I sip my Starbucks tall Pike Place.
To my left, old ladies decked in Tiffany decry their neighbours folly,
Even while they sit blind to their own.
To my right, Chapters!
Book store that offers so much more,
A perfect monument of society's needs answered in one storefront.
We don't shop here for a read, or for the escape some unknown author's words spell for us.
No, this masterfully crafted shop answers our shared need of empty spending on soulless items that will lift us from the mire of our meaningless lives for one instance,
Before that scented candle or witty greeting card is left to collect the dust of our fallen gods.

Behind me the street is full of noise but no one is listening,
Busses carry the many but each is a world onto themselves,
Thoughts not of their making wrestle for attention with smartphones,
Before long the thoughts echo what the eyes read on the digital screens glowing below them.
The enemy of my friend...
Don't let consciousness wake!
Combined the noise without and the noise within will drown whatever chance we had at relevancy.
And so Oprah wins,
Look under your chairs,
It's your new life,
Not to be mistaken with your old one,
This one comes with a shiny new automobile, trip, ring, dress, shoes,
Anything but enlightenment.

Before me,
Possibilities.

You?

Two steps forward ten steps back, maybe more and I lost track
What am I working toward, I am swimming in this sea of debt
What is the purpose. did I forget it seems meaningless
I seem to be chasing the wind which I can not catch
I know it might be just a rough patch, but it feels like a door without
a latch, making me feel unsecure
I feel like I'm in quicksand, not on solid ground  
Why do I work so hard, is it only to pay the bills
If so it gives me the chills
It sure is a test of my will
Do I labor in vain, all this worry might drive me insane
It all seems meaningless like trying to catch the wind

Here I stand
With the world in my hand
Yet somehow I feel so empty...

Covered in blood
This doesn't feel as it should
This victory feels so empty...

My armies flood the plains
Trampling bodies of the slain
And yet, I am alone

Above the crowd
I stand tall and so proud
But I am hollow inside,
Left with no fight

I am tired of being used
like medicine to cure other people
when I'm unable to cure myself,

I am tired of being thrown to the side
like a crumpled up peace of paper
that once mattered to you,

I am tired of living in a world where
the only people considered your friends
are the ones who are truly your enemies,

I am tired of having to defend myself
for my actions of for my words

I am tired of being tired

You don’t customize your thoughts based on anyone’s blasé judgment.~ Amitav

Wake up to the pounding in your head,
Whiskey and regrets make for a mean hangover.
Three Advil's, a smoothie and 45 minutes throwing weights won't fix the evil inside,
But it will allow for yet one more day,
Of this sad blemish you call life.

Suited up, don't you look nice?
You hide your weakening smile behind your Starbucks tall half sweet nonfat double shot wake the **** up latte.
Strut your stuff,
Male model martini,
Sell another lie,
Buy yourself time,
Swipe another credit card.

Don't look that homeless vagabond in the eye,
Lest you see the need there,
And feel your own, answer in kind.
Rather make a crass remark,
Throw the keys for your overpriced sports utility vehicle to the valet,
And ***** about the mayor cleaning up the streets.
You pay your taxes,
You give to charity,
You've done your part to end world poverty,
These little lines go through your soul as fast as the ******* you've snorted,
But with less effect.

Your empty voice barks all the louder to be heard,
It joins the chorus of the lost as you sidle up to the bar.
You know the keeper, you tip him so that he greets you by name,
All so you can impress the charade around you,
Master of ceremonies for a freak show that not one of you,
The cast,
Can truly see.

Now you wake beside a beautiful stranger.
Rip off her skin and peer within
The ugly you see is the demon you share,
Drown it's harpy song with more devil water,
Pierce your skin and let it ride the needle ***** high beside you,
Into your own special hell.

What to write about?

Should I speak of my love?
It's continued development,
The lessons learned and hurts hastily covered with blue coloured bandaids and a kiss?
A favoured topic to be sure.

Shall I rhyme about lust?
Love's charm without the rust,
Your soft body beneath me a must,
That this need will fade, unjust.
Once departed, lacking love, this passion returns to dust.

What is left?

Hate does not touch me,
Not in this country,
Not in my city of cherry blossoms and sunshine,
Or darkly overcast skies coupled with soft misting rain. (Depression?)
Not today!

Death is a foreign entity.
I am not unsullied,
Yet I do think much more of this ***** than as life's bratty little sister.
Necessary,
Which may one day grow into something beautiful to be admired,
But for now is nothing more than crayons coloured outside of the lines.

I guess I should not write at all.

For what worth is there to put pen to paper,
(Finger to touch screen),
When my muse is silently humming a tune to which only she knows the words?
I can hear the rhythm,
My blood pulses with it's beat,
But I cannot glean the meaning.

Therefore I am done,
For this poem is about nothing.