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Pax Mar 2015

Complicated right and wrong,
human mistakes gone prolong.
hard to stop when truth hides
                     from many unseen lies.
Corruptions & conspiracies
        Mimics love for money.

Population demands increase
                and supply decrease.
Shortage of goods from over consumption.
Rare find in a brink of extinction.

sorry for being away, having some troubled thinking here, so here is the third one...
thanks for reading, I'll get back to you all....
tell me what you think?
fray narte Feb 2022
i can never love you the way i claim — delicately and without violence. i remember hating flowers and broken seashells, and my grandmother, hand-sewing pastel dresses. deep down, my bones are raised on stories of ancient wars and biblical battles carried from memory to memory, a string of generational blunders — i am made of my father's bitterness and my mother's denial. so i will love you with corruptions and apologies, with bled-out  veins, giving in like an emptied river, with all the poems i have read and forgotten, and with everything that makes me finitely human.
Protestry Jones May 2010
She's there on the corner this morning, as she is every morning.
A bundle of newspapers in her arms.
Her bundle of joy swaddled snugly on her back.
Her face time-worn, flush with the creases of a life insecure.
Her clothing time-tested, warm in the cold, cool in the heat.
Seemingly devoid of emotion, her face now and then reveals an inner light
– an inner light that flickers with the sale of a paper,
then comes to full beam with the coo of her son.
She probably doesn't — or can't — read the product she pushes
it serves merely to feed the mouths that call to her for sustenance.
Reports of pestilence, the day's corruptions and the growing war dead
are forgotten amidst the smiling innocence of her hijo.
Her son may never know material wealth, or even a life of plenty
but he'll know the love of his mother.
He may never ride in the fancy cars to which she caters, or vacation at Disneyland
but he'll understand the value of family.
One day, limbs that now flail aimlessly upon his mother's back will toil for her.
One day, his strong hands will do the heavy work so that his mother won't have to.
Perhaps, his efforts will keep her from perching her aging body on some unforgiving sidewalk,
at the feet of passersby, hand outstretched for pesos.
If he too can only avoid the pestilence, the corruptions and war that fill the front pages of the daily news.
This was inspired by a newspaper vendor on a street corner in Mexico. We would pass her every morning on my bus ride to school.
Protestry Jones Jul 2010
She's there on the corner this morning, as she is every morning.
A bundle of newspapers in her arms.
Her bundle of joy swaddled snugly on her back.
Her face time-worn, flush with the creases of a life insecure.
Her clothing time-tested, warm in the cold, cool in the heat.
Seemingly devoid of emotion, her face now and then reveals an inner light
– an inner light that flickers with the sale of a paper,
then comes to full beam with the coo of her son.
She probably doesn't — or can't — read the product she pushes,
it serves merely to feed the mouths that call to her for sustenance.
Reports of pestilence, the day's corruptions and the growing war dead
are forgotten amidst the smiling innocence of her hijo.
Her son may never know material wealth, or even a life of plenty
but he'll know the love of his mother.
He may never ride in the fancy cars to which she caters, or vacation at Disneyland
but he'll understand the value of family.
One day, limbs that now flail aimlessly upon his mother's back will toil for her.
One day, his strong hands will do the heavy work so that his mother won't have to.
Perhaps, his efforts will keep her from perching her aging body on some unforgiving sidewalk,
at the feet of passersby, hand outstretched for pesos.
If he too can only avoid the pestilence, the corruptions and war that fill the front pages of the daily news.
This poem was inspired by a newspaper vendor who was outside my bus at a particular intersection in Mexico, every day. She would sell to the bus passengers through the bus windows, or to whatever vehicle would get stopped at the stoplight. This was written in April, 2005.
its tha return of tha gangsta thanks to ya
too many blacks out here livin' they life in fear
families seeing tears problems tier
blurry visions make it hard to see clear my dear
cant get through the atmosphere
feel me it's the return of the gangsta I'd like to thank ya
Malcolm for giving me the principles and reaching a few people's
opening minds to grinds and you'll find
me chilling on the corner puffing marijuana yep I'm a gonna
in society outlaw outcast put my thoughts on blast
techs is humming cuz I smell war coming armies drumming
po folks crying innocent victims dying
for no apparent reasons caught in daily treasons which gives me a reasons to put an end to Americas sin but too many folks stuck in
a fantAsy called reality in actuality
they plotting our burials G
troops overseas findings empty caves so the government can make saves war profiteers racketeering gangsters hustlers
exposing lies don't be a busta like a Douglass no diamonds in my cutlass couldn't move so I had cut less people out of my circle I'm nerdy as urkel yea my intellect carefully selects
what's real from reality I envision myself as well as my enemies in a fatality so battling me I was made for war built off the backs of my ancestors sore yea white house was built by the slaves for white supremacy kind of irony they sayin' my folks was lazy?
worked up from Sun up to Sun down
I can't believe my folks walking with they heads towards the grounds
how bout we get mad and let off gun sounds pound for pound
you know they can't hang with us
that's why they had to make laws against us
scared of rise and corruptions ain't a surprise through the eyes
of real people who realize pain ain't a substitution for happiness bliss
I guess I was sunkissed
by wisdom mouth open hail Mary entered me and told me
we all family eyes lit no **** no fit nothing
but a glowing brain exemption of fame down goes my name
in the book of life made wisdom my wife
she took my arm she's my charm
as I glance at the souls gunned down on plantations farms gangsta....
Manny Mar 2014
I'm afraid to fall asleep
Because if I sleep
I'll dream
And if I dream
I'll dream only of you
Not of the way
That your smile is beautiful
Or the way that your laughter is contagious
No -
Instead, I'll dream
Corruptions
Tragedies
Fatal accidents
Yes -
The way you'll jump for your escape
By leaping from your chains
Or the way you'll jump for your life
By leaping to your death

Off a heightened building;

Or the way in which
Unknowingly
You'll drag me down along with you

*Because I can't live without you.
And I hate the fact that I hurt you and that you'll never forgive me, and that's why I'm tearing myself apart...

Written 10/3/14.  21:27
© Maniba Kiani
Zach Dailey Jan 2013
My eyes are glossed,
I can not see.
I'm just as lost,
As a rootless tree.

Young strong ambition,
Brought down by the evils of humanity.
A good life was once my mission,
Now I question my sanity.

I feel separated from the world.
Reality is a fragment of my imagination.
What appears straight is curled.
Light is just a mere imitation.

We seek justice that is always blind.
For our laws are rooted in discrimination.
Greed serves as the currency of our kind,
And profit the sole motivation.

To see the corruptions of our society,
And sit outside and observe.
Brings a cold chill of sobriety,
and feeling of atrocity to my nerve.

My eyes are glossed,
I can not see.
I'm just as lost,
As a rootless tree.

For every beautiful creature,
There is complementary predation and blight.
For every miraculous feature,
There is a parallel of war and spite.

You can choose to accept things as they exist,
Or be the person that brings in change.
But if our current circumstances persist,
Our decedents will learn nothing but rage.

A wise man once said:
"Be the change you want to see."
So peace and love I will spread.
And live by the same decree.

I will use my tools,
Given to me by my Creator.
To make wise men of fools,
And make the common good greater.

My eyes are now clear,
And I can see.
I no longer appear,
As a rootless tree.
Crow Nov 2023
among the lean and
narrow hours
when the brutal minutes
aggrieve
like the protruding ribs
of an emaciated animal

abandoned things shuffle
into dark unkempt little rooms
littered
with the manifested debris
of a life

unspoken thoughts
in rusted cans
stacked heedlessly
on overused shelving
bowing perilously under the weight

mangled hopes
kicked into the corners
stuck to the floor
foul and fetid
vitiated with wasted time

black mold
leaking from dilapidated hearts
creating pointillism art
across the sagging plaster
overhead

consuming an ersatz
Sistine Chapel ceiling

saints and angels
prophets and devils
sepia toned
in their water stain media
disappearing
into corruptions artistic virtuosity

only God remains visible
reaching out
to give life

if any are left
to receive it
Lewis Hyden Nov 2018
A wish is lost
In an instant. Outside
The street that never sleeps
Festers below sheets
Of bitter rain. Your eyes burn in

Words you cannot read.
Concrete shimmers in the
Gleam of a million tears.
The sky above is thick with years
Of tar, like an enormous pavement.

Eyes shut, but still
Blue light permeates the
Shallow barrier of your hands,
Corruptions of sin, and fear,
And silence. You try to scream, but
You do not know how.
A poem about corporate control.
#2 in the Distant Dystopia anthology.

© Lewis Hyden, 2018
A decomposer
of brutish sins oft
repeated, I worm
past the pretty germs
shut tight in candied
shells, bursting to birth
untapped corruptions.
It's on the sawdust
dollops buried deep
I feed, biting bits
from soiled skins riddled
by regrets of not
offending good more.
Turning their oaken
flavors o'er gently,
my mouth will work them
down to a relish
of soft, black leavings.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Emily Kaminski Oct 2014
Look at where you are now,
look at what's become of you.
I'm so sorry that you have turned to pieces and dust.
All from letting your protective coat down,
from people who mistreated you.
The sad truth is,
that you're just the image of me,
how I feel inside.

Broken porcelain doll,
Broken porcelain doll,
who once was so beautiful,
but has fallen into so many wrong hands.
Hands that keep on breaking promises,
and those broken promises is what destroyed you.
Now that you're broken into pieces and dust,
we play a game,
a game that gambles this so called 'fate'.
Let it decide, for you to be thrown away,
or for you to be created into a new.

It's so unfortunate,
how many cruel people exist.
Due to their own experiences and choices they make;
from hurt, loss of values, corruptions and influences.
Yet, knowing the way they are,
they have the nerve to 'keep a promise'.
They think they can keep one,
though of eventually, it's forgotten.
Those are one of the things that made you fell apart.
These broken promises breaks you into pieces.
Sadly those people still exist.
They fend on the fragile creatures like you,
on the moment it's in their sight,
to keep breaking them all apart.
That's what makes them satisfied.
Sorry I went blind for a while,
poor you.

Maybe it wasn't meant to be.
For you to be created in this world,
that's filled with heartless souls.
So rest now,
you warn out, faded broken doll,
and just gamble with 'fate'.
Just waiting what'll decide.
I'm sorry,
I couldn't make you solid, no more.
For now, I'll gently caress whatever's left from you.
Broken pieces of porcelain, dust, and materials from your clothes.
The least we can do
is wish for the best to happen to you;
To be created into a new.
You never deserve this my inner-self.
When it's in a format like this, it's a song. THIS IS ONE OF MY SONGS THAT I WROTE! Don't take it! It's too precious!

There you see!? I posted a song! Happy now, Paul? XP
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
the people look like flowers at last, and i guess
what matters most is how well you walk through the fire*
worth the palette, and the eyes - it's the beef tongue honesty
as cited in the poem of the same name -
never mind the 1930s poem -
i too wish i could have written the 1980s
(Poland) - but the communist years
are marred and budding in China while
people bemoan the two years under Martial
Law - and queues, endless queues for
provisions, and stamps for rationed food,
and shops filled with empty shelves or
white vinegar (a childhood friend's mother
was rumoured to have committed suicide
by drinking white vinegar) -
in all honesty i guess before the borders opened
and products started pouring in we could
have claimed a happy childhood,
but for us back then it was the call of the wild -
and the fact that we were together as kids,
even though the steel plant was being undermined
for profit and people were either forced to
leave to somewhere else in the country or
abroad - a thriving beehive of a town reduced to
what became know as the pensioner town -
supermarkets sprouted like churches, the city
centre once a trading hot spot was now the bank
square - nothing but banks; growing up i used to
travel for summer holidays - a fit child i became
hooked on the coca cola dream - between 16 and 17
i lost 30 kilograms on my bike back home, doing
50 kilometres a day - once the fat kid at the back
of the class, now the pomegranate munching hippy -
but that didn't matter: aged 21... god... jealousy
is so horrible, it transcends the healthy competitive
streak of sports and capitalism - now, each waking
hour i wait for the evening so i can numb the pain
riddling my brain - it's like being perpetually nibbled
on my an electric chair - and i can't do anything about
the sizzling of blood on this organic sponge -
headphones sometimes provide an equilibrium
and i jack-in and the pain is reduced - but try talking
to someone when you can't hear them - god, jealousy
is so horrible - i remember times when i'd go with
the guy to Reagent's Park mosque and sit there on
the minimalist floor and just absorb this grand
poly-chromatic social experiment - born into a monochromatic
culture i was fond of the diversity - but times have
changed for the worse, and i'm proof of it -
as i already mentioned the other great schism (not
in religion but) in medicine - what insanity overcomes
them treating physical damage with metaphysical
promises of a chemical imbalance? they treat the brain
as some ******* chicken soup - thankfully i was well
aware of everything - but that's beside the point,
why i survived i attribute to what happened to Sisyphus -
i'm not going to be as bombastic as the original version
depicts Sisyphus, son of Atlas (both of them the boulder
men) - well, i don't see Sisyphus as an absurd hero
like Camus - i very much see him akin to Loki (the trickster),
but it's not about that - for me Sisyphus had a near-death
experience, and was condemned by the gods to
that boulder of his and the ***** and the rolling back
and forth as punishment for that Sisyphus had no insight
from his near-death experience - he didn't become a poet,
and he certainly didn't become a philosopher -
nor a ***, rebellious in the sense that what Sisyphus
did do is return to business as usual - he had no insight
into death, he didn't befriend it, he didn't akin to
Marcel Proust or Tristan Tzara gain "a new way of seeing";
not many people have near-death experiences in all
honesty - and from the myth as stated, few can return
with insight - most come back with cliches, the unimaginative
white light at the end of the tunnel -
Sisyphus was condemned to the boulder for his lack
of inspiration - then again, any madman talking about
the next world with promises is doing a handstand while
attempting to outperform someone running the hundred
metres - circus Olympics - what's keeping me motivated
is what others would call the Cartesian extension -
my brain can't craft a fluid cognitive narrative with ease
as it once was able to do - these are snippets of what reminds
me of the ease that the brain once hosted -
which contradictory if Descartes was about -
a thinking thing is un-extended - if that were true
he wouldn't have out-poured his thinking onto a blank
page - matter extends but does not think - unless of course
you get into a debate about god (i don't see the point
ascribing atheism all the perks - i'm also referring to an
impersonal entity, not a personal entity that might require
praying five times a day for personal gains and repressed
grievances - you know, god of the airy fairy and the casual
phrasing of the word that is usually censored by
Jews - g- -d - which i find as absurd as western censorship
of oath words). so coming back to this Descartes point,
it's true that physical corruption (damage) would qualify
me as a non-thinking entity, pure matter, and therefore
purely extending onto this digital pixel white -
but the counter argument is... there's a distinction between
thought and narrative - and given the casual standard
of philosophy is more akin to narration than abstraction
of either 2 + 2       in mathematics, or μ + ω
in phonetic encoding or whether ω could be encoded
to a more aesthetically pleasing macron-omicron (ō) -
because if we're going to follow Descartes prescription
(they are like doctors, those philosophers, or that's
how i treat them, every key idea they regurgitate out
from their predecessors - a priori - and is new
and challenging i treat it like i'd treat a prescription from
a doctor - Heidegger, for example, prescribed me
the equivalent of sleeping pills for my insomnia) we
don't have to necessarily accept it as the gold standard,
holy, a sword in a stone - but i'm not going to fall
for the rigidity of their vocabulary, the part where using
imagery would refer to a monkey pushing cubes
through a canvas of squares to the other side of something -
or that great table tennis match of philosophical
narration - how did something, nothing, everything,
anything
are categorised as pronouns akin to
i, you, me, he etc. - i don't like their concentration on
either nothing or the basic self - that always bothered me -
but i guess it adds to the fluidity of language -
now i'm lost in my own labyrinth - and there's
the Minotaur on my heels breathing pungent hot-snot
from his snout - which can only mean one thing -
a trap to get into fixations and the stability of words
as one-dimensional, non-deviating from a unitary meaning,
rigidity of the non-existence of synonyms -
basically burning the Thesaurus Rex - which also means
no oil for cooking or butter for bread, or anti-ageing
creams - if ever anyone wanted one-dimensional
words, rigid language, a stability of some sort,
safe ~chemistry experiments read from a primer and
never new, black is black, white is white -
well... but i guess there's a preference for such an
approach to language, rather than the antonym of
such use of it, with negations in politics, in jurisprudence,
lies and corruptions, nuances, games and injured
hearts;
            Sisyphus ibin Atlas was punished because after
a near-death experience he didn't come back with
any insight - he just returned to his day job, and didn't
gamble on something beautiful - however
scrambled eggs it looked like.
ants in the kitchen will leave by easter. he said it should be on the same day each year; he is learned, pronounced as two bits.

dusting

cobwebs away, yet not all of them. an old house., national trust where all is care and cleaning. they leave some now for authenticity.

it has been a wet winter, look at the water stains in the fireplace.
do not fret, i know you worry, i will paint it over in the spring.

it is a long time since the sun shone in long and low like that.
sbm
PNasarudheen Dec 2012
The New year 2013, in trepidation slips faintly;
              head-long in India while it bleeds shockingly. .

The patient Sea awaits its souls rained  rudely.
while somebody blocks their brooks brutally.
Poor parents awaits nurses as patients patiently
for nurses to nurse ere their pulse falls abruptly.
For thirteen days we forgot the feudal FDI fully
Our M.Ps’ empathy poured in media profusely.
“Thirteen” an accursed number mourns lowly
holding high the news of **** or hope crudely
News of corruptions and the corrupted partly
merge or submerge in clamour in vain freely.
The reckless leads a life carefree fearlessly
And they glide in politics scot-free wryly

              Pharaohs wield the  power to save and to ****
              Challenging God’s sole unique authority, still.
              The twinkling starry eyes, of my darling, fill
              In me Calm  Nature’s emerald hope and Will.
Edmund black Jun 2018
They say
Where there is hope
There will be life

 I say
What is life without
Happiness & fairness
What is life without
Proper funding
To buy even the
Basic Things
In life
              
 I say
 In hope
 I see our children
 Starving

In hope
I see our children
Gunned down
Everyday on our
Streets, and even
Inside their classrooms

In hope
I See too many
Heart broken

In hope
I see our blue Angels
Gunning down
My brothers, just
Because
Of the color of
Their skin

In hope
I see our elected
Officials
Corruptions at a
Different level

In hope
I see racism
Evolved

In hope
I see the world
On the verge
Of collapsing

In hope
I see pastors
Appearing
On television
Defending
The wicked

In hope
I see too many
Tears
From our
Mothers  Eyes

In hope
I see nothing
But a path of
Thorns towards
Peace

In hope
I say
I am hopeless

And in
Hopelessness
I am lifeless
       Yet
I’m still holding
   On to hope
Viseract Feb 2017
I cleansed my hands of corruption today
For I had done a filthy deed
I gazed into the mirror
I saw corruptions seed

In harvest of its fruits
My ends justified my means
And although there's not a mark
I'll not be truly clean

You may question what I did
But it is my belief
That it's better to feel something
Even if it makes you bleed
There lies a sense of resignation, of guilt, of hatred and emotions, where previously there were none. My selfish actions have hurt another, and I am sorry for that

But glad to feel again
What is our reality?
Bulging waistlines and burger joints?
Sweatshops and religious fights?
Our poisoned food system and corporate profits?
Our jailrate is as high as Mao and Stalin.
These revolving doors and corruptions cannot blind us anymore.
We, the people, deserve to know.
People who hate, depreciate.
The fact is, who can we trust?
Certainly not our bankers,
but what about the Chief Executive Officers,
full of evil and greed?
What about Rana Plaza and Tazreen?
Burning bodies to ash.
And they can get away with
burning bodies?
There was the Holocaust
and then...
there was now.
I saw this girl's poem and automatically related to it. Thank you Ellen for letting me use this poem...although I wish you didn't go. :(
Ant Mar 2022
In all honesty, I’m scared. I’m a scared 13-year-old boy trapped inside a 23-year-old man’s body who has been stripped of all joy due to the corruptions of an overly demanding society and what could be considered an unstable mind. In all honesty I’m scared of joy.

What disruptions and changes may joy make to the apathetic lifestyle I’m so used to, yet want to rid of so badly? A broken cycle I’m stuck in yet change to something considered better is what I’m unsure of. Is it my lack of faith or the fact that it will feel like I’m climbing a mountain to adjust to this new joyous lifestyle that all so desperately seek?

Maybe I’m meant to a life of the mundane, but whose really to say besides the Lord Himself, who promises a life to the full. Yet I question this, where has joy been within my 23 years of a sorrowful life?

At the same time, I follow the Lord due to this promise, holding on with a faith that may seem blind to many, but to me my faith stems out of the beauty of suffering and the hope of what is to come from the things that are unseen to the naked eye.

An odd paradox, yet one where I hear the call to “take heart, o beloved son.”
Poetic T Sep 2016
Death played hopscotch he threw his
touch then his feet grasped upon the
souls of mortal man and there hearts
were stopped twelve steps of death.

He lifted his cloak so to see where
to jump, one jump, two jump third
jump and three drop dead like fallen
trees they fall in the breeze.

He could play this all day the pebble each
one a heart, he lifts it up jolting in his
bony fingers and then looks as it beat
within his palm then crumbles it to dust.

Then anguish and pain the daughter of
death that help him in his role in the world
"father let us once again play our game,
He smiles and skips on broken spines.

Mother please, As decay walks over asking
what is this scream not of mortal breath?
Its daddy he is ruining our game,
off the children's play thing I say.

Death wallows as his fun is ended, and
once again death now cant end their  
suffering as his children once again
Linger there misery on human kind.

"My husband I no you meant well,
But children must learn from mistakes.
Now come with me and let us rest in
the earth and linger in corruptions embrace.
John B Oct 2014
[C]
Crows caw chanting cheerfully conquest comes

contemplating Corinth cutting crucks cradling crucifixs

chamber chatter checks corruptions cost

contemptment's cunning cloth

contained corrosion's cornering confrontation

coins claimed confirm crooks carry charges

contaminated city's crumble

community's commence

citizens content

come correct

collect

C
hyanleng Oct 2017
Corruptions was as old as this ancient province. As the population multiplied and new cities formed, organized crimes often followed. Many who lived in Guangxi went about their normal daily lives as they worked at various occupations, however, lives can have their secrets and evil lurked in the shadows. Many of the townspeople possessed slaves; slaves who had a high value that governed the economics of the law-breaking world. Human traffickers, along with drug lords, ruled this region. To keep their actions hidden, the crooks bribed the officials to look the other way.
Gary W Weasel Jr Jan 2013
Corruptions exist
    Many of cruelness
    Many of religion
    Many of sickness
    Many of well being
    Many of evil
    Many of peace

Corrupt the soul into acting on anew
Yet the peaceful cannot be corrupted.
The longer the company,
The easier the corruption.
Corruption does not annihilate one trait,
For only it can hide it, to its extend.

Curiosity and the yearning to learn,
Can never be manipulated, only hid.

It's up to the peaceful to uncover
it.
Written June 14, 2002

My
Skin is pinned down
In crumbles to your sorcery


And
You've reigned
Supreme_a being
Bottling me in your whims with cursory


Unkindly
You've muse me to corruptions
But in the depths of your cravings


Every
Gentle kiss on the neck
Rhymes my whole body
In thunder-storms raving


In
Your eyes
Are thousand poker-portraits
Fashion amongst diamonds to spot
And set lose blown prides


You
Have shackled my mind
With what seem like pink ivys
And I'm charged with effervescent
So let's ride


The
Comfort zones
The undying desires
Of whence poets hold pencils
And write in the skies
Hoping the times stride them not dry


But
Now
Let me touch your body and learn
The language you speaks
For your sensual voice louds and echoes
The meanings of all the totems
The pre-colonial gods cried


A Sorcery Captive

Historian E.Lexano

○Recalcitration With Excellence○

○Still Your Favourite Romantic Poet○
David Watt Jul 2010
i have no love for those that condemn,
i have nowt but sympathy for those that turn to the unseen.
Faith is but a little girl,
daughter of most beautiful hope.

Her father is corruption,
who embraces her in the shadows.
Her mother is lost in night,
too weak to find her and to fight.
to give her truth,
and give her meaning,
to send the lies of her father fleeing.

So hold tight daughter of the night,
i alone am witness to your plight,
and will hold your hand in Corruptions blight.
untill sweet hope comes into sight.
this will be edited at a later date
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
With improvised backpacks
& flowers in their hair,
they were forging new beginnings,
building dreams for brighter futures.

Marching toward victory
under the sacred heavens,
they were snuffed out
through the end of a barrel,
the guns of the ruling class.

Ignorance & hate rule our days,
but surely wealth & power
cannot withstand the coming tides.

The hours will come when
the guerillas will seek truth,
a recompense
for the dense fog
that makes us blind
to their corruptions
& killings.

Some call it Armageddon,
others call it righteous justice.
I say karma.
Graff1980 Sep 2015
When the aggression keeps taking possession of your soul.
When you anger and entitlements makes you violent.
When you are licensed by the state which supports your hate.
When your crime happens time and time again.
When you blacken and harden your heart against a group.
When you ignore the truth and our youth who cry.
When the sidewalk runs liquid red then dark dry.
How can you expect me not to see the hatred.
How can you expect me not to see the corruptions.
When I wipe back the tears and find my own outrage
And a part of me almost gives into hate.
Seeing bullet hole tear through my brothers cloth’s
Because every man is my brother
And every mother who mourns the loss
Of her child shot by the cops is my sister
When will this madness ever stop.
Death’s Dictator Rendered

   Countries and leaders

    They coexist in a paradox of “one needs another.”

     Power is alike a potent drink

     To power’s heads, such intoxicates and corrupts a brother.

    Shielding one self through words that justify a blood bath

     Words handed over

     to the trusting populations……

     in order to capture a ticket to power’s seat

     with such, promises and trustful actions never do they meet….

    A push of a button….

     A jab with a verbal knife…..

     Strikes another nation.

     Through corruptions and anger

     derived from ill faded and egocentric power bursts…

      Destruction rains over

     those that they consider a “rival”.

       Walls cutting off roads  

      to the needless spread of targeting those  “others”

      defined as  the obstruction to  their greedy targets of expression

      of joyful power intoxication through war and money absorbing actions.

      in which a job…

       people are recruited from the populous.

      Whom  the dictator  loves to employ…

       Soldiers in their “war to their just cause”

       the population is brainwashed to oblivion.

      Without a true view of who and what they are fighting for….

      until the world is shaken and almost rendered “extinct.”

      Through these pig headed wars….

      A show of strength…..

       to hide their weaknesses…

      the purge of adversaries…..    

      ensures their hold to their sword of power.

      As memories of those fallen

      on their forgotten grave sites….

       another….

      who remembers a forgotten and misunderstood heart….

       on their tombstone…

they place upon it a beautiful flower.
JS Hollins Nov 2015
Is humanity so arrogant to believe
you had the option to live as divines?
Keep reassuring yourselves, a
That a serpent caused your mortality!
How  fragile this whole universe must be
if my forked tongue can warp it!
Fine, let me stand as your antagonist,
let me account for your sins.
I’ll wear your accusations as a badge of pride,
While you live  in the illusion of your innocence.
Blame me for your blemishes and corruptions
instead of glaring at the true adversary in your mirror.
I didn’t stuff the fruit into those fools’ throats
or sentence you to suffering.
I was a mere emissary on duty, created as cunning,
Just as you were created to fall from ignorant grace.
So sit around your tables,
pray for deliverance from  the horrors
this ancient snake supposedly inflicts.
Hissing with a smug glee
I’ll curl around that ****** tree,
Because for all the forgiveness you claim,
No one seems to pray for me.
from the perspective of the serpent of eden/satan/devil
The day comes but once a year
For pranksters, jokers and the fools
To bring a twisted kind of cheer
By breaking all the rules

Doughnuts filled with mayo
Is just one of many things
With googly-eyed potatoes
Hiding in the wings

Masquerading caramel onions
And toothpaste oreos
Fun with food corruptions
Are there for your dispose

Mento ice-cube bombs for soda
Clear nail polish painted soap
Anecdotal numbered quotas
A high jinks kaleidoscope

Pranks and hoaxes they like to play
On unsuspecting fellows
Deeming themselves as attache's
To the 'April Fools' bellows
Ghost Writer 3 Apr 2016
Woken from adolescence
the shifting bruised us
feelings built into the corruptions
from the past abuse

I feel a hole
all the days feel the same
sometimes we wonder
is this the edge
then we see,
we have already gone under

black, it all feels black
this hole
the wall
their words
let's take a picture
lets hope it disappears

to rest alone
we see it clearer than glass
the greatest event to come
is the event we have last

but we don't want to fantasize
about holding on
for what they do to us
has no measure
and the only thing that follows
is letting go

we soon learn
that everything we want
is a dream
and waking up
is the same as falling
when you fall asleep
into the ashes
we all fall down

e.s.
Jimmy Hegan Sep 2015
Raise your voice,raise your hands.
Raise  your voice against un justice and wrong full deeds.
Raise your hands against corruptions and ******.
Raise your voice to keep yourself alive in the world
Raise your hands to keep away from crime and ******.
Raise your voice to keep everyone calm and peace full.
Raise your hands to keep your nation clean from everything.
My corruptions from the inside
Are My destructions from a blind mind
Stumbling from pit stop to rest stop
Needing more, but running out of time
Craving some real love
Receiving that hypodermic bug
From  fiending
To once again I'm clean
To get spun
Around
The insanity has yet to be seen
Or yet to be believed
That I might have a problem
A medical disease
That leaves me on my knees
Asking please, no pleading please
To God , to Satan, to any power
Magical, mystical, sweet, or sour
From a genie in a lamp
To that ***** I mean witch in her tower
To combine the blue with the red pill
To create a cure or maybe just a crazier thrill
**** there it goes again
The side of my brain
That isn't quite sane
But ingenious plots it still maintains
And executes
Just so we can taste forbidden fruit
And for a moment be in bliss
Where everything makes sense
But then we fall, no crash
Going down to fast
Burned up by atmospheric friction
Unable to grasp full attention
Atten hut
Can't stand strait from spinal tension
And acrobatic catorsions

you
That's right you
addict brain
I'm fighting to just maintain
Some normality
While you fight to obtain every psychological abnormality
That a shrink can write a script for
So you can once more
Numb our brain
So no longer you and I are at war
Because we feel nothing
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2020
it's only ever sensible to point out
classism for the english...
given the hierarchy of... genesis: crown...
it's not like there
was ever an arrived at cromwellian
republicanism... ever!
there's a need to posit:
a shadow is an extension of the body...
best visible come noon...
the shadow is never
an invitation to replace the body...
beside there being a noon...
but i like the idea...
for all the superiority
of sensible ideas: that are never
a ******* light-bulb...
when england came across india:
it didn't conquer it...
it merely... reinvented itself...
and brought back a taste for curry
for the plebs...
sowwy... towing what's most
honestly twoo...
    then again... without a(n) ego-crown...
h'american tabloid press
"republicanism"...
i don't know which is worse...
i still best flip
a coin that has lizzy's itchy
nose on the base of:
counter corruptions...
such that the popes have met
their: post-scriptum...
i promised myself this...
i'll commit myself...
to ol' susie lo'...
if... and only if and only when...
ol' lizzie has done the
sinker!
         then! when i'll...
pay for ***** and giggles
with a tenner that 'as 'er
son's visage... detailing...
how best to arrive at ******!
and i will sing! god save! our! king!
i must say: muttered best:
quiff of blonde... herr schtrap!
and kooning 'arlie!
yes... best come across the knee...
and tooth biting sand...
sort of... grit!
Channelle Aug 2017
Political Dynasty
--Elle.Prvnt

Politics isn’t about competing for accolade
But for the good things you’ve made
Rulers, people placed all of you in position
To help our dear nation
You help the citizens, you may say
You can tell that boastfully
But answer this question in good way-
Are those things wholeheartedly?

From ages to ages, the politics grow
But the government’s false systems never go
Now I know that over falsehood, we can’t win
The ruler’s throne is passed on his every kin.

I thought that only on ancient times I could see
The so-called Dynasty
But I was wrong, because when the truth unfolded,
The azure skies turn red
I found my pen ‘neath the somber night
And I know what it portrays
So my heart didn’t hesitate to write
The things on these present days

Your kinsfolk spread on the near and distant regions
For what- for corruptions?
O, be true on yourself and do not be guilty
‘cause that’s what people see
Do not boast about the things you did
Or even say that you’re great
Wake up! pride flows on your every deed
Cruelty lies on your heart’s gate!

As the dark years of dawning long-term service rise,
Men were filled with deep sighs
What happened to the votes, what happen to their trust
Why corruption didn’t last?
Servants of my country, hear my voice
Do not hide on the shadow
For the truth will come, bringing a noise
To the days of tomorrow

I know that to help the people is your aim
But it is obvious that you only want fame
Are you a good leader of society,
With astray brain full of greed and vanity?

You can pretend that you give hands to the poor
With fake smiles on them, you can take a picture
Hey Mr. Corrupt, I know your idea
That is impress the people, use the media!

You may say I’m young because I’m only fifteen
But I know, truth shall win!
Why you didn’t let the others serve the people
Is there any trouble?
Or are you scared of the true stories?
False rulers, you’ll see one day
The revelations that never cease
Lies will unfold, truth will stay.

Say now that you’ve done many things in service
Those where your obligations! on boasting- cease!
I know you know that your high soaring ego
Will make you suffer the truth and you’ll fall low.

How can people respect you as good leaders,
With your falsehood, how can we be followers?
And if there is political dynasty,
How can we reach country’s success, how can we??
Salmabanu Hatim May 2018
Happiness is a choice,
Your choice,
Your desire,
Your focus,
If so,what about
Victims of war torn countries,
Seeing your men, women and children die before you.
A country under dictatorship,
Not knowing if you will see the next sunrise for a minor offence.
Abused, abused and abused all your life.
Terminally sick,fighting for the last breadth,
Injustices, corruptions and poverty,
Never a chance to come out of it,
Cause it is willed in your destiny not your choice.
If happiness is a choice who would not take it,
If happiness is a choice
There would be no physicatrists,
no depressions and no suicide,
no shootings, no revenge.
If happiness is a choice bad would not prevail.
Whomever I have loved have left me,
I try to be happy, am I,
This heart of mine just doesn't want to listen.
I tried to find exciting and fun happiness,
I tried to find calm and peaceful happiness,
But there is still a void.
If happiness was a choice no one would pray or remember God.
I just cannot digest that happiness is a choice
Big Virge Sep 2021
Folks These Words Are NO Token... !!!
... And NO I’m NOT JOKING... !!!
  
A Lot of World Systems...  
Now Seem To Be BROKEN... !!!  
    
Because of A VIRUS...  
And COMPLICIT Silence...    
From Those In Environments...  
Where Money’s The Tyrant...  
That Keeps Them Compliant...  
Like Mind Controlled Liars... !!!  
    
And Because of New Tech...  
That May Well Represent...  
... EXTINCTION Events...  
Where Humans Regress...  
And Face Nonexistence...  
Because of... Nonsense... ?!?  
That REJECTS Common Sense...  
    
That’s Now ABSENT From Commons...  
And Heads Running Congress... !!!  
    
Policies of DURESS...    
Now Provide MALCONTENT...  
That Makes People Dismiss...  
Embracing Disciplines... !!!  
    
That We Should NOT Forget...  
Like... ABSENCE of Malice...  
And Youth Violence... !!!  
    
MORE Trust of Each Other...  
LESS HATRED of Colour... !!!  
RESPECT For Our Mothers...  
And Fathers Who Love Us...  
Instead of ADULTER...  
With **’s Undercover... !!!  
    
More Actions That Smother...  
CORRUPTIONS Uncovered...  
    
So That They’re REMOVED...  
From Our World Leaders Crews...  
    
MORE TRUTH In The News... !!!  
And LESS That’s Confused...  
    
And LESS Foolish Notions...  
That Leave People BROKEN... !!!  
Until They LOSE Focus... !!!  
    
LESS Deceitful P.O.T.U.S... !!!  
And Media JOKERS... !!!  
    
MORE Verse With An ONUS...  
To STAND UP For TRUTH... !!!  
    
Instead of It’s Use...  
Being Simply... ABUSED... !!!  
    
And By This I’m Meaning...  
LESS Verse That Is Reaping...  
Rewards For POOR TEACHINGS...  
And IGNORANT Leanings... !!!  
    
Like... VIOLENT Acts...  
And LUSTING For Cash...  
As Well As *** Missions...  
That Just DEMEAN Women... !!!  
    
As Well As Young Girls...  
Until They Are BROKEN... !!!  
By... ****** Commotions...  
That Lead To WRONG TURNS...  
    
LESS... Genetic Testing...  
And Chem’ Trails Connected...  
To Make... BIO WEAPONS... !!!  
    
LESS Money Invested...  
In New Tech Progressions...  
And Food That’s Produced...  
By... GMO Groups... !!!  
    
LESS Weapons In View...  
That Now Create Coups...  
And Protests And Chants...  
From People Who March... !!!  
    
LESS Enforcement of Arms...  
That Leave Our Young HARMED...  
Because of Gendarmes...  
And Police Firearms... !!!  
    
Less People Who Hark...  
To REJECT Natures Path... !?!  
    
MORE Love And MORE Charm...  
And LESS ANGER That Starts...  
The Use of Remarks...  
To Break Peoples Hearts...  
In Public Chatrooms...  
That Are Globally Viewed...  
Because That’s NOT COOL... !!!  
    
LESS RESPECT For These Names...  
Who’ve Gained Themselves Fame...  
For Indulging Shame Games...  
And NOT Using Their Brains... !!!  
    
Let Me Say That AGAIN... !!!    
    
LESS RESPECT For These Names...  
Who’ve Gained Themselves Fame...  
For Indulging Shame Games...  
And NOT Using Their Brains... !!!  
    
LESS Seeking Attention...  
MORE THINKING That’s LEVEL...  
Instead of Dishevelled...  
Because It Is... BROKEN... !!!  
    
Just Like TORTURED Rebels...    
Who REJECT Oppression... !!!  
    
This Wordplay Is POTENT...  
And May Well UNSETTLE...  
    
Just Like Thunder Storms...  
That Cut Power OFF...    
When Lightning Hits Shores...    
Rooftops And Much MORE... !!!  
    
These Words Have Been Written...  
Because I’ve Bared Witness...  
To How NATURES POWER...  
Can Cause DEMOLITIONS...  
Just Like Burning Towers...  
And DESTRUCTIVE Visions... !!!  
    
And NO I’m NOT JOKING... !!!  
These Words I’m Now Quoting...  
    
Are Because....  
    
At This Moment...  
    
My Room Has No Light...  
To Aid My Poor Sight...  
On This Powerless Night... !!!    
    
Barbados’s Oceans...  
Are All That I Hear...  
Because Natures Steered...  
It’s Powers Right Here... !!!  
    
And Has Made My Mind Focus...  
On What It Is Showing... !!!  
    
That If We Aren’t Wise...  
And Ignore Natures’ Signs...  
That Where We Are Going...  
With Tech And Invoking...  
NONSENSICAL Notions... ?!?  
of Being ALL KNOWING...  
    
We’ll Leave Our Young People...  
To Powers SO EVIL...  
That They’ll Become Feeble... !!!  
    
In Ways Where This World...  
Just Like Them...  
    
Will Become.....  
    
.............. “ BROKEN “........... !!!
A very powerful storm took power out for about 26 hours in Barbados, and just before it came back on, I wrote this in almost, complete silence and darkness....
We opened a book that started with the name
of our country.
The right side was numbered corruptions  and the other side was numbered greed & bad leaders.
We burnt the stride of our bodies into aches and dreams waving away fire and foliage of silence.
Women learnt to carry portrait of bodies of their dead children on their shoulders, beautiful corpse.
It reminded us of the civil war in front of our Father's betrayed house.
It reminded us of lyrics written on the walls of our Hut with a framed keys of memories.
Love that taught us to look back into our heart and draw current of men in their ignorance in search
of a better home than those bridges we burnt.
Things like the pains in the eyes of a boy,
Things like the tale on the lips of a girl,
Things like sadness in the soul of a mother painting the images of her lost children in prayers.
Those strange tears stranded between chapters of the smoke as they travelled to the lonely cloud,
With the echoes of our forefathers last libation
Like the voices trailing from a boy's name for the lost of his prestige.
There are things that we may not know that leave our footprints to our heart through the opening in our nostrils and ears.
In our land was where a boy once stood on the face of the sun, his shadow reflected on a mirror.
He saw his future carted away by his fears.
Lost girls found in his assaulted plights
Trying to find home in a shark's mouth.
They hold water from the oceans together basking their hope on the traffic of women holding their bodies and leaving their dead for survival.
We do not live in the moon!
We do not whisper to the wind of the song we
heard him sing every day!
Of things that come in white and black are
like our straying country weeping with the
images of the masses.
Like those corpses brought back to BENUE.
Those images are the images of darkness projected by a big screen of the sky to our eyes.
Our names burnt into different rivers holding different tribes that seek for freedom.
We wrecked our testimonies to bleed blood with flames to suffocating cities surrounded with pity.
Those things on white are  the way we were built but the black demons corrupted us all leaving memories to sneak our hearts into dark places where mischievousness can take over us.


©John Chizoba Vincent
FromAPenRefusingFrustrations.

— The End —