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A Simillacrum May 2018
The years have passed
I thought they mattered
In sleeping so long
I come disappointed
Hip leading foot
Perpetually faster
Downhill

The fads have passed
I thought they would end

Well,
in sleeping so long
I come disappointed
Kicking up trash
Plastered in faces
Pretty in package
Marketable mouths
Dripping lips

Told what to say before
they understand a thing.

The years have passed
I thought they mattered
In sleeping so long
I come disappointed
Hip leading foot
Perpetually faster
Downhill

Your best friend sells sugar for pennies
and you say it's dirt cheap when you
know full well that you can find
sweetness herself in leaves.

In the near distance fires light
the violent sky, violet-black
in the orange-red we see
when we shut our
open eyes.

We always saw this coming
as our masters asked it
from us, but the
master never
was there
when
we
c
r
i
e
d

Take my money take my soul
give me level ups lest I
cry again.

.number crunch.
.number cruncher.
.number crunch.

The new human condition
took weakness as a sign.

We are marked better dead
than alive
by

The World Above
A Simillacrum May 2018
Robot noise
Robot noise
The only sounds on Earth
are the stomp of heavy metal,
and the grinding of gears.

"What's worse than this?"
we wondered.
It turned out
we had more to learn.

The pure human had left
at the start of the new internet.
We were hybrid beings
of fleetness deemed cyberspeed.
The faster we learned,
the less we learned about us
as creatures.

As creatures,
we were captured in chains
the day we fully interfaced.

Hammers for nails before,
the sales elite saw this in store:

Stood up sleeping,
cow cattle weak to sweet lies.

Robot noise
Robot noise
The only sounds on Earth
are the stomp of heavy metal,
and the grinding of gears.
Homeless.
Worthless.
Nameless.

Let's examine the heart of rebellion,
shall we?
Michael King Apr 2018
Be vigilant. The dark is coming.
'Stay silent' he said. They almost listened.

'Wrap yourself in the coldness
of our words' and in his voice was
a touch of danger.

They almost fell. Almost gave in.
The world became like a glacier
of shapes. Always seeking to fit
within the assorted mess of notions
and opinions.

'Forget grace' they told us.
'Praise hate' they commanded us.
'Love death' they spoke in unison.

But... we are not a wall to be broken
down on your insistence.

We are not a voice to be calmed
just because you think you are a storm.

Should we be silent against the false
preachers of lies and guile? Or
are we going to stand firm, each
life a block against the tides of
stoic insistence?

We will not shame ourselves any longer.
Our voice will be like God's own voice.
Our rhythm will fall into truth.
Our form will fly into the sky,
abandoning your need to satisfy the
greedy and lazy digits of material
plains of death and destruction.

Ah... tell us to shut up one more time.
See then how loud our words can go.
ConnectHook Apr 2018
The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God
                                                          (P­salm 14)

As your tattoos fade and your piercings close
your slang becomes outmoded. So it goes.
Bliss and Ignorance must yield to Wisdom
Experience learns to suffer its Freedom.
Time accelerates, seasons quickly pass—
you realize that your head was up your ***
years on end, Reason lost to Vanity;
only God can restore the sanity.
Now the music sounds different, stupider;
low, less able to conceal Lucifer.
Your once-massive ego now lies humbled
in rubble where your defenses crumbled
edifice built upon your ignorance
of God, Evil, Life—and of Innocence.
Gradually, your soul awakened to death;
your pulse knows a limit, so does your breath.
yeah . . . purple tattoos
so you kinda look like old
USDA prime (?)
You make me high.
You're intoxicating.
I can't decide
Whether that's a good thing,
Or if all my mad rebellion
Is only a lie I keep telling
Just to justify
My compromise.

So hold me close tonight.
Don't ever let me go.
I don't care.
I just don't care anymore.
You fill me up when you lay me down.
In your arms... Let me drown.  

You get me off
And you know I love it.
Want to ****,
Come on, lets do this!
Done with all this dry tradition,
But is this just another repetition
Another fast escape from the truth?

Hold me close tonight.
Don't ever let me go.
I don't care.
I just don't care anymore.
You fill me up when you lay me down,
In your arms... let me drown.

Hold me closer,
Draw me in.
Awash in the glory of all our "sin"
Burn the pulpit,
Shred the pews.
**** the rules.
Sam Apr 2018
When our battle comes from within,
How will it be possible to win?
Our left is tearing away from our right-
How can we win? How do we fight?

We try clawing our way out of this hole,
But only effortlessly, losing our soul.
Lets fight to be heard, let's all scream-
"We need to wake up from this dream"!

Nothing makes sense anymore,
And we are left empty to the core.
Let's rise up from this pit
And tell the masses as we see fit
So all can become aware of the lies being told
To trick you into the mold.

They turn us into sheep
So we can make comfortable the elite.
There is no life in being a slave-
They want us to keep digging our grave!

And there is no heaven or hell,
That a big fat lie as well!
Money and religion go hand in hand
Making sheeple of every man.
Controlling you, and certainly not caring
If your life is worth sparing.

We have to wake up and realize
That our ship is being captized!
Teamwork will be the only way to save it,
That is, if you even give a ****.
My dear friend wrote this and asked me to post for her.
Julian Delia Mar 2018
PART I – AN EXAMPLE

Mohamed Bouazizi –
A name we should never forget;
The name of a man whose loss
Is one of many we shall forever regret.

He did not want much;
All he wished for was an education,
A proper house, warm to one’s touch,
The right to make a decent living
A humble being, never taking too much yet always giving.

Mohamed Bouazizi
Was a man who never had it easy;
His story profoundly echoes among us all
A tragedy fuelled by greed and corruption.
Put yourself in his shoes –
Fatherless since he was three,
Working since he was ten,
The right for education stolen from him
By his own, cold nation.

It is difficult to understand
What it’s like
To be buried beneath the sand,
Just like that.
Mohamed had to quit school
And support an entire family
Essentially, reduced to a tool
An instrument
For financial gain;
Eventually, he was unable to take the pain
The humiliation
Of having his only means of remuneration
Confiscated and destroyed.

So, incredulous and angry,
All he had was one final attempt at diplomacy,
His penultimate demand to a governor with no soul:
“If you don’t see me, I will burn myself.”
His produce, his vending stall,
His scales – all taken from him, accelerating his fall
Into desperation,
Into deliberate, self-immolation.

Every authority that was supposed to be a protector
Instead acted as a horrifying molester –
Mohamed
Tried every route he could possibly take
A brave explorer confronting snake after snake.
Alas,
He reached his breaking point,
And true to his word,
He set himself on fire –
December 16th, 2010
Was the date when his ire
Could be contained no longer.
Part one of a three-piece poem which begins by honouring the memory of Mohamed Bouazizi. Parts two and three to be uploaded, soon.
SangAndTranen Mar 2018
Get in the car with enough for one night,
Let’s escape this wretched town.
We’ll be gone forever,
Hit the gas, discard our crowns.

Open the roof hatch wide.
Let the rain coat our faces.
Reach towards the silver skies,
Boy, we are going places.

We ride amidst these strangers,
Down the highway at night.
A stream of red as they speed away,
And as they approach, a stream of white.

We live off fast food junk,
Sleeping rough in parking lots,
But we have a spark in our lives
That those back home do not.

See, we weren’t born to be doctors,
Or hold up a perfect test score.
We were born for running,
This world is for us to explore.

“The world is your oyster”
They used to say.
“But stay and do the same things,
Every single day.”

“Don’t be an artist,
Just play it safe,
You might be depressed,
But that is OK.”

We’ll party by night,
and sleep by day.
We might not have the money
To eat today.

But we’ll laugh on empty stomachs,
And call ourselves heathens,
Because we couldn’t be happier,
After all, this is freedom.
A non-depressing poem?! WHAT?! IT IS A MIRACLE!
Helen Raymond Feb 2018
Spinning yet standing still
Everything's a tremble
All the world's a jitter
I long to hold it still

Suddenly a shudder
A chill besets my soul
Silence falls, stark and shrill
As earth and atoms still

Universal chaos
Set a shiver in me
Pleading relentlessly
Demanding infinity from mortality

As my small heart attempts to warm eternity
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