this poetry stuff is like shouting down a very long hallway
there's people down there
but, try your damnedest, they just can't seem to hear

to the few that have lent me their ears

i truly appreciate you

in a Serbian hospital ward
the dingy overheads blink in and out of existence
i wished i were dead
bedside, my mother weeps
saddened by what remains of her boy
what doctors had been able to save
my eyes weigh heavy
the morphine they have me on is strong
stronger still is the pain
radiating, like heat off the hearth
and the woe from my brothers
interred in the earth
you can live
to still die
you can live, dead
but no horrors can you see greater
than the ones in men's heads

Longing for the land of my lineage
I am dying here, in Beggar Country
Here, where fools act the wise
Pseudo Intellectualism steadily on the rise
Where the disease celebritism has took hold
Forced out the tried and true for the shiny yet old
Where the idiom
The more things that change, the more remains the same
Is unquestionably fact
I long for Ireland
I long to go back

Give me land that's green
And rolling countryside
Give me tide to rival hell's fury
And people that mean well, amid gales so dreary
I miss fog
Like that kicked up by the mire

Give me land that's hungry
Give me people that's tired

Take all your taxes and see if you aren't able to get more done with them
Then those that represent you.
Do those that do, really represent you
Or do they resent you?
And secretly tread with scorn?
If you truly want change, seek an office
Grab a gavel
Do your part

I've listened to the Jamaicans wail
Englishmen too
The Africans & Asians the same
And of my own kinsmen, the Irish, have I heard long cry
Of their lowlands
Mother or Father
Babes we are, to the branch whose fruits we partake
Ready for fight, readily we die
To cut down the lecherous head
Of the beasts that stalk
Be ye a Great Kingdom or States United
No union knows our unity
For we cannot be organized
We are grassroots
We are the homeland
For when your troubles have become foreign
Be domestic

sheesh
our session is paltry
taking hits betwixt talk
we've taken hits, how many have walked

or just simply dropped

from doping to coke
smoking and joking
over the line with too many tokes
our time's coming too
though we know not when
we'll go too
in the end

it's elon musk
his stiff, frozen corpse hurtling toward the earth
looks like space flight wasn't as grand as an idea as previously thought

the virgins have gone galactic
branson's body as cold as his icy heart
and eyes to match his lifelessness

the bald headed freak's gone bug-eyed!
clearly unprepared for the speed his amazon basic space shuttle hurtles at
as shoddily made as the rest of their ****, the cabinet begins decompressing

why go to the stars
what do you think it is you'll find up there
peace or contentment
are you trying to prove something

you'd think if you'd really want to help humanity you might start on this rock before trying to jump to the next

oh you'll succeed
while the planet you so desperately sought to escape is in the throws of death's spiral
i'm sure it stings your pride to know you'll die before that though