Beelzebub is not a demon, nor a God, nor a fallen angel.
Beelzebub is avarice, ****** and lies
A symbol of everything wrong with us
An unconscious, repressed compromise.

It is easier to believe in demonic spirits
Than to accept that the demons may be a part of us.

War is not brought on by spirits
It is brought on by scrupleless men.
Rights are not swept away or given back
In magnanimous, false gestures
By Satan, or by Leviathan
It is so because of scrupleless men.

Turned against each other, fending for ourselves
Told to work to live, to buy our rights back
After they stole them from us.
One day, the walls of the rich
Will not be high enough to keep out the poor.
Not all the guns and bullets in the world
Can stop people with nothing left to lose.

The demons are the lies
We tell ourselves before we sleep
They are the comforting untruths
That are buried deep.

The demons are the living
They are plotting and deceiving
Dismantling, bit by bit
Every single thing we should stand for.

No spiritual surrender, no quarter
We must rise, not bow to law and order.
The fate of the world is ours to define
It is time to cross, not toe, the line.

That's what my name is
my given name,
that is

it means Natural Spring
(of water)
but,
it does not mean it's me

How can a name,
given to you
                    by those
who never truly saw you,
belong to you?

It belongs to them.

as does Pinar,
                  the girl that's molded to their liking
                  the safe girl, the one who is never a risk
                  the girl who receives love, when she plays by the rules
                  the girl who serves as a mirror, of their own merits
                  the girl whose duty overrides her every desire
                  the girl whose soul screams, but no one is there to hear it
                  the girl that exists, only around them

MY name, good sir,
is
Penny

It is a name given to me by a six-year old girl
it felt true, to be seen by the eyes of a child
to be graced, by that purity
with a name to call my own

                                   Penny.

A name given, innocently
and so I claim my true name be
Not what was given to me,
but was seen,
of me

--PY

Here I am again standing in the gray
Lost in the sway
Lost in the fray
At times standing in my own way

When everything around you doesn't matter
People's voices become just chatter
It couldn't get much sadder
I've been lost in the scatter

Yet somethings remain the same
My soul is still aflame
With all that's insain
Nothing left to reclaim

Even though the winds of time have changed
I'm still here to the past chained
The smile that plays about on my face is constrained
As catastroph and sorrow on my head rained