Some days
She finds
Herself
Vacant
One
Self-destruct switch
Away
From
A life
Her own
But different

The steps
She takes
So delicate
As not to
Hurt
Still leave
Craters
In living room
Floors
Unmistakable

But better
Are craters
Of shrapnel
Than to be
Stagnant
Feet embedded
In a place
Where she
Finds
Only vacancy

They say I am a third world soldier.
They say I should be a proud warrior,
I am the protector of the mass, guardian of freedom and order
My job is from the centre to the border.
But, all I do is **** and die for the master.

I feel like a hunter's dog,
Only, the hunter is my government.
I ****, ****, ****, I die.
In the name of the law, in the name of freedom and order,
I draw blood.
I draw red blood, dead blood, innocent and guilty blood.

Master gives me bones of the dead, they call them medals.
Master floats on the river of blood.
Oh! I am a warrior, I am a dog.

What brings might?
What is it that makes you fight?
What is just,
What is right?

Why are we fighting
Why are our children dying
I’m buying time
Now I survive by mining

Mining my hopes
Sawing my dreams
Breaking knees
Sweating on the breeze

Hopes gone
Family lost
Dinner on the table
I have not...

Rebellious Poet

The world is a **** travesty!

(Pencil pusher in a suit seeks a talented
personality. Has many references to
personal opinions. Will **** d*ck for
fame.)

My question is this. Are there any voices
left at all? Any fingers with which to
actually inspire?
Are all the poet's really dead and extinct?
And only hopeless left, extinguishing the fire?

(Young teen seeks ways to vent rage.
Picks up a pen, writes about false suicide attempt. Cuts self for release. Will remove shirt for attention)

What happened to the singers of the past?
Did they all get lost in the crowd of rejects?
Is a spot on a page really considered art?
Makes me confused and very perplexed.

(Old man seeks renewal of old hobbies. Picks up a pen and writes. Shows people,
and is accused of radicalism. Will read
basic works just for love)

Am I wrong in my view of this world?
Has my heart truly died to all life?
Is it wrong to see flaws in existence?
Is it right to think difference has died?

(Young boy seeks love. Will allow self to be groomed and abused for attention).

Injustice. Ridiculousness. Absurdity.
It is wrong to be radical? To be free?
Will I let you chain my uncontrolled soul?
Nah. Never. I like being me.

I have seen my share of the world and its kicks,
and I tell you my friend... it is not a pretty sight.
Racism is put on the back burner now.
No more black against white.

For the world has resorted to grey and death.
They are not people.  They are just... normal.
While the romantics. The real rebels,
and the sympathetic of life are abnormal.

I want to read a really great scope of life.
A philosophy of hope on art and song.
And although there are many who are useless,
I pray they raise their voice and sing along.

So join me in this final, last embrace.
The truth of life that many have ignored.
This young guy just seeks a world of artists.
A place where sight and sounds can be adored.

The comedown is the hardest part,
When you find yourself a broken heart,
But you're more than brave and you may be smart.
Choose how they'll taste your flavor,
How they'll taste your flavor.
One day they will understand,
Why you stood up to them 'til the end,
And you will find some other men, better friends.
Choose how they'll taste your flavor,
How they'll taste your flavor.

Deflecting now,
Fight in the words of other,
Deflecting now,
So you can become a keeper,
Deflecting now,
See without their glitter,
And if I were you, I would love me better.

A word who falls into the past,
Has no one there to help him last,
You should say it and say it fast,
To choose how they'll taste your flavor,
How they'll taste your flavor.
If you decide to write a different tale,
Write one where love and light prevail,
And when nights are cold and your dreams are frail,
Choose how they'll taste your flavor,
How they'll taste your flavor.

Deflecting now,
Break the chain of your anchor,
Deflecting now,
Sail to the island of dreamers,
Deflecting now,
All the waves inside your matter,
And if I were you, I would love me better.

I remember you, clear as crystal
Young and bold, hopeful but not dreamy
Courageous, stubborn, a bit too rebellious

With a spark like stars, shining bright in your eyes
You aspired to not stand out, but stand tall and rise
But that day on the station, I lost you
You saw me, waved me off

I did not realize, I was 22 and I lost myself in you.

Justice is a Lady
standing confident and tall.
Justice is a Lady
breaking down all the walls.

Justice is a friend
staying honest and true.
Justice is a friend
showing you just what to do.

Justice is an enemy
catching you in all your lies.
Justice is an enemy
loosening up your closed ties.

Justice is a rebel
being nice to very few.
Justice is a rebel
and she don't like me and you.