It seems that the fight was already won—
All passion is done.
They still conquer and oppress,
But now we just recess.

We all know something must be done,
But will we ever change?
Will we ever awaken from the trance
For long enough to reengage?

We would rather not wake up,
Because massacre
Has replaced breakfast
In the morning.

It seems that the media is just radio static—
Turn the dial and headlines come in and out of tune.
The rest is noise, but that's how some like to have it.
The nonsense and noise are just charismatic.

So radicalize yourself to simply speak.
Smash that radio and become one of the first
To wander into the streets.
You'll see, these streets are where people once protested.

But darling, you must first wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Get up and go.

Go scream at the top of your weak lungs as you run.
Cut through the static with your own kind of rebellion.
Your efforts and those of the others are all that we have,
But they will surely part the static sea.

Change will come eventually.
On what side of history will you be?

“I smile a little,
every time nature takes back.
A factory once booming,
weeds growing through the cracks,
vines enwrapping walls,
shards of glass in tall grass.

I cry a little,
every time nature gives too much.
concrete slabs for carbon-emissions,
tall brick towers for heating,
glass cages for the parasite,
aluminum and plastic in short grass.

I stare a little,
every time nature retaliates.
Waves crashing against metal,
seas forming in concrete bathtubs,
wind flattening itchy points,
sun melting neat grass.”

A.V.

The withering rose
A lovely shade
of bloodied violet

Paints a portrait
of my heart

"The rose in
suffering silence"

Autumn is here, the leaves turning pale.
Evening is here; the day slowly fades.
The falling leaves, the gloaming sun
The arched moon, the winter's turn
All singing a melody of revival
For death is necessary before life's arrival

Can you see the soil softly shake
As the once-dead zombies burst from it?
They're being revived,
Though they were left to die and decay.
The ice is melting,
And the heat is increasing
Into a blinding fire.
When I finally felt free,
The dead seeds I planted months, years ago
Are slowly sprouting. (A miracle? A curse?)
The world is repeating,
Like they told me it would.
I'm terrified.
The scenes I have escaped
Are creeping around the corner,
Like now-alive zombies.
The memories that I threw to the snow,
They are beginning to grow,
Like flowers in Antarctica.