#activism - Hello Poetry

#activism

If you only had, a set amount of words, would you choose to speak out? Or save them for later? Like all those silly stickers, that never got used. Like that shirt that was too good to wear, that you grew out of. Or would you use them? Wield them for those without voices? No breathe is promised, so speak. speak. speak for the ones who's voices were silenced, voice boxes beaten, mouths sealed, tongue's stolen. Because you never know when you'll run out of words.

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May 1

May 1, 2026 at 2:46 PM UTC

AbruisedBrokenThing

Wooden Or Silver, A Spoon Can Be Made A Weapon

If you only had, a set amount of words, would you choose to speak out? Or save them for later? Like all those silly stickers, that never got used. Like that shirt that was too good to wear, that you grew out of. Or would you use them? Wield them for those without voices? No breathe is promised, so speak. speak. speak for the ones who's voices were silenced, voice boxes beaten, mouths sealed, tongue's stolen. Because you never know when you'll run out of words.

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I tried the warnings. Wrote them on the walls. Shouted them from the passing trains, my voice drowned by crushed metal and bent powder. A spine from the 1960s, which called us to the table to feast on rotten horses abandoned by the side of the road, did it too after the headlines broke in a cloud of dust and the parents of the world bought color TVs to watch the radio. Our children too will get new screens. Because nobody reads walls. - I should have known this: Graffiti is now mural. Thinking accrues interest in offshore accounts. And we pay our debts with crispy skin and building dust from our faces. So I don’t shout from moving fortresses anymore. Instead, I do minor gardening on Saturdays and spend a good chunk of Sunday digging out invisible splinters from my fingers.

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Mar 22

Mar 22, 2026 at 4:25 PM UTC

thealexvaldivia

I tried the warnings. Wrote them on the walls. Shouted them from the passing trains, my voice drowned by crushed metal and bent powder. A spine from the 1960s, which called us to the table to feast on rotten horses abandoned by the side of the road, did it too after the headlines broke in a cloud of dust and the parents of the world bought color TVs to watch the radio. Our children too will get new screens. Because nobody reads walls. - I should have known this: Graffiti is now mural. Thinking accrues interest in offshore accounts. And we pay our debts with crispy skin and building dust from our faces. So I don’t shout from moving fortresses anymore. Instead, I do minor gardening on Saturdays and spend a good chunk of Sunday digging out invisible splinters from my fingers.

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Hello, my name is Ocean. Yes the Ocean, yes you're home. The one who provides the wine, Your life, your corazon. And yes, I've watched your ships As they've strolled across my surface. And yes, I've watched the oils spills, terrified and nervous. Yet, I still wave at your children: Their palms full of sand. And I smile at your innocents, Whom live on the land. But the sky and I watch the pollution. That pollution which makes her weep. And I watch it **** my fish and coral, And round my waves it seeps. So forgive me if I cause a storm That knocks over your buildings. Forgive the sky for passing by, Weeping on your weddings. Forgive the land for shaking, Knocking bodies to the floor. We never meant to hurt your people But we've never felt this pain before

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Dec 17, 2025

Dec 17, 2025 at 11:43 PM UTC

Hello, my name is Ocean. Yes the Ocean, yes you're home. The one who provides the wine, Your life, your corazon. And yes, I've watched your ships As they've strolled across my surface. And yes, I've watched the oils spills, terrified and nervous. Yet, I still wave at your children: Their palms full of sand. And I smile at your innocents, Whom live on the land. But the sky and I watch the pollution. That pollution which makes her weep. And I watch it **** my fish and coral, And round my waves it seeps. So forgive me if I cause a storm That knocks over your buildings. Forgive the sky for passing by, Weeping on your weddings. Forgive the land for shaking, Knocking bodies to the floor. We never meant to hurt your people But we've never felt this pain before

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The skin on my back will splinter and break, as growth doesn't come without pain. I will catch flight, reveling in the sensation of gliding across the sky. Someday I will grow wings. And fly far, far away. To a place where we don't need protests, a place without this fear. Someday I will grow wings. I will never be caged again, Never held back by their opinions, by this country. Someday I will grow wings. I will fly into houses filled with terror and pain. I will lift babies from their beds, and take them far away. Someday I will grow wings. So I can fly above warzones. My wings will shield the people whose only sin is existing at the wrong place, the wrong time. Someday I will grow wings. So maybe, just maybe, I can make the world a better place. Swoop over the big powerful men, and sprinkle them with fairy dust. Maybe, just maybe, I can make them feel something. We are, after all, humans, characterized by our art, our curiosity, our communities. So why is it then, that we must pray for mythical creatures to save us from our own species? When I grow wings one day, I want to be proud to say that I was a human, a creature made of love.

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Dec 2, 2025

Dec 2, 2025 at 4:49 PM UTC

pink_sleeved_girl_8

Someday I will grow wings

The skin on my back will splinter and break, as growth doesn't come without pain. I will catch flight, reveling in the sensation of gliding across the sky. Someday I will grow wings. And fly far, far away. To a place where we don't need protests, a place without this fear. Someday I will grow wings. I will never be caged again, Never held back by their opinions, by this country. Someday I will grow wings. I will fly into houses filled with terror and pain. I will lift babies from their beds, and take them far away. Someday I will grow wings. So I can fly above warzones. My wings will shield the people whose only sin is existing at the wrong place, the wrong time. Someday I will grow wings. So maybe, just maybe, I can make the world a better place. Swoop over the big powerful men, and sprinkle them with fairy dust. Maybe, just maybe, I can make them feel something. We are, after all, humans, characterized by our art, our curiosity, our communities. So why is it then, that we must pray for mythical creatures to save us from our own species? When I grow wings one day, I want to be proud to say that I was a human, a creature made of love.

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COMRADE LOVE NEEDED Sorrow of Love is hard to bear stretches my bones and I cannot go on A need for comrades to speak about Love lost their ability to love can only love for moments When these moments come they devour them like rare chocolate not enjoying them My comrades have physical beauty, Spirit beauty I doubt they question commitment and honesty it is their own they question We do not need hate to be involved in the Struggle for Truth We need Love I see comrades becoming mechanical we strive for a Distant Star that Star beckons with Love Comrades ! Love is needed ! ©GhairoDanielsPoetry Bellville,SA 1980 (This little poem was written when I was 18yrs old as a young student activist at the University of the Western Cape,SA. I subsequently read it at mass meetings at high schools throughout the province, as part of the student insurrection, enthralling high school pupils. Then, of course I could read it with a lot of fire. I understand that it is a channelled poem as I wrote it in 5mins flat during an activist meeting)

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Sep 24, 2025

Sep 24, 2025 at 6:57 AM UTC

Comrade Love Needed

COMRADE LOVE NEEDED Sorrow of Love is hard to bear stretches my bones and I cannot go on A need for comrades to speak about Love lost their ability to love can only love for moments When these moments come they devour them like rare chocolate not enjoying them My comrades have physical beauty, Spirit beauty I doubt they question commitment and honesty it is their own they question We do not need hate to be involved in the Struggle for Truth We need Love I see comrades becoming mechanical we strive for a Distant Star that Star beckons with Love Comrades ! Love is needed ! ©GhairoDanielsPoetry Bellville,SA 1980 (This little poem was written when I was 18yrs old as a young student activist at the University of the Western Cape,SA. I subsequently read it at mass meetings at high schools throughout the province, as part of the student insurrection, enthralling high school pupils. Then, of course I could read it with a lot of fire. I understand that it is a channelled poem as I wrote it in 5mins flat during an activist meeting)

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Alien. That’s all it takes. Say it enough times— with enough pride, with enough certainty, say it like it’s harmless— and you start to believe it. You convince yourself some people don’t belong here. That some lives weigh less. That some suffering is acceptable. And soon, you forget they were ever people to begin with. This is where it begins. Not with camps. Not with walls. With words— small, familiar, deadly. Words that divide. Words that erase. Words that strip humanity away layer by layer, until you look at a person and only see a problem. And what happens next? We dress it up. We call it safety. We call it policy. We call it normal. But let’s not pretend. Alligator Alcatraz is not a policy. It’s not a technicality. It’s not safety. It’s a concentration camp. Built by people who learned nothing from the blood their ancestors drowned in. And I am from Germany. I know this pattern. I know how fast words become walls. How quickly division becomes destruction. How easily neighbors become strangers, become threats, become numbers. We screamed it into history books— Never again. We tattooed it across generations. We carved it into memorials. We taught it in classrooms. We promised. But promises mean nothing if we look away now. It never starts with gas chambers. It starts with small lines— borders, walls, categories. It starts with us and them. When fear speaks louder. When division feels safer than empathy. When language poisons the foundation before anyone notices. It starts when people feel so distant, so different, that hurting them feels justified. And I’ll say it plainly— You cannot be neutral while this happens. You either fight— or you help them build the fences. Because it always ends the same way— with camps, with cages, with bodies counted in hindsight, and the world pretending no one saw it coming. But we do see it coming. We see it now. And if we refuse to speak, if we refuse to fight— history isn’t repeating itself. We are repeating it.

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Jul 4, 2025

Jul 4, 2025 at 7:50 PM UTC

wheremysilencespeaks

Alien. That’s all it takes. Say it enough times— with enough pride, with enough certainty, say it like it’s harmless— and you start to believe it. You convince yourself some people don’t belong here. That some lives weigh less. That some suffering is acceptable. And soon, you forget they were ever people to begin with. This is where it begins. Not with camps. Not with walls. With words— small, familiar, deadly. Words that divide. Words that erase. Words that strip humanity away layer by layer, until you look at a person and only see a problem. And what happens next? We dress it up. We call it safety. We call it policy. We call it normal. But let’s not pretend. Alligator Alcatraz is not a policy. It’s not a technicality. It’s not safety. It’s a concentration camp. Built by people who learned nothing from the blood their ancestors drowned in. And I am from Germany. I know this pattern. I know how fast words become walls. How quickly division becomes destruction. How easily neighbors become strangers, become threats, become numbers. We screamed it into history books— Never again. We tattooed it across generations. We carved it into memorials. We taught it in classrooms. We promised. But promises mean nothing if we look away now. It never starts with gas chambers. It starts with small lines— borders, walls, categories. It starts with us and them. When fear speaks louder. When division feels safer than empathy. When language poisons the foundation before anyone notices. It starts when people feel so distant, so different, that hurting them feels justified. And I’ll say it plainly— You cannot be neutral while this happens. You either fight— or you help them build the fences. Because it always ends the same way— with camps, with cages, with bodies counted in hindsight, and the world pretending no one saw it coming. But we do see it coming. We see it now. And if we refuse to speak, if we refuse to fight— history isn’t repeating itself. We are repeating it.

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I came on silver wings, drifting past dying stars, hoping to find a world soft enough to call my own. I saw blue first, a planet breathing, wrapped in mist and promise. I thought, maybe here— maybe here I could stay. But then— the silence of women swallowed whole, voices drowned in laws not their own. Skin held as a currency, love twisted into a crime. The ones in power, chosen by fear, speak with empty mouths and call it truth. I watched men sharpen their edges on the backs of women, their laughter carving scars, their hands taking without asking. The food— not food at all, but ghosts of what once was, pumped with things that do not belong. The trees fall, not from time, but from greed’s impatient hands. And I wonder, do they not see the world turning brittle? Do they not hear the earth gasping? I do not understand your wars, your hunger for more, the way you cage each other and call it freedom. I only feel it— the ache of something wrong, an unraveling, a sickness, a grief I do not have a name for. I did not come to be a witness to a planet choosing its own end. I came looking for home, but this— this is not a place to stay. So I turn away, silver wings catching starlight, searching for a world that remembers how to be kind.

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Feb 22, 2025

Feb 22, 2025 at 12:52 AM UTC

I came on silver wings, drifting past dying stars, hoping to find a world soft enough to call my own. I saw blue first, a planet breathing, wrapped in mist and promise. I thought, maybe here— maybe here I could stay. But then— the silence of women swallowed whole, voices drowned in laws not their own. Skin held as a currency, love twisted into a crime. The ones in power, chosen by fear, speak with empty mouths and call it truth. I watched men sharpen their edges on the backs of women, their laughter carving scars, their hands taking without asking. The food— not food at all, but ghosts of what once was, pumped with things that do not belong. The trees fall, not from time, but from greed’s impatient hands. And I wonder, do they not see the world turning brittle? Do they not hear the earth gasping? I do not understand your wars, your hunger for more, the way you cage each other and call it freedom. I only feel it— the ache of something wrong, an unraveling, a sickness, a grief I do not have a name for. I did not come to be a witness to a planet choosing its own end. I came looking for home, but this— this is not a place to stay. So I turn away, silver wings catching starlight, searching for a world that remembers how to be kind.

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I came to the creek to talk to God, But I'm not sure God is listening. I used to see the world through rose-colored glasses, But now my heart just aches. I let my tears flow down my cheeks Like the leaves flowing down the stream. I release my anger and anguish to the wind And as I look up and to my left, there a blue heron stands. Deep breath in. I watch a chipmunk scurry behind the blue heron I watch the blue heron watch the chipmunk. My dog sitting next to me is full of curiosity. Grief and despair, sadness and rage And all I can do is sit on this rock Listening to the flowing waters song And write some **** poetry. I feel sick in the depths of my stomach For my nation, for my neighbors For so many loved ones. For my own body and the choices I may no longer be able to make. The warm sun beating down Reminds me that it's too warm for November Our Earth is crying out And so are we. I'm not sure what hope feels like in this moment. I will give my body and mind time and space to grieve. Grief turned into forward motion Transmutes into Love. I came to the creek to talk to God. But I'm not sure God is listening. So instead of talking, I will sit in silence To watch the blue heron, to feel the breeze, and weep. ©KSS 11/6/2024

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Dec 18, 2024

Dec 18, 2024 at 7:58 PM UTC

I Came to the Creek

I came to the creek to talk to God, But I'm not sure God is listening. I used to see the world through rose-colored glasses, But now my heart just aches. I let my tears flow down my cheeks Like the leaves flowing down the stream. I release my anger and anguish to the wind And as I look up and to my left, there a blue heron stands. Deep breath in. I watch a chipmunk scurry behind the blue heron I watch the blue heron watch the chipmunk. My dog sitting next to me is full of curiosity. Grief and despair, sadness and rage And all I can do is sit on this rock Listening to the flowing waters song And write some **** poetry. I feel sick in the depths of my stomach For my nation, for my neighbors For so many loved ones. For my own body and the choices I may no longer be able to make. The warm sun beating down Reminds me that it's too warm for November Our Earth is crying out And so are we. I'm not sure what hope feels like in this moment. I will give my body and mind time and space to grieve. Grief turned into forward motion Transmutes into Love. I came to the creek to talk to God. But I'm not sure God is listening. So instead of talking, I will sit in silence To watch the blue heron, to feel the breeze, and weep. ©KSS 11/6/2024

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The algorithms didn’t like what I had to convey. So I attempted to say it in a different place .. Instagram, Twitter it’s all been done… Activism gets eaten in the algorithms!

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Aug 1, 2024

Aug 1, 2024 at 3:00 PM UTC

The algorithms didn’t like what I had to convey. So I attempted to say it in a different place .. Instagram, Twitter it’s all been done… Activism gets eaten in the algorithms!

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Why support the Unit Party? Neither side deserves hooray Legit illegitimacy They put it in our face. Foolish distractions keep us asleep at the wheel. Meanwhile, people are dying and the unit party signs the bill.

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Jun 30, 2024

Jun 30, 2024 at 8:23 AM UTC

Legit Illegitimacy

Why support the Unit Party? Neither side deserves hooray Legit illegitimacy They put it in our face. Foolish distractions keep us asleep at the wheel. Meanwhile, people are dying and the unit party signs the bill.

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Verbal Activism The man went for a hair cut The barber told him He had a friend from Ukraine A female pal not a lover Married to a guy Both were of fighting age She was a house wife That really needed to be there Making bullets or missiles Or tending wounded soldiers Does she have Russian citizenship? Plus Ukrainian like many does She lived in his country Far from home right now The man getting a trim Told the barber He wants Putin And all his inner circle To be assassinated **** them all dead The only way for it to stop No more Putin's war When he's a ******* corpse All told while getting a trim In some places those views are bad The Ukrainian gal now has an ally

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Jan 8, 2024

Jan 8, 2024 at 12:34 AM UTC

Verbal Activism

Verbal Activism The man went for a hair cut The barber told him He had a friend from Ukraine A female pal not a lover Married to a guy Both were of fighting age She was a house wife That really needed to be there Making bullets or missiles Or tending wounded soldiers Does she have Russian citizenship? Plus Ukrainian like many does She lived in his country Far from home right now The man getting a trim Told the barber He wants Putin And all his inner circle To be assassinated **** them all dead The only way for it to stop No more Putin's war When he's a ******* corpse All told while getting a trim In some places those views are bad The Ukrainian gal now has an ally

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Girls of greatness must make haste, for men of the very same stature start up a few pace!

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Apr 21, 2022

Apr 21, 2022 at 12:13 AM UTC

Girls of greatness must make haste, for men of the very same stature start up a few pace!

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CCP Turtles Grassing Line China’s virtual hotline Report online remarks Slander Communist Party history Crack down “bygone nihilists” Party’s 100th centenary July Grass line allows society report Netizens “twist” Party’s history Attack governance policies Denigrate national heroes Deny superiority radical socialist nation Clandestine motivations old nihilistic parodies Malevolently garbling Denigrating contradicting Party history Internet operatives administering people Devotedly report dangerous info “Historical nothingness” public doubt distrust Chinese Communist Party’s earlier dealings China’s net forcefully censored Overseas social media networks Search engines news outlets forbidden Penances persons conveyed Netizens prison lawful punishments Placement content acute Nation’s leadership procedures antiquity Legal amendments folks “Slur smear invade on” memorial China’s national heroes’ martyrs Face three years gaol

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Apr 11, 2021

Apr 11, 2021 at 4:22 PM UTC

my lastest anti CCP turtle poem---

CCP Turtles Grassing Line China’s virtual hotline Report online remarks Slander Communist Party history Crack down “bygone nihilists” Party’s 100th centenary July Grass line allows society report Netizens “twist” Party’s history Attack governance policies Denigrate national heroes Deny superiority radical socialist nation Clandestine motivations old nihilistic parodies Malevolently garbling Denigrating contradicting Party history Internet operatives administering people Devotedly report dangerous info “Historical nothingness” public doubt distrust Chinese Communist Party’s earlier dealings China’s net forcefully censored Overseas social media networks Search engines news outlets forbidden Penances persons conveyed Netizens prison lawful punishments Placement content acute Nation’s leadership procedures antiquity Legal amendments folks “Slur smear invade on” memorial China’s national heroes’ martyrs Face three years gaol

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Not all flowers have thorns but roses do roses are special, they are beautiful just to the likes of you so many flowers are pretty but nothing compares to the aesthetic of roses and that's why they are aware. their thorns protect them they are born to fight but they keep us silent, cut our voices they make us die some people don't like roses or don't like their thorns they'll cut off their leaves because they aren't thorns and they'll cut down the thorns because nothing should be in the way of their love or so they say when they cut our thorns they are so proud but do they know they take the rain out of clouds? they break the spell, they obstruct the beauty sometimes they go ahead and just shoot me I wonder, I wonder oh dear rose of mine why you die, oh you die without your thorns sublime not all flowers are roses but none wishes to be for the life of a rose is as miserable as torture makes us be

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Apr 11, 2021

Apr 11, 2021 at 5:14 AM UTC

Not all flowers have thorns but roses do roses are special, they are beautiful just to the likes of you so many flowers are pretty but nothing compares to the aesthetic of roses and that's why they are aware. their thorns protect them they are born to fight but they keep us silent, cut our voices they make us die some people don't like roses or don't like their thorns they'll cut off their leaves because they aren't thorns and they'll cut down the thorns because nothing should be in the way of their love or so they say when they cut our thorns they are so proud but do they know they take the rain out of clouds? they break the spell, they obstruct the beauty sometimes they go ahead and just shoot me I wonder, I wonder oh dear rose of mine why you die, oh you die without your thorns sublime not all flowers are roses but none wishes to be for the life of a rose is as miserable as torture makes us be

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I am warrior, I am free, and in flight. I am dancing, and swaying in fight. I am warrior, but not out of spite. I am warrior, against a discriminate plight. I am warrior, I am advocate.

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Mar 21, 2021

Mar 21, 2021 at 8:11 PM UTC

wutheringsbronte

I am warrior, I am free, and in flight. I am dancing, and swaying in fight. I am warrior, but not out of spite. I am warrior, against a discriminate plight. I am warrior, I am advocate.

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how many protests have you watched now? how many devolving into riots? via violent actors, on either side what was gained, for those we lost? was it in vain? did the pay outweigh the cost? or was our venture defunct? would civil disobedience had been better sought? or a more brutal insurrection, to rival those we've been taught? just do like they'd wish and lay down and die

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Mar 12, 2021

Mar 12, 2021 at 10:48 PM UTC

manx-kronos-pragna

From Haiti to France

how many protests have you watched now? how many devolving into riots? via violent actors, on either side what was gained, for those we lost? was it in vain? did the pay outweigh the cost? or was our venture defunct? would civil disobedience had been better sought? or a more brutal insurrection, to rival those we've been taught? just do like they'd wish and lay down and die

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No picket fences. No hunting license. He has no culture To his name. No children nor partner to carry; he’ll love The forest floor just the same. Chickadees chattered as he muttered his marriage Vows to the land between his toes. Rich in all but money, He aims to accomplish what his forefathers could not: Forgive Himself for human’s toll on nature. Their roads of death. For hickory trees and zipping flies only understand death As biological drivers of fear. He has seen the culture. Slash and burn, Gnash and chop, mine and take, forgive And forget the consequences. They manufacture love On a rainy day to deceive people into funding destruction with the money From the nature they claim to protect. A push-and-pull marriage. He set aside his business coat as he set foot into the forest, divorcing the marriage Of care and corporation. His only hope is that the rabbit cannot smell death Still leaking from his pores like toxic radiation nor the stench of money Recklessly thrown to culling the land mere miles away. More culture Here than in thousands of skylines. More compassion among animals than any “love” A vest-and-tie, bright-eyed smile grants in marketing. Corporate does not forgive. He climbs atop the highest canopy and calms his quaking arms. If no one can forgive His erratic exercise routine, the breeze can. All is still. The marriage Has begun to provide. The priest above will join them in the morning; he’ll prove his love. Tomorrow, the men with machines and sticks of death Will come barreling through the sanctuary, claiming from destruction comes culture And resources, but behind their faces of concern is always money, money, money. From the first rabbit he slaughtered to the devastating loss of money He incurred for not staying silent, the corruption he witnessed set a fire he would not forgive His heart for feeding. The disillusionment he kept spread faster than a bacterial culture Under perfect conditions. The merriment in progress was null, the marriage Bands thrown into polluted rivers. He would slow the unnatural cycle of death, One by one rooted tree. Though he does not believe it is enough, it is love. His back aches. His eyes open with a start. His air tastes acrid. His love Has died and fear wrests his heart. Trees around him scream for aid. All the money In the world could not replace the thousands of years of peace they spoil with death. He yells from his tower. A straggler rabbit screws its head to see him. Maybe it saw to forgive Him after all this time. Rivers from his eyes and gold buried deep inside, the marriage Between man and Mother Nature could exist. Human’s ruination isn’t nature. It is culture. They ask him for the love of God, what is he doing up there. He smiles. I can forgive The contractor for his need of money, but not those whose wants require a marriage Between negligence and my planet’s death. He pleads. They stare. As is the culture.

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Feb 19, 2021

Feb 19, 2021 at 9:00 PM UTC

Man's Best Friend Used to Be a Wolf (Sestina)

No picket fences. No hunting license. He has no culture To his name. No children nor partner to carry; he’ll love The forest floor just the same. Chickadees chattered as he muttered his marriage Vows to the land between his toes. Rich in all but money, He aims to accomplish what his forefathers could not: Forgive Himself for human’s toll on nature. Their roads of death. For hickory trees and zipping flies only understand death As biological drivers of fear. He has seen the culture. Slash and burn, Gnash and chop, mine and take, forgive And forget the consequences. They manufacture love On a rainy day to deceive people into funding destruction with the money From the nature they claim to protect. A push-and-pull marriage. He set aside his business coat as he set foot into the forest, divorcing the marriage Of care and corporation. His only hope is that the rabbit cannot smell death Still leaking from his pores like toxic radiation nor the stench of money Recklessly thrown to culling the land mere miles away. More culture Here than in thousands of skylines. More compassion among animals than any “love” A vest-and-tie, bright-eyed smile grants in marketing. Corporate does not forgive. He climbs atop the highest canopy and calms his quaking arms. If no one can forgive His erratic exercise routine, the breeze can. All is still. The marriage Has begun to provide. The priest above will join them in the morning; he’ll prove his love. Tomorrow, the men with machines and sticks of death Will come barreling through the sanctuary, claiming from destruction comes culture And resources, but behind their faces of concern is always money, money, money. From the first rabbit he slaughtered to the devastating loss of money He incurred for not staying silent, the corruption he witnessed set a fire he would not forgive His heart for feeding. The disillusionment he kept spread faster than a bacterial culture Under perfect conditions. The merriment in progress was null, the marriage Bands thrown into polluted rivers. He would slow the unnatural cycle of death, One by one rooted tree. Though he does not believe it is enough, it is love. His back aches. His eyes open with a start. His air tastes acrid. His love Has died and fear wrests his heart. Trees around him scream for aid. All the money In the world could not replace the thousands of years of peace they spoil with death. He yells from his tower. A straggler rabbit screws its head to see him. Maybe it saw to forgive Him after all this time. Rivers from his eyes and gold buried deep inside, the marriage Between man and Mother Nature could exist. Human’s ruination isn’t nature. It is culture. They ask him for the love of God, what is he doing up there. He smiles. I can forgive The contractor for his need of money, but not those whose wants require a marriage Between negligence and my planet’s death. He pleads. They stare. As is the culture.

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we await the storm of hands thrown to the air towers of prayers for the fallen men the dead cannot be silenced for what is unspeakable will speak for itself Heaven hears pleas of please "Please, I can't breathe." a cacophony of sighs becomes whispers whispers become words and words heave and heave until quiet breaths become battlecries these hands are extensions only to have cries brought to the Sky faster until skeletons rattle until asphalts resound the unrest will put to rest the inhumane, the detestable, the bullets that mar bodies straight to the chest the wind carries the trumpets we shall thunder on

0

Jan 19, 2021

Jan 19, 2021 at 4:05 AM UTC

we await the storm of hands thrown to the air towers of prayers for the fallen men the dead cannot be silenced for what is unspeakable will speak for itself Heaven hears pleas of please "Please, I can't breathe." a cacophony of sighs becomes whispers whispers become words and words heave and heave until quiet breaths become battlecries these hands are extensions only to have cries brought to the Sky faster until skeletons rattle until asphalts resound the unrest will put to rest the inhumane, the detestable, the bullets that mar bodies straight to the chest the wind carries the trumpets we shall thunder on

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jesus ******* christ. the days were numbered and i forgot to start a tally of lines carved into the cement walls. these walls are the only thing keeping me sane, my sanity isn’t what it use to be but thank god i’m not surrounded by people infected with ignorance. rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds and ******* lives people are dying, dropping dead like flies. and we start to realize, wake up and smell the artificial roses planted in front of the white house. a white house burned a white house on fire a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash. there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises straight to the sky. and it’s okay, the family inside took their time, made sure the door was shut and locked as they left, never left their lamp on inside so someone came in, said the skeleton of a home is worth rebuilding, refurnishing. matching the curtains with the drapes and the sofas with the carpet. the rug was a gift, they say. for helping and fixing and replenishing and making the home welcoming to guests. guests that never received invitations, never allowed in. guests who are not guests, guests who own that ******* house. guests who own you. rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds and ******* lives people are dying, dropping dead like flies. and we start to realize, wake up and smell the artificial roses planted in front of the white house. a white house burned a white house on fire a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash. there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises straight to the sky. follow the flame. follow the footsteps. find where it starts and let no one forget it. you’ve a duty to uphold, and people to protect, this was only the beginning of the very end. rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds and ******* lives people are dying, dropping dead like flies. and we start to realize, wake up and smell the artificial roses planted in front of the white house. a white house burned a white house on fire a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash. there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises straight to the sky. rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds and ******* lives people are dying, dropping dead like flies. and we start to realize, wake up and smell the artificial roses planted in front of the white house. a white house burned a white house on fire a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash. there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises straight to the sky.

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Dec 31, 2020

Dec 31, 2020 at 9:07 PM UTC

jesus ******* christ. the days were numbered and i forgot to start a tally of lines carved into the cement walls. these walls are the only thing keeping me sane, my sanity isn’t what it use to be but thank god i’m not surrounded by people infected with ignorance. rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds and ******* lives people are dying, dropping dead like flies. and we start to realize, wake up and smell the artificial roses planted in front of the white house. a white house burned a white house on fire a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash. there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises straight to the sky. and it’s okay, the family inside took their time, made sure the door was shut and locked as they left, never left their lamp on inside so someone came in, said the skeleton of a home is worth rebuilding, refurnishing. matching the curtains with the drapes and the sofas with the carpet. the rug was a gift, they say. for helping and fixing and replenishing and making the home welcoming to guests. guests that never received invitations, never allowed in. guests who are not guests, guests who own that ******* house. guests who own you. rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds and ******* lives people are dying, dropping dead like flies. and we start to realize, wake up and smell the artificial roses planted in front of the white house. a white house burned a white house on fire a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash. there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises straight to the sky. follow the flame. follow the footsteps. find where it starts and let no one forget it. you’ve a duty to uphold, and people to protect, this was only the beginning of the very end. rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds and ******* lives people are dying, dropping dead like flies. and we start to realize, wake up and smell the artificial roses planted in front of the white house. a white house burned a white house on fire a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash. there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises straight to the sky. rampant, raving, and rioting because they’ve all lost their ******* minds and ******* lives people are dying, dropping dead like flies. and we start to realize, wake up and smell the artificial roses planted in front of the white house. a white house burned a white house on fire a white house and it’s lawn turned to ash. there’s nothing left but the smoke that rises straight to the sky.

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Little boy blasting, out on the streets rapping, while other children keep clapping. It’s as beautiful site. Living amidst destruction but trying to construct an art form from love because adults in power haven't stepped up. Little girl marching, rigidly standing against environmental destruction another young leader of the people. It’s as beautiful site. But this shouldn't have to be the fight of their young lives. Why are they out there trying to save our lives when we had so many generations to stand up and do what’s right? One grown *** idiot is barely living up to the ideals he believes in, leaves the struggle to the children who seem to have more heart instead of him. While he writes celebrating their success and greatness, he settles in to accept this mess because he doesn't really believe it will get any better than this.

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Oct 28, 2020

Oct 28, 2020 at 9:37 AM UTC

Little boy blasting, out on the streets rapping, while other children keep clapping. It’s as beautiful site. Living amidst destruction but trying to construct an art form from love because adults in power haven't stepped up. Little girl marching, rigidly standing against environmental destruction another young leader of the people. It’s as beautiful site. But this shouldn't have to be the fight of their young lives. Why are they out there trying to save our lives when we had so many generations to stand up and do what’s right? One grown *** idiot is barely living up to the ideals he believes in, leaves the struggle to the children who seem to have more heart instead of him. While he writes celebrating their success and greatness, he settles in to accept this mess because he doesn't really believe it will get any better than this.

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Mister Maxwell reads the paper Of the party that he pays for And with subtle nods agrees With each printed word he reads He knows all the phrases to say About the topics of the day And he's politically engaged (Marching in manifestations) And appropriately enraged (By violence and discrimination) To be a hero of society: A once-born self that's ceased to be, A real symptom of democracy! A truly enlightened zombie!

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Sep 9, 2020

Sep 9, 2020 at 9:14 AM UTC

Mister Maxwell reads the paper Of the party that he pays for And with subtle nods agrees With each printed word he reads He knows all the phrases to say About the topics of the day And he's politically engaged (Marching in manifestations) And appropriately enraged (By violence and discrimination) To be a hero of society: A once-born self that's ceased to be, A real symptom of democracy! A truly enlightened zombie!

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Then she started wishing a doctor would inject morphine into his black heart so his venomous tongue could let her down slowly

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Aug 16, 2020

Aug 16, 2020 at 10:07 AM UTC

Then she started wishing a doctor would inject morphine into his black heart so his venomous tongue could let her down slowly

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There is no justice today, when allies say wait. When they need to get paid to keep their people saved. So, the truth coming out might be a little delayed, but please just wait. When fear of violence keeps white allies silenced, but they forget fears where this **** starts. When I sit back and write with a hollow sense of pride but I’m not a ride or die ally. I am the good man who says he understands social justice demands in facebook posts, and when I’ve paid lip service to those hurting, I go back to my comfortable life. This time the excuse that I honestly use is fear of covid 19, but the last time I could’ve helped, I was writing out my guilt to help myself. I haven’t stepped foot in the fray since 2011 when I was advocating for the rights of lesbians, transgenders, and gays. So, this is my shame, such a stupid hypocrite cause better men then me are on the streets getting hit, marginalized, terrorized , brutalized, while I get to wake up and live a pretty tame life.

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Aug 8, 2020

Aug 8, 2020 at 10:10 AM UTC

There is no justice today, when allies say wait. When they need to get paid to keep their people saved. So, the truth coming out might be a little delayed, but please just wait. When fear of violence keeps white allies silenced, but they forget fears where this **** starts. When I sit back and write with a hollow sense of pride but I’m not a ride or die ally. I am the good man who says he understands social justice demands in facebook posts, and when I’ve paid lip service to those hurting, I go back to my comfortable life. This time the excuse that I honestly use is fear of covid 19, but the last time I could’ve helped, I was writing out my guilt to help myself. I haven’t stepped foot in the fray since 2011 when I was advocating for the rights of lesbians, transgenders, and gays. So, this is my shame, such a stupid hypocrite cause better men then me are on the streets getting hit, marginalized, terrorized , brutalized, while I get to wake up and live a pretty tame life.

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