Today I was reminded of America's greatness.

The greatness that is truly just an idea.

The greatness that is truly fickle.

Fickle enough to be crushed by a mouse's nibble.

That a caricature could become the leader of the free world.

Indeed, the world will see how free we will be.

I was reminded that we are mentally enslaved.

To a media onslaught that trains us how to behave.

We are conditioned, on our own conditions.

We relinquish critical thought for a pre-programmed intuition.

Welcome Mr. President, to your dining table.

On it you will notice a sumptuous oyster,

The world is within.

Treat it carefully.

Or don't.

The choice is yours, sir.

The consequence is ours.

Because we love propaganda

More than a proper agenda.

We fiend to be the rightest

Instead of being righteous.

And we're eager to give a piece of our minds,

Instead of gaining collective peace of mind.

Welcome American people, to the first day of a new legacy.

A new tragedy.

Tell your leader
I am deranged,
Sick with fever
And out of range.

Tell my lover
That life has changed
And, undercover,
We are estranged.

Tell your neighbor
I am afraid,
I cannot stay for
The coming raid.

Tell your leader
I'm just a man,
A fellow bleeder.


Because you can.

Flowers bloom,
Susie notices,
While the weather looms.
She blithely sings,
"All is sunny, despite the heavens' gloom..."

But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Says it only spells of doom.

With spirited skips
She twirls
As her hair billows and whips.
She courageously croons
Songs of praise crawling from her lips.

But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Yells, "All only smells of doom!"

Then the storm clouds corral
Them both and open fire
Like a showdown at the OK Corral.
Witherspoon bawled: "You're happy to die?!"
She countered: "No; but die happy I shall."

But, near a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Shouts, "Your death only tells of doom!"

She heeded no single warning.
Blissful, the winds lifted her
Into the dark morning.
See, Susie had determined,
"If I must die, I will not die mourning."

Meanwhile, above a tomb,
Old Man Witherspoon
Cries, "Life is merely tales of doom!"

Then suddenly, beneath a fine awning,
Susie's eyes flashed open
To embrace the dawning.
Her frantic pants were slowed
By a gasp of yawning.

A new aura filled her room,
Her bed caressed her
As her mind began to zoom.
She arose in shock by the beaming sun
And the flowers' bloom.

See, Susie never heeded a single warning,
She ignored many blessings—
Until that morning.
And from thence determined,
"If I must die, I will not die mourning."

Susie leapt & left from that room,
And ventured somewhere—
It was near a tomb.
She sat next to Old Man Witherspoon
And crooned a tune: "All will be sunny, despite the present gloom..."

A butterfly flutters through the streetz,
Above the dried bloodstains;
Its wings bat away toxic breaths
Perverse and untamed.

A butterfly flutters through the streetz—
Great beauty of little worth.
Through tear gas, dodging bullets
With wings like the Fellbeasts of Middle-earth.

A butterfly flutters through the streetz,
No smile, no glance, no words to speak.
It wipes away a child's fresh tear
As it passes by its cheek.

Channel your energy.

Then don't change the channel.

Channel your energy.

Then don't drain the channel.

Where has the fire gone?
Extinguished by exhalations of exhaustion.
Cut down like grass on a lawn
Is a once lush poet-tree of creativity.

Did I heed the signs of caution?

Drowned by disappointment and shame,
I emerged alive, I survived,
But my hopes could not say the same.
They settled with the sediment,

Oh, how I miss when they thrived!

When did it occur,
The moment my heart was drained?
And who was the one to procure
The passion with which I was fashioned?

From stained glass to broken glass, stained.

The inventive ambition has waned,
The glowing spectrum has faded.
I pray all will be reattained.
For I am overworn and forlorn;

Once sculpting precious gems, now just simply jaded.

My bones are diamond shafts.
Each eye a sapphire gem.
My blood is liquid rubies.
Dare I divulge my name?

My members, a master's crafts;
No bacteria, germs or phlegm.
I live free of formal duties.
Shall I flaunt for fame?

No epiglottis or voice boxes,
My heart's a rocketing comet.
No esophagus needed to imbibe,
I just absorb—like the perfect heist.

Hunted by shamans like foxes,
Fronted by the pickpocketing prophet,
Who've seen what I now struggle to describe:

A human creature reborn in Christ.