When words turns into silence.
Shouting turns into violence.
Tears turns into sadness.
While the world is full of madness.
My love for you will never change.
My heart cries out releasing pain.
Sometimes we can't explain.
Feelings we can restrain.
Revealing our naked soul.
The beauty is what we can't control.

Who has the right to atone our sin
No one knows where we've been
Violence is a great demise
To the life we despise
This we ought is good
Yet never have we understood
Neither you nor me can be
Righteous as everyone wants to see

Human directives, veracities unverified  
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality

My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts

Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed

A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch

Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination

The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling

Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom

Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt *******, offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master

A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none

paint me this picture, sonorous color
clutching the quiet ****

             pressed against cloying scenes,
        a loose hand bannering a bayonet.

rivet me waters, and much of the Earth
tightly groping inlands,

                thatched in the branch nowhere alone,
                is the song of God lullabying cities.

again the whole sky with its keen eyes
manifests a gleam worth knowing a cherub,

                 and sooner than it is later, when the seasons
    postpone their flamboyances, chiaroscuros of smoke,
   deceit, uncared for and unheard shrieks bounce off careless corners
    and the song of God is but static with little wings clipped
    and tossed into vicissitude:

song   or    no   song
bearing a fruition of attrition:

                    resounding far-away:  a comatose  of cars,
             a scuffle of powerlines, a melee of battlement and tranquil

continually     fluster the  child
   in  metronomic dance.

A single mother
Shot twice in the back of the head
For twenty dollars crumpled away in her pocket
Sweat
Accumulated from a twelve hour shift
Soaks first
The ***** bill itself (then the jeans of the perpetrator)
As his sneakers depart the newly developed crime scene.
The woman
Bleeding out in the street
Becomes trivial talk over family dinner

These things happen.

A priest is beaten to his knees
Symbolic representation of
Pleading
To a higher power.
Prayers fly first
From his mouth (then hit ground level)
Where they meet his teeth,
Both of which scatter the parking lot.
A rosary becomes his focus while three men escape
Taking only his
Wallet and a sense of security.

These things happen.

A girl looms over the eighth floor balcony
As she counts every passerby below, first
In her head (then again out loud.)
Emotion becomes causation split second
Everything inside spontaneously
Bursts
Pooling blood mimics graffiti wings across pavement.
Her quick descent becomes gossip
Among school yards.

These things happen.

Muscles flex firm in my jawline
Visual declaration of what my brain is processing
When you casually say
“These things happen”.
Somehow
You manage to justify pointless tragedies
Dismissing them as facts of life
While I boil away in hand made paranoia.
These things don’t just happen.
First
There is cause (then there’s effect).

See
I can’t accept the notion
That walking out your front door every morning
Is some Darwin's gamble
If that’s what it all comes down to
Reproduction and survival
I probably won’t place any bets
Because I refuse to accept
“That’s just how the world works”

They shot me in the south
Hung my brother up to die
Wet and ret swinging to death
Till he **** himself

One summer shower to clean the mess
But not enough rain
To wash away
The blood stains on the tree

In all honesty
I am grateful
That those hateful
Mother ******* shot me
For their brutality was the story
Written on the skin of my kin
Whips and chains
Spirit maimed
In the years that
That injustice remained
Trail of tears
Stolen children
Beaten
But I got off just getting shot

They burnt my brother
And his husband
Turned them
Charcoal and barbecue
Poured gasoline
To see them flailing and wailing
Didn’t even see it on the news
And all I can say
Is I am grateful
I didn’t go out that way
Ain’t that ****** up

When a man raised as a punching bag carries the weight onto his offspring he must leave the guilt at home. Reject the awful truth that he him self is a careless boxer. He fights teddy bears and screaming dolls not knowing the effect it has on the unaware children from his lovers womb. This kind of ignorance destroys the home not alone the beating hearts of little ghosts. When a man raised with nightmares carries the weight of his childhood he must leave it in a ghost town.

We do not walk away from the echo's of combat
in fact, we embrace it....
the shadows of death haunt us
but we like to believe that we haunt the shadows