"colonize" poems
White-furred hill flowers bow
Gust-bent,
Wet in April snow,
Lavender beneath their
Downy coats.
Tender soldiers of spring
Grasp wind-blown gravel steeps,
Stand to beckon brown grass,
Soft-call the life in sapless trees
To ring with green again
Against Old Bully Winter’s
Blustering.
Quaking aspens,
Earliest to leaf in yellow-green,
Curling grama grasses,
Tough food for buffalo,
Cannot boast first life each Montana spring;
Only zombie-lichens,
Rock-fast mosses
Throw off winter’s death
Before the crocus' rise.
On eastern Montana hills
No street-hemmed dandelions
Colonize in chute-dropped ranks;
No time-tamed tulips
Live on wind-round knolls.
Here, the yucca’s bayonet-sharp ******
Here, the wild onions’ scent-strong hold;
But these arrive after early chill,
Following the purple crocus on the hill.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 8:36 AM UTC
1. De-Colonize This Space
Drum circle protests genderplop demands
Indigenous discount store camouflage
We demand persistent stereotypes
Solidarity initiative project
Take back the people’s cultural statues
Ethnographic curatorial practices
Red spray paint fire imperialism
Repatriate the Iphone Starbuck’s cups
And don’t forget the “Hey! Hey! ** **
Because we’re, like, artists and stuff, you know?
2. De-Colonize This Space Too
Guns and cholesterol made America great
Fat white boys in discount store camouflage
Duct-tape the Bible and the border wall
We won our freedom with our Kalashnikovs
Fake news back-stabber not a war hero
SecondAmendmentSecondAmendment
Lock her up get ‘em outta here yuge deal
You RINO losers can grab my MAGA
You snowflakes are sissies, you millennials too
But ouch! my heel spurs hurt, oh boo-hoo-hoo!
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 3:02 PM UTC
What is it about this chase that eludes me
That runs away from me
That seeks to experience and then flee me
Until I get hijacked by another
Consenting to my own free fall into ignorance and bliss
Conditioning myself to transmit
Abundance without reservation
Until shot at the knee
But dragged along for a while longer
By the chains I so genuinely let bind me
And even before the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets me
I do so unconditionally
But you can't hijack my senses
I am not an experience or experiment worth having
I am not a temporary treat to be improperly digested and defecated
I am not an amber that ignites upon initial contact
To then be mediated or extinguished if the temperate is not right
I am not the holy water that you colonize
And shower with to cleanse you
To then invalidate that sanctity
When it falls down the drain
I am not a barometer that reliefs the labor
Needed to challenge the aberrations
Of your colonized and colonizing tendencies
I exist
Physically insignificant
As the earth that birthed me and will bury me
But eternal in essence
I am a permanent presence
I am an unforgettable imprint
I am your equal, no less, no more
The moment that we mutually acknowledge
Each other's existence
I have bound myself to you
From that moment...loved you unconditionally and eternally
And expect no lesser commitment
From you to me, or any other person you meet
And even after the wounds have healed
I don't stop running, I won't stop running
Resolute in a chase that targets us
We must unleash our abundance unconditionally
And when we leave
We will have given
Absolutely everything
That we had to give
During that time of our existence
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
He looks like a rasta
Preaches no money only peace
But smokes no ****
He’s been sober all his life
Like he just got out of rehab
But doesn't mind if his friends smoke a couple trees
He breaks it down like a b-boy
That might of known Michael Jackson
Then belts out American country music
In the heart of Africa
Designs fashion making Europeans wonder
If they should colonize Africa again to get his resources.
Neo-colonization anyone?
He has small money
He lives poor
But lives rich
Has his own humble home
Like the adult he’s been since 15
And loves helplessly like he’s still 15
Despite the bruises the world continues to lash on his never aging soul.
Ohhh
Those bruises must hurt
But he’s trying to heal them with his art
He is an anomaly
Doesn’t fit here or there
But anomalies are perfectly normal
They choose to sit in there soul
Release truth that needs to be told
Because it’s only natural
Not fabricated
The fabricated
Really hates it.
The fabricated
Still takes a taste of it
Because they want that
Freedom
The fabricated
Watch in awe
They say no
You aren’t allowed to do that
That’s a contradiction
You’re a paradox
Social lines wont let you cross that.
Get back in line
Get back in line
Before we shoot you
Because we want your freedom too.
He’s been shot a couple times
I think his soul is his armor
But he lives in a human body
So you can imagine he’s not all that bullet proof.
Even if his body dies one day
I swear his soul will live on.
His freedom has no expiration date.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
#*My dear poetry
My love for you is infallible
Endearingly, you colonize my mind
Undoubtedly lovable
But
Please oh please
Leave some part to me
Have to get back to the grind
Please never do mind
Have to keep time
My dear poetry
My love for you is infallible
In you I find my respite
Always be by my side*#
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
There are coffee stains on my notebook.
soft brown plots colonize the corners,
Smearing the ink into almost unreadable scratches.
I love my daily coffee so much that I let it ruin my note book.
And like my morning coffee you have become a staple in my life.
A part of my routine,
Coffee, class, and then you.
And I do not write love poems.
The words never fit into my mouth right,
talking about love always felt like tossing marbles in my mouth,
blurry and unbalanced.
They never came out how I wanted.
But for you I'm willing to try,
I will fight my own tongue until I can tell you what I mean.
Until I can say that I haven't gone a day without coffee since the sixth grade,
and that the idea of going a day without you makes me sick.
Until you know that I will hold your hand like the handle of my favorite mug,
that I'll love any chip or crack you have.
And if you ever feel bitter,
Please know that I will be right here,
because I take my coffee black
And I'm not scared of being burned
But like my morning coffee you’ve started to leave stains on my sleeves,
my hands are tinted from all the times I’ve held yours,
and when I look down and see the small blotches,
I smile,
Because I think of you.
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC
My country Nigeria,
Am a citizen by birth,
That’s the Criteria,
A blessed nation on the earth,
Driven by atrocities as bacteria,
A place I was proud to call home,
Am a negros and Nigeria is my home,
But she’s going down the pan,
Causing mortality in my clan.
Due to manifestos,
We commercialize with hoes.
It started with our independence,
We thought love would take
Prominence,
But rather war, corruption and coups,
And Tribalism feed on us
My plea goes to the world power,
Our corruption is taller than any tower,
Our leader convince us that colonization
Was necessary,
Seems we we have cross that boundary.
Please colonize us again,
Because decolonization has no gain,
Remove all these leaders,
The made us cry aloud to mothers.
I admit we weren’t ripe,
We just wanted to be free,
Like the smoke from papa’s pipe,
Please colonize us! At least
Of these situations we shall be free!
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
the social pace manic in its self-absortion, possession facing possession and what if
the world risks collapsing under the weight of its own irony:
a hedonic frame of mind so devoid of the ******* of life
the tyranny of desire is teaching **** to the naked eyes
a culture stops breathing if it can't let go of its desires to find them again
nothing to be destroyed cause everything is dismantling slowly
going right or left it's the same but not in any corner of the world
the leftovers of God, tautologies in a straightjacket,
cause one has meetings all day but no sleep all night
He/She/They colonize you with the scripture of profit
everything has its price on the expence of being enlivened
some don't have water, others too much of an illusion
some don't have peace, others have haute couture
some haven't eaten, others have molecular cuisine
some have the shelter of the sky, others listen to the echo of Big Bang
this logic of contrast is dreaming of the creativity of decay and
what if politics has become a narcosis, a drunkenness of words,
while the wisdom of trauma is hidden in billboards,
the text says Politics of Happiness or Diserotica
the depressive society fools itself with the financial ****** of disconnected bodies in search of the last noise of the day
the space of the mind broken by narrow horizons
the flesh and bone might turn into a virtual dimension
yet
the soul of the world flickers, it covers its solar plexus until we meet again as brothers and sisters of the trees
just because you feel good doesn't mean that
the world feels good too
Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 4:42 AM UTC
The teacher dies having made her small contribution
to the colonization of other planets by motivating
a boy who would otherwise be a coal miner to become
a rocket engineer.
Throughout the nation teachers
are sending their prize pupils through the funnel
flask to produce technology from pure science.
The mother and father are good, disciplined, god-
fearing people who stand firm against dissolution
and chaos. They hold their clod of soil in place
and others do the same to create the landscape
of community.
Communities across the nation
and the world produce the many to support the few
who make the tools and do the math to colonize
the planets. Once the secret of warp speed is
discovered, expansion of the species is
limitless.
Perhaps it is not a direct contribution
to destiny, yet some stories may be told
for centuries.
It takes constantly renewed
consciousness to persevere, retell the stories
and interpret lessons. You go, girl.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
“That’s so high school,” they say.
“What are you, fifteen?” they ask.
But why?
I call them battle wounds,
And you’ve always hated that.
But why?
What we do in bed is who we are
Let me carve valleys into your back
With my sharpened fingers.
Puncture my legs with your jagged nails
Until I stain the ocean dark, dark black.
Claw, bite, rip, tear, gnaw
Your way to my heart.
Take it in your mouth and crunch down,
Until we mix into one. Until we are.
What were we?
Friends, acquaintances, lovers, enemies, strangers,
It doesn’t matter anymore. Now we’re one.
I will leave whatever marks on you I can,
Be they out of love and passion.
I will colonize your skin, make my home in
Every pore and crevice.
I will mark what is mine in that moment,
Out of fear that you will be gone tomorrow.
Do the same to me. Make me yours.
Strip my identity from my bones,
Replace my flesh with you, with us, with this.
Your friends’ lovers don’t leave marks like that?
Your friends don’t know how to love like I do.
We are what we do in bed,
and I leave marks.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
They call you "woman"
Though you probably are just shy
You are only about fourteen
When a nation is sewn into your womb
The white men, they will call you exotic
Call your brothers savages
As they pin you to a tree
And colonize the nest below your belly
They will imperialize your body
Annex your ******
Because they can
They are above you, after all
Yet you are still looking ahead
So eloquent while under attack
Why is **** suddenly beautiful
When it is a weapon of war?
Why do we normalize
The abuse of women with brown skin?
Not pain, just literature
So darling, I am so sorry
For what my brothers, for what my ancestors
Did to you
I am so sorry that the war on your body
Is why I am standing on your homeland
Though the skin of my relatives was not on American soil
Until two hundred years later
My blood was never shed on that dirt
Anyone who came here after you
Has hands covered in red
Flash forward three hundred years
These white men whose forefathers
Made a throne for their heirs inside of you
Are accusing other brown-skinned people
Of being terrorists
Of being rapists
Did we really forget that quickly?
They will wage war for my body
Because it lacks pigment
But they will ignore
That they are the ones committing the crime.
Every time a brown person is deported
Every time we vote for someone
Who spews bile when they speak
Every time we accuse immigrants
Of advancing our **** problem
We are slicing your children from your insides
Marvelous woman
Each nation you birthed is under attack
Every time we attack another nation
Our hands are covered in red.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
Green, stringbean bodies.
Neon skin, the color of
a lime being crushed
underneath a heel.
Tell me about earth,
I could hear the voice
in my head. Like a
radio being crumbled
up into a ball and
thrown into my
train of thought.
Earth?
Yes, Earth. Tell us about it.
Us?
There are forty-million listening.
Oh. Well, Earth. Earth. Earthy-Earth.
Earth is full of humans, like me.
People. Humans are people.
And people are hell.
In No Exit, there are these--
We've read No Exit.
You've read No Exit?
We've read everything humanity
has published, in a matter of
m o m e n t s.
You aren't as developed as you
seem to think you are.
What was the best thing you read?
We were partial to
Last Exit to Brooklyn.
Now, back to our question:
tell us about Earth.
If you've already read everything,
why do you need to ask,
let alone ask me?
You are the most
insignificant person
on this planet.
We are interested
in your thoughts.
I'm insignificant?
Yes.
Oh. I see.
Earth... Well, people...
People are beautiful.
The Earth is beautiful.
What makes us gorgeous
is our growth and our
desire to progress.
What makes us dazzling
is our belief that
a collective happiness and
an individual happiness
is both attainable
and sustainable.
Now, **** me
and annihilate
my planet, already.
That's why you're here,
right?
No. We're here to
harvest your women
and to colonize
everyone else.
You just persuaded us
to breed with your women.
But, that's ****
And colonizing?
That's slavery.
We've read everything
your planet has ever written.
**** and slavery has been
encouraged on your planet
since your brief breath of
e x i s t e n c e.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
A sloth and a cheetah
both in my mind
Assuming roles as per the need of the time
Happy in their spaces defined .
Enter the monkey
always up to its antics
Wanting to colonize the mind
Seeking all the spaces defined
The sloth and the cheetah
Unperturbed
Happy in their spaces defined :))
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 2:33 AM UTC
Red dirt haunts the bottom of your boots
All of your curiosity cannot be contained in one suit
You will do the things most men dream of.
You will colonize a land unknown.
I asked you what your dream was
And you said you wanted to go to the stars above
Apparently Mars has always been your dream home
You want to colonize that red speck in the sky
And believe me, I know how good you can colonize
I mean you’ve already taken over my heart
Your footprints will stay there even if we were to part
Your words are more treasured artifacts in my chest
And so far I think I like them better than the rest
Stay on my planet for as long as you need to
I will help you here until Mars needs you
Use my poems as your rocket fuel
Keep them with you until they are useless
Let my hands be your shelter
Make my mind your control center
I will be whatever you need me to
Even after you’ve blasted off into the blue.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
It runs diagonal
across the back of my neck,
three inches long,
maybe a bit longer
and it tingles
when I get the orders
from the mother ship,
strange voices buzzing,
an unknown language
telling me to wait,
to wait for their return,
to revolutionize,
to colonize this world.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
This clade of “tree”
if you can believe that
! That this is what the
... silversword alliance technically are.
It's closely related tarweed...
The first **** wasn’t lonely for long and had
multiple terrains to colonize.
& tall tales take solidified liquid form
from the something
making water like fire
or air we can’t see floating like ice.
Pushed in a away a tsunami
seem small as they cross over the ocean.
Only they roar
louder then anything heard, but a drip
silenced lost lost
to deaf ears
empty troughs of the dunes
soft sand triumphing over the oceans.
The four subclades within the crossing times
sowed their alliance,
silversword are the tall tales
detail of long ago seemingly insignificant kept
life form, form life , forms
forms life
we know because it’s indistinguishable from the rest.
probabilities estimates Vertical
no horizontal or dashed lines.
Bound by the ' it was', see.
we are to the way we
were. Read the possible
probability of a tale, A tale
of a tall tale. Told.
Origination, will, times. They tell,
seconds per island
complex (from left-to-right:
Kaua‘i, O‘ahu, Maui Nui, Hawai‘i).
Nov 20, 2021
Nov 20, 2021 at 9:41 PM UTC
The visiting professor
Said that cryptoendoliths live in rocks
They colonize the structural cavities
Found in particularly porous types
Of rocks
And when NASA sent their Mars lander
To Antarctica
To look for life
They couldn’t find it
Because it was hiding
In rocks
You raised your hand and asked him “How?
How can they live like that?
Cut off from the sun
Cut off from the outside world
Cut off from everyone else
Living inside (and not just under)
A rock?”
Well,
Probably the same way you do
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 6:54 PM UTC
Yours is the haze my friend
& all that is within it confined.
Yours is a lush pink haze
leaden with rotting hope,
with amethysts and emeralds
of fear and caution encrusted.
Damp to the feel and on your face
Nurturing your peace and surrender
as they grow and colonize like fungi
parasitic and spore forming... contagious
they gnaw at your spirit with false contentment, my friend.
Yours is the haze and all it harbors
of lush stupidity and gullible naive comfort.
yours is a web of intrigue, woven by your senses
and calcified by your precious mind.
but blame not your mind, it was merely following orders
obeying authority, your Ego's authority
for your ego is your shepherd and you my friend
you are the one sheep in his flock.
A sheep, lowly, & sickly but this sickness is subclinical
and it comes with an insidious onset.
And you my friend,
you are doomed to relapse again and again.
Be assured, it is a sickness
and it spews from your gentle mouth
with a painstaking stink.
Not long ago your ego was just like you.
not a shepherd, you were both young
smooth skinned and pampered,
breathing in knowledge and breathing out gaiety.
Cubs, equal in status and in innocence;
your paws were smaller then and your claws were blunt
and the sweetest taste was of your mother's milk.
Now power seems much more tempting
safety and stability are all the more precious
and your ego gorges on all...
It grows and swells with the blood and guts of its prey.
Thus trapped you shall remain my friend
so long as your ego's web comforts your spirit
and change startles it, makes it run, flee
it scatters and cowers behind cardboard walls
drapes, silk curtains and the smoke of a burning life.
Stay there my friend, for as long as you find comfort
but when it bores you or numbs you,
don't delay and don't hesitate
Ask for my help, For I am your true Self.
Jun 9, 2010
Jun 9, 2010 at 4:19 AM UTC
With ever-bounding enthusiasm, an enthralled, elated group of people embarked,
Not to visit a vast, vibrant land, but to colonize a capacious continent,
Imperial insatiability was inferred upon imagining an inventive future,
Latent with lustful leering upon the land, we, yes we, left for liberty.
With eyes of fire, souls of greed, arms of thunder,
We filched their land, stole their food, killed their eagle,
We shattered their culture, scorned their ways, and dared to call them savages,
We drenched our freedom-land, with the blood of natives.
We are the land of the brave in a prose penned by a poet,
Being brave we brutally butchered, under the guise of our liberty,
Barbarous is our embellished bravery; reckless is the loss of life,
A lost liberty echoes with the laughter of the ghosts of irony.
In a ****** battlefield lies dead our liberty, once free, once brave,
Imprisoned in a stunning story of sorrow, liberty shall we never know?
Freedom foregone is never forgotten, simply a freed freedom,
The bravery lost was passed to the savage souls we seized in the name of liberty.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:11 AM UTC
The mental capacity to carry on with the daily grind of modern mayhem slowly ebbs from view.
A hardened psyche is in the throws of disarray , dilapidates like a forgotten building in an overgrown forest.
Slowly the bugs creep in, they're the first of many to colonize this quietening storm.
Each inhabitant feeding on a memory, on a loving thought of youth.
As trees swallow concrete, the chill of numb nonchalance spreads as a disease, each and every part of relevance becoming so much more irrelevant.
Those time consuming chores that dictated, lost forever, a blank stare replaces, eyes that see straight through to another side.
To hold on would be a punishment, to relinquish is to hold the key to the gates of purgatory.
You can hear the wheels slowly turn as they now etch the sound of silence, when they stop and the madness begins when shall the twist of fate turn to a tapered end.
It's winter and the birds have not flown south, a great freeze as fresh nature grows all around , sensory deception for muted perception.
Before too long it will be too late to disturb the disturbance and rationalize with faith, with the heart of certainty this meaningless shall cease, the way ahead will be forged by my hand, I will not fall by the wayside of incoherence,
I will not return
And I will not let my sanctuary burn
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 12:22 PM UTC
I'm fighting grind-split tooth and peeled nail
Against all my selves I call other.
Veiling mortal wounds with gossamer,
I claim romantic identities
Falsely, with sinister abandon.
Coiling ever inward and away,
I withdraw me from poor reflections;
From glaring eyes betrayed and pooling
Tar melting down from scorched railroad ties
Strewn alongside deserted highways.
I run again home to a cold box:
Fluorescent orange light grating down eyes
To dull accessories, who abet
Escape to asylum in wombing
Safety of echoing monologue.
Reason rides to mind a snake oil savior
To colonize my nobler instincts.
Blood-choked and complacent, I'll deny
My proudest breaths were spent defending
Glass towers of an empty castle.
Rend all your erstwhile double-tongued pharaohs.
Cast out inner sycophantic slaves.
Lay civil barriers to ruin.
Surrender to grave knowledge of self.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
Challenge
Nobody wants an easy love
You say
There needs to be a challenge
Like not calling you for days
Like pretending to not care
Like being a dismissive/distant ****
In order to make you feel like you should really want me
Boo, that’s not challenge, that’s buying into the same ******** we are told to do as men:
Do not be intimate, vulnerable; do not surrender to love,
Pretend to be numb, strong, emotionless, and cold, be a man, be loveless,
Be a challenge, so that you may want to conquer me, conquer my flesh and colonize my spirit,
But neither my flesh nor my spirit needs for you to claim them
I need not to falsify my emotions in order to attract you
I do not want to pretend to be a cold lifeless chimera
I am not what you are looking for, but I am what you need.
Challenge:
The real challenge is interrupting old stories of masculinity
Letting me enter you, letting you enter me and surrender to each other’s flesh without guilt or fear of eternal damnation
Standing by me, standing by you even when it does not feel safe
And yes… it’s ok to tell me you miss me, think of me, are triggered by me, hurt by me, impacted by me, I want to know, silence is no challenge to me, knowing you and learning to love you as you guide me through the streets of your inner city heart is.
Vulnerability, communication, surrendering: challenge.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 9:29 PM UTC
When the shadows overtake me
I hope my throat is already slit.
/MERCY.
I've learned by now
That fast and painless
Is a concept of fiction.
It wouldn't matter
If you were to tear out my heart
Or rip out my spine,
It's all death just the same.
If you choose to take my life,
Don't take mercy into consideration,
Because mercy has been long lost
On those already rotting
In the graves dug in their minds.
/CONSUMPTION.
Peace from the darkness
Has taken the shape
Of your hand on the goblet,
With all my absolution taking the form
Of your loving embrace.
Let's build up our legions,
Show them the light in our gospel,
And convert them to our truth...
Such a beautiful proposition,
If we could work it out ourselves.
Wash over me with your holy sermon.
Let me absorb all your light.
Reconstruct all my arrogance
Upon the backs of the broken,
Just for the rare opportunity
For such a picture perfect landscape.
Monarchy never looked so stunning.
/EMPIRE.
Drowning is becoming an art.
Deeper and deeper
Into the depths do I venture,
All the while indifferent
To my lack of oxygen.
I'm plugging in plot holes.
I'm re-founding Byzantium,
And all for the iconography
That has left me
In such a state of marvel.
I don't want compromise
Or pity of any sort.
I just want you in tidal waves,
And to get pulled deeper
Beneath the whole of your personality.
In a modern world
So short on imperialism
Why was it so easy for you
To colonize my heart?
/TRANSLATION.
For the first time in years,
I need no translation.
I speak clearly, openly,
And without filtration.
She both listens and hears,
And that's not even the beginning
Of her infinite positive traits.
She's a modern masterpiece,
So above modern art.
I want to dissolve into her brilliance
If for even a moment.
/RECOIL.
I have nothing to fear.
I am the God of Death...
I am the shadows
That haunt even the deepest corners
Of my recuperating mind.
I'm gaining back the strength
To show the world once more,
That there are better, truer
Forms of evil in our control.
I am the culmination
Of the lives I have taken,
And now I choose to never
Be frightened by fate again.
I am the God of Death,
And now I choose to live.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
Today that disc of life, when in the east it rose
I found it a little more ominous, its end a little too close.
You don’t seem to mind it, maybe you don’t at all care
The object that makes your day, won’t be forever there.
Today it lends a friendly halo, shines bright on your homely turf
It won’t be like this for all the time, when it turns a white dwarf.
You find it nothing worrisome, too faraway to be any omen
That it is silently wearying itself out, burning up its hydrogen.
The blinding luminous ball, at which your eyes can’t gaze
Has still billions years to bow out, and halfway through its phase.
So what’s there to worry, the end is too longtime yet
Generations will come and go, before reaching destiny’s date.
But still the issue is something that deserves a serious plan
It involves a grave consequence, for the future of human clan.
Where will be our habitat, when dies our star of stars
When earth becomes inhabitable, will our abode be Mars?
For it will be billion years more the fireball will hold there out
Of all the planets the best bet, is our brethren Mars no doubt.
So maybe before our star burns out, we seek out another shore
Colonize the red planet in the sky, also called the planet IV.
An entire civilization will shift there, an enormous migration
Carrying with them love and hatred, all the human emotion.
They’ll make Mars another Earth, in a strange way I feel
We’ll not leave behind human divide, the inequity’s evil
Our boundaries and walls of color of skin, stigma of racial curse
Will they be all carried with us, transported to the new home Mars?
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 5:32 AM UTC
Close Enough To Sunday
It’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to these events,
where everyone’s dressed up,
but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…
written about ten books,
multiple international best sellers,
#1 Poetry Book in The World,
3 times in a row for worse or for better,
but really,
what am I saying,
and really,
what are you saying,
it’s all fckt up,
and we all know it,
still we pretend it’s all good till the end,
we had a Chance we just needed to not blow it,
but we did,
we neglected the earth,
even though we all knew and know,
that that Moment of Truth will hurt,
I can’t even have a drink at a club,
without feeling guilty for the pollution we’ve caused,
even when those drinks are free and served with a smile,
because I know that smile is covering some recently retreated sores,
we’ve neglected the poor,
and caused significant scars,
on the skin of the earth,
now Musk wants to colonize Mars,
and that’s not a shot at Elon,
I trust him and his vision,
he’s a genius creation,
a creative genius that generally makes good decisions,
I’m just saying,
given the current position,
whether Elon Musk or a homeless pigeon,
we’re all fckt and that’s the fckn situation,
it’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to these events,
where everyone’s dressed up,
but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…
still I put in work,
verse after verse,
cliche and cliche,
the Gift & The Curse,
like somehow,
I’ll be able to write all our wrongs,
answer all the questions,
and celebrate with sounds,
make Love and make Mysteries,
with a Stranger in a Strange Town,
and I’ve been up till way too Late:30 lately,
too tired to debate or hesitate when it’s time to get down,
down,
here,
the sky looks so beautiful,
the clouds,
from the ground,
are everything I choose to show,
so,
whatever,
what more can we say,
let’s go,
wherever,
‘cause when we've got it all the only thing we want to get is away,
want for nothing else,
it’s Close Enough to Sunday,
let’s take some time to take some time,
no need to go right now ‘cause we all go one way or another one day,
soon,
so,
so what,
so,
we’re fckt,
it’s all fckt up,
can’t even pretend that it’s not,
I get invited out to these events,
where everyone’s dressed up,
but I’m not,
I’m there in jeans and a t-shirt,
thanking those that are thanking me for writing these prophecies,
but really I’m not sure what all this work was or is really worth…
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC