Today I woke up and saw blood run down my nose,
The wetness shocked me like water from a hose,
As I searched myself I came across many lines,
Far more than a person my age should have designed,
Upon my canvas also lies a bit of weight,
Not enough for muscles just enough to be in shape,
My entire body is covered in a throw of fur,
Mentally I could never give into shaving, it's absurd,
Why should I change the Lords work?
My moms work, my pops work, it's what I'm worth,
Physically, I'm far from a perfect being,
But, who can seriously claim to be perfect, see
A crease from furrowed brows and tough thoughts,
Is what's needed for many to eventually get across,
The bridge that holds our destiny,
If we're true to ourselves then soon we'll see,
That each one of us is one of the worlds instruments,
A tool to be used in whatever way to represent,
The total collectiveness of our spirit,
The human spirit and the lives that go near it,
Social justifications for monstrous actions,
Aren't enough to give any sense of satisfaction,
The mind is only of a single individual,
As such the thoughts of others and their ridicule,
Is not enough to influence a movement or a truth,
An idea can spread contagions to the youth,
Through them and so on the ways get passed on,
Thrown out are false ideas and politicians who were lax on,
The middle and under man and their predicaments,
**** their lack of care, we are Gods fingerprints,
For whom the bells toll, hands fly up and grab,
Our faces by the cheeks and together we will laugh,
Because a world of unity comes after the stage fright,
Look at the anonymous who fight each day and each night,
The wordless texts written on marketing magazines,
The muted audio coming from blanketed screens,
A voiceless march on solders of love,
A war on peace will flare out in blood,
The thin red line that traces arches outside of my nose,
It works it's way left then right, to and fro,
A painting on the working canvas of my soul,
Colors swirling and mixing just outside the window,
Lies potential waiting to be tapped,
Along with my own, it's the wane to be attacked,
Through ambivalent works we are attached,
Malevolent words are weakness in the face of intelligence, wrath.
Wrath is the enemy of the dreams we have earned,
The dreams that have been worked for, burned for and yearned for,
Oh Lord, the chore is hard to absorb,
Which is why more is to be given,
For more are willing, to lend themselves to the cause of children,
And old men and women, trapped in prisons and similar buildings, Westboro baptist churches and terrorist organizations,
Government agents, with Wes Craven woven situations,
A nightmare is on Elm street, and your street and my street,
Even if you don't see it, you can hear it,
The gunshots may not ring off near your house,
But the ambulance goes past your house to the ER in clouds,
And out of your mouth comes "I hope they're fine, wow."
But in truth it's a passing moment in your own life, wow.
Just like that, it's the fragility of things,
A bird of Hermes eating it's own wings,
Reality based upon countless simplicities,
Recipes are made from human soliloquies,
Stories passed down ****** and through ink,
Written tales of woe and tales of victory,
Strategies to make the mind seek peace,
In mournful situations where bodies reek,
Media slavery and private prison sceneries,
Are overbearing distortions of American Dreams,
Big Brother is only a few decades from being,
Oceania, Eurasia, and Eastasian countries,
Are already practicing a form of doublethink,
Freedom of thought is the freedom of newspeak,
Guy Fawkes, wake up kids, nothing is as it seems,
The revolution is now and forever recurring.
