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I've lost time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. I've literally lost time. Each day I wake up, and watch the evening drift by in a sunset, I fall asleep and watch the moonlight sail away on a sunrise.


It was an empty promise, these lights all around. It was an empty promise, that buzzed with the current a few thousand volts. Lights...pale and broken bulbs bleeding gasses and lies. But I guess in the dishonesty of some idea so pure, I found the dream that Teslas lightning tipped fingers yearned for,


A quest of solid gold that conducted an orchestra of thunder. And so lights couldn't be a lie anymore,


They could only be a dream, a dream never fully realized so long as the frozen dead fingers of liars past held their grip. Edisons overgrown yellow tinged finger nails, piercing through the veil of misty electric sparks,


Yet here i am


The light bulb is over MY head now! And my brainstorm is an F4 hurricane, my bolts like guillotines for your greedy fingers!


Because this is the generation of new light, of new thunder and new mayhem.
Of illumination!


A new generation carrying torches, casting out our light bulbs and our lamp posts. Forcing fire into Mason jars and using flames like they were new again.


No no no

Not Mason jars. Pull those ******* light bulbs from the headlights and lamplights and streetlights, fill those ******* with gunpowder and unstable explosive mixtures and make stars, *******!


Make flames that burn brighter than Edison's unholy lies, that tear down the dome and bring the skies falling!


Watch everything we've built, watch corruption and lies and racism and false superiority come hissing out of the cracks, trying to save themselves from the building pressure,


Trying to claw their red boney fingers from the fire but they can't. Because they are the fire,


And we will all watch as they burn like they always wanted to. Their voices shining past all of the glory their burning visage may grant, their bodies becoming one with the chaos that is our country.


And then we will have nothing left but ashes. No more eagles. Only the right and left wings of a Phoenix,


Risen from our ash and tears, flying into the sky to become the sun...To shine like nothing ever seen by our eyes so used to a false light.


Because it's time we became the sun. It's time we chose a real light to follow, not a halogen tube spewing gas over sickly bodies. No more light bulbs to only last a few weeks. Were tired of artificial light...Tired of breathing oxygen made in a lab…


Maybe it's because we've lost so much time under buzzing broken bulbs, under boot heels and tyrannical ideation. We've lost so much time staring into TV lights and camera flashes that we've only been able to wait for someone real to step into frame...


We've lost so much time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. Counting the minutes till a new hero appears...I'm ready to be the light.
Mark Lecuona Nov 2016
Atlas shrugged his shoulders and said his last goodbye
He said I’m tired of this world and all of you know why
Before he left he let the singing caged bird out to fly
She said I begged you to release me before I die

The world once was green but forgot how to create  
The sun’s early morning make the moon tides too late
He purified himself first so he could turn from his hate
Now he’s gone leaving behind the anger of our fate

She only knew how to paint the colors of her reality
It made her life easier because it was her normality
They begged her to come back but she did not feel free
She’d rather sell tortillas than cross the pretentious sea

Release the favor of your desires for I have none to offer
I exist where the light has exhausted itself from its search
We only live underneath its glow and not by its promise
And I walk alone by the door of a once beckoning church

In his hands he may choose his wraths or his mercies
A terrible sword of dust swirling without remorse
The light of a rainbow without sound or footprint
We choose either the gentle or sharp side of its source

Where men gather arguing over the virtues of sin
There is no trail to follow except the way of failure
For there is no just end without a just path for peace
And the burden he bore knows who was his savior
Mane Omsy Sep 2016
The silent messages on the walls
Were enough for the rebels
They peed on it several times
Never seen no graffiti then

Negligence for every wise acts?
Who do you think will succeed?
The people with the cold heart
Or the hearts with good grace?
There'll always be people who don't like good things happening in your life/society.
Fight against those rebels silently.
Brent Kincaid May 2016
There are people somewhere
Almost no one knows about
There are girls and women boys and men
Gone beyond the places people care about
And, no one ever sees them again.
They laugh and love and work and share their daily bread
And, live within the fruits of the soil
Smiling at the treasures only found
In the efforts of the ones who toil.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.

Somewhere smoke is curling from a handmade home
Someone sits adrift in a song
Tapping toes to rhythms of a timeless beat
And sometimes laughing loud and strong.
Someone no one knows about will sleep tonight
Content with what was done today.
Smiling with a face that seems to say
They wouldn’t have it any other way.

And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.
These lyrics were written about 1972 from some experiences I had living in my car.
Nabs Jan 2016
By Nabs

Have you ever heard
the sound of the wind dying?

It sounds a lot like your hoarse crying.

Broken moons, stifled sobs
smell of cardamom and pain.
Angry strokes, lightning brush
across this singed canvas.

Paint me with a storm.
Paint me with a storm.

Guttural rumble of disagreement,
muted in its pallor.
Second hand embarrassment
is lethal to the skin.

Broken bottles, broken souls
stuck in a machination of malfunctioning systems.
we never had control in the first place.

We put energies in our sorrows,
forgetting to store them for our backbone.
No wonder we can't stand straight
and look up to the sun.

"Amnesia", we would plead.
Cause all we remember is how to bleed.

Have you ever heard
the sound of the wind dying?

It sounds a lot like the day we went crashing.
oh man i'm feeling so red and blue rn
We are the ones who follow not the laws of this cruel society
We are the ones who listen to our hearts
We are the ones who stand up against societies oppression
We are the Rebels
Ellie Geneve Jul 2015
We called ourselves the heroes of tomorrow,
not knowing we were living our today-s
in all the wrong ways
Justin G Feb 2015
Despicability is the foundation to their life
For them it is intrinsic
Genetically encoded
Simplistic
Poetically eroded
Reprehensible at best

     Unscrupulously callous
     Secrets and facts, they conveniently
     ingest
     Distorted byproducts, they release to the
     masses
     To aid their campaign; a forked tongue
     fest


Pathetic and unapologetic
A beast armed to the teeth
Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police
A weakness and an act,
They so vehemently attest

     Harvesting greens off the branches of
     the people
     Pockets engorged with wads and folds
     Crushing blue collars at the lower levels
     As they sit atop their pyramids of gold


Today they sip champagne
To celebrate their reign
Tonight we'll skip being humane
To feed them excruciating pain

     You've incited this coup with ill-thought
     deterrents
     Now herald the arrival of the scourge
     Down with lopsided governments
     Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!


Justin G
ryn
This truly was an experience. I really enjoyed sending and receiving verses from the one and only amazing ryn. I really got into character with this one, but long story short: **** corruption!  The pen is mightier than the sword
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
She rebels against the horrors
Of life,
To live life on
Her
Own
Terms.
IsReaL E Summers Nov 2014
As a father can force a child to stand
Our Father instead just held out His hand
And if its Love you let it be...
If it listens and returns;
Its meant to be.
To be, or not to be?
I Love you. Just because man is ****** up... doesn't mean God is too. It just means we aren't listening to Love, but the other guy
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