some kind of permanence
a ****** in the
woods

slow decomposition
tender restoration

it's place a drift
as if
coalescence made it
float through trees

within. the charcoal maker
the makers wife
and scurrying creatures
with feet and paws

without. smoke. wisps of
first industry leading to
harvested piles seasoning
by breathing clamps.

points of turf covering
designed stacks. an inferno
strangled by it's master
briar hanging loosely
tasting tobacco while listening
for betraying crackles and looking
for beacons of yellow showing as cracks
in dried earth.

fire here is burning money.
burning time

they have none to spare

behind him stacked in sacks
charcoal dry and ready for
Jack the cannon maker.

where finally the fire suppressed by
the maker would burn in forced
air with anger enough to
melt iron. Blast the sky with
sparks and toast Jack's leather.

in the woods the smoke rise and fell
while the master
vent
seals
vent
seals

the whispering clamps
in a clearing.

You foolish men
Who toy with others' lives
Act as though you're safe
From a revolutionary's knives

You may be fine
With your panem et circenses
But be warned, your actions
Do carry consequences

I come from the sky
a sacred bloodline of over a trillion star systems
all that which have died

stars that have collided, collapsed, ignited
chemically bound into a force reunited

my sentience is not a mere coincidence
this cellular body is not an accident,
and yet by oppression I continue to be silenced

this body, this vessel
is a result of a cosmic flow
because the stars came together
to self destruct for my existence

this is why I must be
P E R S I S T E N T

OPPRESS ME AND I WILL SHOW RESISTANCE

never double cross a soul that knows they come the sky
because when we look back up to the stars at night
and think about the billions of other lives that have been caged,
left with no voice, with no ability to fight,
we can’t help but take offense

we are destined for more than this mundane, make believe system
we are destined for more than this material, economical strife

place me into a toxic routine,
allow big business to trample my land
my food and my water supply,
and I will not comply

believe me, I will fight

We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.

Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.

We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.

Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.

This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.

The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.

Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.

I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.

To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:

Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.

To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.

A Revolution rumbles under the noses of the ignorant.
Silent, but not voiceless.
Gentle, but not weak.
Pacific pandemonium pulses privately
Illegal thoughts fire through the neurons of millions
Banned words are proclaimed fearlessly.

Death is threatened to the revolutionaries.
But they have already been promised life.
"Have no fear" shouts their leader,
"For they cannot **** the soul."
How far will they go to break the mold?
They ask, "For how much was your soul sold?"

The revolt is by those whose souls are free
It is the cure for a universal disease.
The revolution will bring the powerful to their knees
And the enslaved to their release.
They beg: "Join us..."
"Be free."