Life is the simple thing we neglect every day.
A day contains the time as we travel along our way.
Time is the thing we lack in our lives
As we yearn to find our way in this phenomenon called life.

We grow old in wisdom, yet are fragile in youth;
We cannot escape the perils that seek us with each move.
We can embrace the seconds that the clock has,
Or be the pawn forced by the master’s perilous hand.

Once we realize that three score and ten
Is the amount of time in which we have,
We will let misfortunes lie where they awake,
For life will not wait for us to simply engage.

Time must be the best of what we can make
As days are the things we can no longer waste.
For once they are gone like the birds in the sky,
They will never return, until death when we die.

So take heed from these words
That I must proclaim;

Live life to the fullest before the light fades.
Take one day at a time and never in dismay.
Travel the world to find what you sought in your dreams.
Climb the tallest mountains, quietly enjoy the scenes.
Walk among the people from sea to shining sea;
Hike along the rivers to live and be free.

For once three and ten spins dry,
Death is imminent, and life passed by.

It’s gonna get better,
Are the words I hear every day!

The worlds in a rage,
Families in complete dismay,
Yet, They continue to say,
“It’s gonna get better.”

Better for whom is the answer I seek,
As everyone suffers except the rich and elite.

Children are crying as they sleep in their graves,
Families moan in woe and rage;
Out of work and on the streets,
Homes stole by legislative greed;
People starve with not a morsel to eat
As they watch their lives stripped away, shipped overseas.
Yet, They continue to say every single day,
“It’s gonna get better.”

Who are They that speak these words of depict?
These words of emptiness filled with intentions of grief.

“They,” are the ones that control the industries
The ones that create laws and false realities,
The ones that create and destroy societies,
The ones we fought and died for with our dignity!

“They,” are the ones that live off our blood, sweat, and tears,
Taking at will with no consequences to bear,
Stripping away our wealth and dignity,
Stealing the land away from our families,
Giving to those of foreign nationalities,
With no regard to the society that entrusted, “They!”

Yet behind their smoke filled lies,
While people die,
They continue to say,
“It’s gonna get better.”

We stand by those we trust,
All the while they transgress against us.
Friend or foe to behold?
For only they will surely know.

Trust someone in this day and age
Is nothing more than a noble cliché.

Slanderous words of dishonesty,
Destroying your character with their brutality.
The world believes them as they lie,
Who can one trust in this earthly enterprise?

Longing for the days of old
When men were men, as good as gold.

I long for days where a handshake meant
Your word a bond, and honor felt.
Agreements made without paper convention;
Handshakes were the business transaction.

Honor flowed throughout the lands,
Everyone gave a helping hand.
A favor wasn’t done for return,
As a friend indeed was someone earned.

Days of past will not return
As immoral acts are loved and learned.
Handshakes, a thing of the past,
Your word, a thing that no longer lasts.

Violence can take hold of anyone;
It strips away the virtues of what one was;  
It is the thing that breeds contempt in one's soul,
It forces them to lash out from the depth below;

A depth so dark where terror fills the night,
A place so cold that Hell would never know,
A silence so loud, it would drive one insane;
So grim this place, no one could ever brave.

These “Ones” whose virtues were compromised
Seek vengeance against the deviants of immoral genocide;
To lash against the transgression wrought upon their souls,
To reimburse the deviants ten thousand fold.

Retribution will be made on their day of reckoning
As these deviants will regret the pain and suffering
They invoked upon the “Ones” they wronged.

For now they wish they never engaged
In their acts of brutality and incoherent rage.

Justice has set forth and finally prevailed.

The presence of our contemporary age
Alters artistic vision down a spiral of emptiness.
Artist no longer create the visual page,
Their spellbound by ambitions of digital laziness.

Visions lost to the age of simplicity,
Erased to machines’ evil desires,
Deluded by storms of deception,
Creativity ceased as hell endures its fires.

Instant gratification — the new reality —
The yearning for excellence, no endurability.
Modern day artistic creativity,
Coerced by digital debility.

Tradition bankrupt by false realities,
Lost to a pallet of ones and zeros;
Artwork with no archival ability,
The future lost to modern day technologies.

It is the thing we create from within.
From the depth of our soul
Where our passion does live.
The place we seek to find the unseen,
Those things that are seen
Within our minds and our dreams,
The things that others have not yet seen.

A vision where those can gaze and be free,
By a master at play while capturing his dreams
Upon the canvas where the art lives and breathes
Away from other influence, that he may have seen.

The art does not copy the others of known.
Instead, each piece is the artist's very own.
By bracing his feet upon the ground where he stands,
The art comes from within, from the master’s own hands.

Children wasted in the educational facility of emptiness.
Educators preach to the untouchable.
Children untended left to defend from the imaginable.
The perverted wait to execute the unspeakable.

Children destroyed through single acts of senseless violence.
Childhoods erased, reborn to the adulthood of anguish.
Innocence vanquished to a forever sea of suffering,
Never to re-claim what the malicious have taken in silence.

Children weep in torment as their scars forever remain;
****** intentions embrace their desires:
They will search for vengeance against their aggressors,
With murderous memories, to reclaim what the wicked acquired.

The twisted remain to prey upon our communities
Without consequence for their acts of morbid sickness;
They prowl, inflicting with transgressions:
No reflection for their intentions of wickedness.

Magistrates protect the incomprehensible.
The innocent, silenced by the legal voice of recklessness.
No righteous resurrection from the fatalities of transgressions.
Children mourn with murderous abandonment.

All the while children cry and die every day!