Eternal damnation will be

our final destination

says some author of some old book

for people who choose to give up their lives

to live for somebody else.

Even our own presidents says

hey, we can all be free

as long as you believe

what I believe.

This world gives up no choice

but to express our opinion

then be knocked down

driven into the dirt

buried under the cement,

until our self-worth presses through

the decay, the disease, the dark

and is laid to rest

like the roots of the Elm.

But our words will be heard

Thomas screamed,

“rage, rage against the dying of the light!”

the time when shadows take form

to reveal who you really are,

perplexed, stretched, faded

only living life as an exact replica

of somebody else.

Reach, and struggle, and strive

with all it’s strength

never touching the divine static

the unreachable radiate.

Peer into the hole of the Elm

witness the soul

of old age yearning to speak

cracked and fermented

bitter and misplaced

grasping to it’s skin

clutching onto the last bit of purity

the last bit of sin.

Dragging its faltered fingernails

slipping slowly away from its shell

until it’s lost.

Bosch’s Delights revealed

the real lives of The Children

whose crevices and ideas are molested with temptation

but they smile all the same.

A mirrored image of who we are now

our minds being finger fucked

by the old men on Wall

in the White House.

“quit the hypocritical chants

of freedom forever”

as Ani sang.

The powerful take money by

feeding addictions of the powerless.

The reason you wake up and look in the mirror

is an addiction they work for.

The heroin junky has no one

to thank except his deliverer

who proclaims The Annunciation

of his life ending

swollen lips

bloodshot eyes

tainted skin.

When was this man given a voice?

the day his wife died

or the day his son was paralyzed?

“Do not go gentle into that good night”

let the world know its’ injustice

and while laying unconscious

in that rotten ally

take out your soul

feed it to the rats

but do not concede.

Let your ideals be reconceived

in an imaginable form

and your voice echo over.. and over..

twisting, overwhelm

the minds of the lost.

Do not settle with a whisper

not even a scream,

radiate your words

through skin, and blood, and tears,

the faith, the truths, the lies

until gazing into your eyes

parade not only the soul

but also the mind.

The world will beat you down

and hurt you,

bruise your face

and rape you,

violate every pulse of your heart until

this life slits your wrist of your existence

and you bleed our your sins…

       do not go voiceless.