Sets

As the years roll on, the visions disappear.
Has the world moved on or just reappeared?
Have our children paid the debt from the wars that we have set?

Bombs In Baskets

A disclaimed parliament on the shores of a forced ideology; a thank you, a compliment, assisting arrangements to fortify a simple compromise supplied with makeshift apartments, cardboard cadavers and landmines. With a fist to the jaw of a thinking society; planes are flying overhead in orange skies, screaming vengeances rage. This loneliness heartbeats confession defeated natural selection. The shouts for liberty could not be, so they elected to scream, “Give us your bombs and take our baskets or count the costs and count the caskets”. Dissidents were deployed without jurisdictional evidence for participation of insubstantial terror. Pulled from penniless homes, they are unwillingly shipped by a coterie of cushioned think-tanks, but resistance laid in their pens and their principles. Planes are flying overhead in orange skies, screaming vengeances’ rages. This loneliness heartbeats confession defeated natural selection. The shouts of liberty could not be, so they elected to scream, “Give us your bombs and take our baskets or count the costs and count the loss”. The stone-faced sphinxes cast an eye to the casualties, but somewhere a bell tolls and the quarters still echo with those unintelligible and frightening rhythmic cries. Mid-town café victims are sprawled out on the blood-stained sidewalks, a mother mourns her dead son and is convinced he’s done no harm. It’s impossible to know who are the victims and who are the murderers when they’re both lying face down? In the debris of collateral damage, speculation stirs amongst the crowd. So they prayed as freedom would be no blissful anarchist paradise, just a freedom from this leviathan. So they started a war and through the toil and through the labor, they saw before their eyes: independence. And their war-torn flag has flown high since ‘62.

Activists Can Be Poseurs Too

Entrust their purposed words to lead our lives for absolute security. In fact, eight years have quickly passed since the violence as multi-worlds disrupt society. Rather than standing in line to wait and to hear what the affluent orator is giving, we decide to find how we can defeat the atrocities plaguing our fellow man. How does a girl from Sierra Leones’ picture on the wall turn into flashing bulbs, red carpets events for the finest idols; a fair trade of destruction for thrills? Rather than standing in line to wait and to hear what the affluent orator is giving, we decide to find how we can defeat the atrocities plaguing our fellow man. Yet their praised, their lauded and for what; I guess for who disseminates the most wealth, but I don’t remember applauding myself?

Talent Is Overrated

So the promotion finally came coupled with the benefits of luxury. A polished man of the modern world, a new statisitic and a timeline to succeed, yet the title that he wears illuminates his pride, but over time the radiance would fade. Consider this; six months to the day, his life would render insignificant and he looks in the mirror of what he was and what he’s become. The circumstances implicate his veiled inability to qualify, yet the shadow of relatives implicitly denied what he could not define. The mores examined by internal competition had arose a conflict for a change…Consider this; a man betrays his life to stand in his own dominion and to never become what he must……he must become

Return to History

The shelters full, they can’t afford to be displaced again. Abandoned by the commonwealth of saviors; can you believe just two years ago they were mistaken for adversaries? Their world’s grown cold and their insurrection has been reduced to stones. So you have been invited to coalesce and diverge from what you knew from folklores before. The marionettes of forged chivalry: their (saviors) intentions wrought diplomacy, but their efforts posed as amnesty, yet they plagued and dismantled towns with the death squads of the South. As the villagers squandered, bound for full retreat, there was nothing left behind, but a ghost town for the clout. Followed by a parade of an faceless cavalry, trails the remnants of bones; a return to history. Just in today, an order was debriefed to take the life of civil progress. More and more, these lists keep building to execute forlorn war crimes, and “in the name of us” it’s activated. Did they mention they were police of a global protective agency? Yet they plagued and dismantled towns with the death squads of the South. As the villagers squandered, bound for full retreat, there was nothing left behind, but a ghost town for the clout. Followed by a parade of faceless cavalry, trails the remnants of bones; a return to history. There were many who escaped the struggle; howling within madness to their graves. So have you ever been afraid of today? Baneful tithing, simulations, architectures, masterpiece displayed. Have you ever been afraid? The resounding reflection of sound waves, they can still be heard today. I hear a family’s dying love in the bone yards of the site where they gathered to assemble and organize. Though there was nothing left behind, just a portrait of their rites and the hearts that extolled through the sacred imagery; on and on, remember the bones as a return to history.

Alarm

An unkempt public citizen had waited weeks to address the board, it must’ve been four weeks and though he was a visionary, his military background could not uphold the war inside his mind. It seemed the board grew tired to sympathize as he exits through the door. Attention, attention! Sound the alarm! There’s no one left behind! And his conscience collides; he emerged with intimidation, but his appearance exhibited his health. He walks up the stairs to the place where his kind go when their washed-up. He sees his picture on the wall. He was a hero that stood ten feet tall. There’s no doubt he’s fucking scared as this hero is jaded. No beds tonight for now, he retreats back to where he’s understood: alone. Under the bridge, he stands around a barrel to warm his hands to the fire and he prepares to deliver the greatest show his world will ever know. There’s no picture on the wall. Where’s the hero that stood ten feet tall? He’s alone and fucking scared as this hero is jaded, but somehow in his mind, he has declared to scream, “The world is mine”. Alone.

Human Side of Enterprise

Hospital beds are better suited for the broken hearts that bled on the ships afar, too far, far enough to keep gazing from the wolf’s eyes that leers up at the bride. Who survives a chemical parade; a confetti charade? They cloak themselves with remedial lies and exonerate the treachery of a former life. So will it only get better or will it all just be short? An announcement from a past life, spoils the droves of men who conceal the weapon that will now destroy our hopes again. Announcement! They dance and play unfairly and why are their capitalist lives thriving when they prey and prick at others’ wives? A muddled and mercurial plight, this apparatus of America is a part of our lives, so let their worlds ignite around their wayward choices that reflect the egocentric intentions that hang around their necks. So will it only get better or will it all just be short? An announcement from a past life that spoils the droves of men who conceal the weapon that will now destroy our hopes again. And we medicate the mind…. Yes, we medicate the mind.

Objection

The earth erupted as another mark on sciences’ spreadsheet incinerated forests and the fertile soil of emerging organisms, thus the desolation. Through the photographs, we see the prospects of what once was. Daylight shadows taking form that symbolized the prowess of what evolution borne to an abject species that counts the fabrics of an environment that has been raped and scorned. So long. So once again, we paint these landscapes of progress that are soaked in our hands. A rusty dusk turns to a black night, to a violet dawn as this world is shaping me. The death tolls of experimental processes that balanced between man and right produced objections towards nuclear disarmament. The picket lines and rallies declared the outrage of the public eye. So once again, we paint these landscapes of progress that are soaked in our hands. A rusty dusk turns to a black night, to a violet dawn as this world is shaping me. Clandestine, and the power to protest, in an hour of progress, the candle wicks were burning at both ends, yet believed to be vested with dissent, the inscription of tacit fear was within me and the same is instilled in many among us: a reconstruction.

These Kids Can Kill

Awakened on a Sunday morning, the sun breaks the horizon and with little food and Russian AK-47 rifles, the kids zoned without feeling which had long since left their minds; their eyes were swollen with deaths’ desire. The village was beyond the hillside, as the group of boys planned attack was to abduct all breath of life. Incorrigible and palpable yet powerless as just over the other side of the hill, would be a surprise: a destiny to die.

Marked, interred, they will come to kill again in the night, while asleep in the woods was Jesus who spoke to me, “Blessed are the meek”. They align while vilified before the firing squads. An execution by age fourteen from a similar progeny, but I can see in their eyes that these kids can kill.

Technological advancements in weaponry and the proliferation of small arms are contributions to the use of all God’s children. They’re all for sale, like a free market venture and a destiny to die.

Marked, interred, they will come to kill again in the night, while asleep in the woods was Jesus who spoke to me, “Blessed are the meek”. They align while vilified before the firing squads. An execution by age fourteen from a similar progeny, but I can see in their eyes that these kids can kill.

The glimmering knife plunged into the spine that stunned and paralyzed, and revealed the petition where we beg for their rights. We plead, uncompromised. We stand for human rights to rebuild them. Let’s rebuild them.

Ad Hominem

The angry words bellowed straight through the heart of a daunting foe which came from a reckless heretic bound to a cryptic truth bestowed. As the evidence wanes, the pulpit reveals an ominous glow which begins to separate myth from what is logical. I’ve looked into eyes, terrified of the outcome of their expiration. Proselytized, terrorized, it’s abuse of the mind and I’m not fucking “blind”. Between mans’ inflection, venerable creations and the unending sins of time; I’ll put my faith into my fury. A restless response to change or to give it all up, I should’ve mourned for the failings that brought upon illusions that thwart the answers. Is it trust or inactions of possibilities to show up and arrive? Peculiar ingenuity: to classify intrusion for affection…………… To give it all up

God In Uniform

The ticker-tape said it all as a hundred smiles were on the faces of young souls marching on. And there is god, he’s dressed in uniform to lead this mission and to ensure a safe return. Unrecognized, the truth was far from what was stated as insurgence elevated. So tell me, did the gunshots coincide with the cries and did the crowd go wild? Down in the trenches, a diffused voice is heard beneath the bodies, beneath the earth; while a thousand miles away, the suits will play their board games without remorse or fear. So unrecognized, the truth was far from what was stated as insurgence escalated. So tell me, did the gunshots coincide with the cries? And then the crowd went wild; this crowd went wild.

Back home, pastures are dead and dry, factories are filled with blood. There’s no one to tend to the mother whose child just died. Lamp posts are draped with flags in an attempt of welcoming home the remaining sons and daughters who survived. And have they survived?

Saturday Evening Underground

Mei kept her promise solely that there was no question that a plot, designed contrite, was looming in the distance of this winter night. The results would be tragic; lives would be changed, as is the end of their campaign. So they stood by as a bomb burst underneath the pavilion, turning it inside out, and the crowds outcries were drowned out. She expressed contempt to the east, to the “city on the hill”, despite the blight. Following lines: there was no life. Well, she never thought that this would end tonight. Floating on the hue of her contrails, she just disappears in the air, not before she says, “By tonight, I’ll surely be”.

She read the letter through one more time then split to take the next train to another life. So far, so close, so badly she would insist to fade away. She closes her eyes. Does this mollify? Well, she never thought that this would end tonight. Floating on the hue of her contrails, she just disappears in the air, not before she says, “By tonight, I’ll surely be dead”.