My body has become purpose

My mind numbed

Waiting is now a memory

Fear has forgotten to land on me

And grasp my flesh with it's piercing talons

I move through liquid

Everything slowed but my body

In one moment I will go through that door

10 seconds from death

I feel a sense of exhilaration

As freedom fades
to twilight dim
and darkness filters in
Hopes fall
Like withered leaves
On droughted lands
Of deep despair
But we ourselves
Are here
Brought,
Not blown
By fate and resolve
To stand before the storm
uncolored by fear
unshaken by threat
We Stand

For freedom

Pound the drum

Of war to come

The Rhythm on steel

Red from the forge

Forms the sword

To carry to war

The sledge makes beat

On thinning edge

As it pounds

pounds

pounds

pounds

It sounds the drum

Of war to come

Soon it will be echoed

By marching men

Sounds of war

In the street

The sword will lead

Before the beat

Followed by the sound

Of drums

Pounding

Pounding

To war

Today, I beat my plowshare

And I listen to the drum

The warmth of the sun
has faded
A memory
Stripped
by the cold
and callous wind
Grey and darkened skies
Bring ominous portent
Clouds gather
on high winds
With dark
and obvious intent
Black and malevolent
Seething,
roiling,
in the sky
We await it’s fury
Waiting
Waiting
Waiting
For the storm to break
Steeling
for it’s torrent

The machine
Has taken on
A life of it's own
It has become purpose
Without reason
Purpose alone
It is wired
With rules and regulations
Written for compliance
For blind obedience
For it's own perpetuation
The cold machinations
Have no desire
No meaning
Other than purpose
To survive and grow
And we, we are
The lubricant
Crushed between
The gnashing gears
To aid the machine
And make it
Run smoothly

I realized one day
That my eyes had become hard
My gaze, frosted granite
Hard, like the look of men
Who have seen too much
Killed too much
Been through too much
Just a stare
That says it all
Ice behind the eyes
Purposeful and intent
I see the surprise in peoples eyes
When they meet mine
And look hurriedly away
Or ask if everything is alright
They know the look
And now it even shows in the mirror
And my war
Hasn't even started yet

I have no wars

Left in me.

I am broken

Except in will.

My strength left

Is but  for a few battles.

My sword

Has grown heavy,

My hand weak.

The only strength left

Is in my heart.

Let my will then

Carry the fight for me.

Let my will

Bring me honor

Let my will

Swing the sword

For freedom

Let my will

Carry me to

My last battle

"Resistance to tyranny is something that is as programmed into man as strongly as his propensity for oppression. Innately all of us know that we have certain rights that can only be removed by acquiescence or brute force.    For centuries philosophers have expounded the “natural rights” of man and their application within societies. Even those in prison know that they have certain rights and will begin to resist when their imprisonment becomes tyrannical. When a man becomes enslaved, he knows innately that he has the right to be free but that has been taken from him.   When our natural rights are eroded to the point of tyranny, resistance will invariably begin. Resistance ,and revolution also, are commonly misunderstood by many people. Most think of an armed struggle that involves bombs, bullets and war, but it is in fact far from that.  Resistance , as is freedom, is a thought, an idea without necessarily having a something to quantify it. Just because neither have a corporeal existence doesn’t mean that they are not there. When freedom is gone ,everyone knows it and when resistance begins it is just as obvious.     Resistance is a funny and fickle thing because it does things that are counter intuitive. The more you oppress, the more that people resist . The higher the stakes and the more the atrocities, the higher the level of resistance"

It's hanging over me like a hammer
I'm just waiting for it to come down
But still I can't stop
It is the truth after all
But the truth doesn't always set you free
No, maybe some people
But never me
I wait everyday for that hammer
But I can never stop
I will never live
Or die
On my knees
I just know
Someday
I'm gonna get the truth
Hammered outta me

A man walks home from his job
Part-time at two different places
To feed his child and give shelter
With his child's mother in place
This man would live life daily as
Best as he could like any other
Marijuana smoke helps dull pain
And heartache from another
Job and opportunity lost, cause
Of simple mistakes avoidable
Had he been more responsible
As the day draws to a close
Celebrations begin for a year
A year of renewal and promises
To improve, to provide, to guide
In his eyes he sees the fiery day
Give in to an unforgiving night

Fearful of taking an innocent life or
Having his life taken in an instant
He put faith in a train to plot
A direct course for the party
Returning home in the morning
To his little daughter and lover
Perhaps too much fun was had
A little much drink in plastic cup
Fights broke out in the live night
Of which friends of him were apart
Involving him in old hood beef
Fists met flesh but not bullet
For skin hadn't been torn by metal
Leaving human crimson along
The roadside beltway or floor
This was a rivalry among men
Whom lived without abandon
And strived for a daily dime

Men of the law would intervene
As is requisite of such actions
But reactions are destructive
Conducive to leaving lines
And plenty body bag designs
All aligned with ***** tiles
The tile that his stomach lies
As the kneecaps dig into him
Of a grown man with a life, wife,
And child in the womb of her
Similar to the man beneath him
But he reaches towards his belt
As his brother struggles below
Black like the early morning
Consuming the two of them
The fruits are veiled in this station
Fruits of deep seeded hate and
Inaction in the face of atrocities:
Glaring and gazing steadily

The shot rang out...

One. Light. Shines.
As. The. Bullet. Flies.
And. Burns. Flesh.

YOU SHOT ME!

... Echoes in the distance

Internal organs are dying
Breathes are more labored
His daughter and lover
Would find 7 hours later
That they would be left
In the distance that took him
An imperfect man slain
In an imperfect world.