By Nabs

Have you ever heard
the sound of the wind dying?

It sounds a lot like your hoarse crying.

Broken moons, stifled sobs
smell of cardamom and pain.
Angry strokes, lightning brush
across this singed canvas.

Paint me with a storm.
Paint me with a storm.

Guttural rumble of disagreement,
muted in its pallor.
Second hand embarrassment
is lethal to the skin.

Broken bottles, broken souls
stuck in a machination of malfunctioning systems.
we never had control in the first place.

We put energies in our sorrows,
forgetting to store them for our backbone.
No wonder we can't stand straight
and look up to the sun.

"Amnesia", we would plead.
Cause all we remember is how to bleed.

Have you ever heard
the sound of the wind dying?

It sounds a lot like the day we went crashing.

We are the ones who follow not the laws of this cruel society
We are the ones who listen to our hearts
We are the ones who stand up against societies oppression
We are the Rebels

We called ourselves the heroes of tomorrow,
not knowing we were living our today-s
in all the wrong ways

Despicability is the foundation to their life
For them it is intrinsic
Genetically encoded
Simplistic
Poetically eroded
Reprehensible at best

     Unscrupulously callous
     Secrets and facts, they conveniently
     ingest
     Distorted byproducts, they release to the
     masses
     To aid their campaign; a forked tongue
     fest

Pathetic and unapologetic
A beast armed to the teeth
Imported bypasses to increase the flow of police
A weakness and an act,
They so vehemently attest

     Harvesting greens off the branches of
     the people
     Pockets engorged with wads and folds
     Crushing blue collars at the lower levels
     As they sit atop their pyramids of gold

Today they sip champagne
To celebrate their reign
Tonight we'll skip being humane
To feed them excruciating pain

     You've incited this coup with ill-thought
     deterrents
     Now herald the arrival of the scourge
     Down with lopsided governments
     Tonight... All we would topple! Tonight we purge!

Justin G
ryn

As a father can force a child to stand
Our Father instead just held out His hand
And if its Love you let it be...
If it listens and returns;
Its meant to be.
To be, or not to be?

Blasting out of the fog and mud
Past the forests in the sunrise
Farms and high ways
Trotting through suburbia
Through the tunnel
Defacing and refusing to allow themselves to be part of an unjust ******
Believe in the intermingling of colors
Waiting for the planets to fall into place
To stop for a moment and inhale the abundant harmony that surrounds them and emote and create a inspiring response in the form of self expressive freedom that matches the beauty that had compelled them

Sure,
We don't go into gang fights,
Or drink, do drugs or have ***.
We're the cream of the crop,
Or so they say.

But what's the use of
Intelligent minds
When they're not used?
We waste our life away
(By our parent's standards, anyway)
Doodling in class,
Blasting music, writing poems
Rushing work at the last minute
Study only when we really,
Really need to
(While secretly surfing the net
On our phones, of course.)

We steal money,
Sneak out in the afternoon
Go shopping
To satisfy our miscellaneous whims.
Gossip about the other girls,
Calling them stupid, ******, *****.
Complain about the teachers,
And high-five each other,
Wishing good luck in
Scraping past for exams.

We spill our sorrows
About overbearing parents
About the **** in life
With that angry glint
In our eyes.

How ironic.
I'm the kind of kid
My parents warn me about.