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BoringBoy Aug 27
I'm happily wandering into a new reflection,
The conception that I might feel succession.
Temptations will come, and potentially regression,
but it'll never sting like my previous impression.

As blunt as a bat, as hollow as a vase,
As cold as the dark, as complex as a face,
It comes and it goes, sometimes it reappears,
The dance in my mind, the past, memories trailed with tears.

A leveling adventure, a hike through the jungle,
It's captivating, for sure, all is falling through a funnel,
Grip out at the light, seizing every opportunity,
I may fall, I might, but if I get back up...

This reflection can be revolutionary.
aziza Nov 2018
there are million of words
left unsaid inside this gut.
similar to every volcanoes,
there will be
                      time
for this gut(ter) to blow up,
burst of processed thoughts
that kept inside for yearlong.
whether you like it or not,
give a **** or not,
ain't no **** were given


'cause it's about the time.
When it rains it pours
and we all know what that means, or do we?

It wasn't raining when
Noah built the ark. How revolutionary is that?

Logic will get you from point
A to point B, but imagination can take you anywhere.
How revolutionary is that?

Neither the sun or death can be looked at steadily,
and still dying is an art like everything else.
How evolutionary.
Robin MacCuish Feb 2018
You may call me a Snowflake,
        But I will not melt.
You may call me a Snowflake,
        But we will blanket the ground
You may call me a Snowflake
        But my fist will remain
        In the air, emboldened
        And Inflamed
You may call me a Snowflake,
But my chapped lips will Breathe
Warm Winter air
You may call me a Snowflake,
     But remember
             you are nothing but an old tin can
     Rusting away in the cold of
             Our Snowflake sand
             for we are everywhere you will stand
You may call me a Snowflake,
Cause I will be back again
        And again and again
        Waiting here on the ground
        For you to come join me
        under this blanket
And be a friend.
Amy Perry Aug 2016
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.
Sincerely, the Millenials
SassyJ Apr 2016
Hello my alleged old friend
In caved streets I walk alone
In paved paths I hold in ease
An exile with an orthodox esse

All scripted in Hebrew tongues
Written in the tunneled lounges
Priested in elixir like scrounges
Translating  this Torah in ounces

Duplicated in Andy Warhol visuals
Capitalized cultural art expressions
Controversial and radical conscripts
Recruits of a revolutionary adversary

Escape to the streetlights with a view
A lake with a praise that use and muse
Misuse art, get torn, spirit flow in prints
Encompassed in the beauty of tainted hills
For Ezra Warhol : Hello My friend
http://hellopoetry.com/atlasmarker/
Sharon Thomas Jan 2016
If you become furious with every injustice!
He said once.
He fought till his last breathe..
he's still there,here and everywhere.
All the young men out there
He's more than that proud face on your tee & on the posters you see.

From Cuba to Kerala..His portrait hangs on every street
I say, it's not just about his proud face
           it claims the tale of a man who won a race!
           A race to raise humanity from vanity
Unlike the pastors who preach on peace with an ease
           He was pragmatic not dramatic
           Replaced fright with fight
           Placed righteous over mightiest
And yes he won that race to raise humanity back to sanity

You can either respect him for his dedication or detest him for his ruthlessness
You can either accompany the haters who call him a terrorist
Or follow the fellows who hail him as a REVOLUTIONARY
Nonetheless, he was victorious and victory lies with righteous alone!

Che was a rebel but not without a cause..
Yes for the Cubans !
Teka Lenahan May 2015
Known by many, understood by few,
Revolutionary thoughts provoked by the still immature mind of one who hasn't seen 18 years of life,
17 years of a symphony of harmonious discord, a beautiful epithet for the eyes that have witnessed death
There are few things that can bring an extrovert to collapse and fall into itself, among them depression is one, discontent entrapped in sadness, feelings of unworthiness drew me into myself,
Inside I found that something is missing,
Whether extroversion or introversion will lead me to this lost piece I do not know, but the habits of an extrovert are hard to break, and the magnificent silence of an introvert is hardly ever unwanted...
I consider myself an extroverted introvert, I feel as though it is a very unique phenomenon that deserves beautiful/somber words to describe it
*
Austin Heath Apr 2015
We put gas in our tanks and pretend
all our claws are clean and pick at the bones
and the guts and we’re not satiated.

We give our souls and smiles and bodies and ****,
we’re not gifts or garbage, we’re human slot machines.

We are sterile in our thoughts,
and septic everywhere else
in a fashion that’s tasteless,
yet not obscene.

Donate clothes to the poor through
homophobic institutions because
what else can we really do?

Powerless, and yet so convinced we’re going to
fight the bureaucracy some day, and **** yeah
spell check writes half of my good **** nowadays.
I navigate online dictionaries seldom and cowardly.

Most of my writing is anti-revolutionary in the sense
that I hate what I desire intellectually and sincerely
but only because I want it so ******* bad,
and in the end I’m powerless
and empty and distant.
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