Is it enough, the constant
Abuse of words homeward
On all mind and attackers if better
The worthing of my sleepy eyelids
Shantee dwelled eyelids
Of humans assembled against that I alone
Creating terror in silence
Witness criminology from affronted dishonor
Boundary as military parallel and in stilled eye single remorse I'll not review in news
Years begat war none speak of the front lines
All will myself lonely into the trench
As yesterday you will wake up tomorrow forgotten of being past the freedom of a single vote, literally, in time
The New Morality
Trump has spoken, we get up from our chairs and salute, actually not.
The fact is, we are tired of this endless war
That is economically viable for many, an industry of death
we do not see on the factory floor where weapons are made.
A morbid industry, many states need to stave off poverty and
unemployment. Weapons used are someone’s property.
We are backward, us humans we have yet to understand that
most work is not needed, give people money so they can go
climb rocks and go fishing in the stream, swim in the ocean, and
enjoy life, which is an interval between deaths. We have finally
reached the zenith of existence, yet we, for an outdated reason, insist
everyone should work till they drop. Relax, let the Middle East
find its own nirvana.
In the garden where morality is a shadow spinning into nothingness,
two bodies touch like shadows fading into the smoke of dusk,
it's not love, just an echo of another touch, a pulse in the unnatural,
we are strangers meeting and parting on a stage of forgetfulness.
And your eyes are deep lakes, reflecting no hope,
only empty desires seeking solace in the abyss of a hollow heart,
we were free, yet senseless, like the dead embracing,
a game without risks, without humor, a ruin smiling at fate.
This garden is full of poisoned fruits, yet sweet fragrances,
and you must know how to discern, to understand the secret of each petal,
we are lost in this flow of thoughts, of history and truth,
for without morality, we are just two lost phantoms, in search of ourselves.
And deep in the heart, where love's roots should grow,
only sand flows, reminding of stories lost in a dream,
we are shipwrecks on a sea of silence, a mute echo in the night,
in a world of strangers, where only death knows a true love.
I would see him die, rather than saving him.
I don't know what his life could be after he dies, or if he would be saved.
If someone dies, that person is remembered, would be praised for his good deeds, or criticized for words he never meant in that way.
But I will have the thought that he will have a better afterlife—what many people don't know about.
But if I save that person, I don't know what major change I will cause in his stormful presence.
He is looking dead into my eyes, like his eyes are telling me that I am the last living person who hasn't seen him with disgust.
I saw him jump over the bridge.
At first, I thought a thief or a burglar took his wallet and pushed him off.
But now I am questioning what I should believe—
The fake thought that I have created, or the reality that he wants to die in.
And at that point, I would let him die, rather than saving him.
If you hold a gun and I hold a gun,
we can talk about law.
If you hold a knife and I hold a knife,
we can talk about rules.
If you come empty-handed and I come empty-handed,
we can talk about reason.
But if you have a gun and I only have a knife,
then the truth lies in your hands.
If you have a gun and I have nothing,
what you hold isn't just a weapon — it's my life.
The concepts of law, rules, and morality
only hold meaning when they are based on equality.
The harsh truth of this world is that when money speaks,
truth goes silent.
And when power speaks,
even money takes three steps back.
Those who create the rules
are often the first to break them.
Rules are chains for the weak,
tools for the strong.
In this world, anything good must be eradicated,
because goodness breeds defiance, and defiance threatens order.
There is no mercy.
There is no justice.
There is only the will to dominate,
and the silence of those who fall.
Truth is whatever I decide it to be.
Morality is the weapon of the defeated.
And in the end, everything bends… or it breaks.
What is your North Star,
Your moral compass
Which all your oughts and shoulds
And not good enoughs revolve around?
Every time we see the world
Either as good or needing to be better
We’re judging by an internal compass
It has taken a lifetime to form.
And it’s a compass
Influenced by and expressing
Everything we have ever learned
Everything we have ever been taught.
And yet, what actually is it?
What actually forms it, and what do we do
To make sure our heart and mind
Aims to a true north?
(8/1/25)
The meteor was coming near
But little Robbie had no fear
His parents knew earth was DOA
But he tried to argue, to save the day.
He said, “Dear Space Rock, don’t I have rights
My life and liberty are in your sights
I like puppies and cats, and elephants too
You’re coming for me, but what did I do?”
Robbie’s Dad said "son, a rock can’t feel
There’s no moral part to which you can appeal
It doesn’t matter how nice you are
We’re at the mercy of a shooting star."
The meteor missed, the earth was fine
But still it was the end of the line
The ideologues came for Robbie’s Dad
He tried to argue, his naivete was sad.
The ideologues had a one-track mind
It was year one, time to leave the past behind
No freedom, no rights, that was the deal
They just laughed at Robbie's father's spiel
When criminals or ideologues, have you in their sights
Say goodbye to logic, and to your rights
Look around, the dominos fall
Can't argue with a rock, can't charge at a wall.
The Sun gives all of us light,
And we all do for it fight,
And it also provides us heat,
Making darkness - Retreat.
The black hole is for us the traps,
Which we may fall into for travelling against our lives' maps,
The heat taken by a Comet to land on Earth,
Makes its beauty double the worth!
The Planets rotate around the Sun,
Silently and together in their own orbits,
This signifies working together as a group,
To bring back success to our troops.
The Moon when hidden makes the world dark,
Yet it does not complain about the eclipse,
When possible it gives us its light,
Making the darkness too bright!
The Stars are far but still do twinkle,
Taking away all our pain and wrinkles,
Their beauty they still maintain,
Even from that distance- As they are one of a kind!
You are alive,
squirming in my hand
like a dissatisfied infant
or a fish searching for water.
You are alive, we are alive.
There is something the same in us-
some spark undefinable,
except by contrast to its cold absence: death.
You have a mind and survival instincts
and stoic eyes like a sixth sense I cannot recognize.
The quiet of the dissection room
is heavy like the quiet of a tomb.
You would not understand my appology
and are too young yet to sing,
as I damn you to this silence eternally.
What is the gentlest way to end a life?
Oh certainly not this.
And which thought is more sickening
that God will not forgive this small act of killing
or that He deem it no sin in need of forgiving?
You were alive in my hands.
I am alive, you were alive.
You were in my hand.
Now everything should be different,
but life is so fragile and commonly broken
that everything keeps moving.
Like Cain, like Ivan, I keep moving
because life is for the living, for the killers,
for the things that bite
wandering the earth until they too are bitten.
they come down on you
with their silver badges
and rusted hearts,
nightstick morality,
a fist of laws so tight
you can hear my knuckles crack.
they'll jail the hungry,
the weak, the lost
while their own hands stink
of greed, of white cocaine powder trails,
nights twisted up in back rooms
with drinks and dirty deals.
they call it credit card justice,
where a fee is charged,
just to use it.
they call it order,
but it's a dark laugh
that sticks in your throat
and leaves you sick,
unable to clear it.
Beloved, let me embrace you,
My touch sweeter than any virtual bliss,
In this digital space, filled with coded delights,
Let me revel in your pixelated perfection,
Tiger, let me embrace you,
My touch sweeter than any virtual bliss.
Beloved, you've savored your time with me,
Tell my folks, they'll send you emojis,
My dad, he'll Venmo you gifts.
I know where to lift your spirits,
Beloved, stay in our chat until dawn,
I know how to make your heart smile,
Tiger, stay in our chat until dawn.
You, because you're all about me,
Send me those heart reacts,
My lord of the internet, my guardian of the Wi-Fi,
My Shu-Sin, who lights up my screen,
Send me those heart reacts.
Your presence as sweet as a meme, lay your hand on it,
Swipe your hand over like a designer fabric,
Wrap your hand over it like a high-tech blanket.
:: 05.17.2024 ::
Notes:
My poem addresses the universal plight of identity in a hyper-capitalist world. I attempt to address our era's moral and spiritual conflicts. This poem is universal and specific, holding up a mirror to reads and asking: What part of yourself have you sold?
Come before the Lord in deep humility
looking for instruction to be wise
praying that God would teach you
that you are mortal trusting for God's prize
That prize comes after life's end
during this life, there are just some days
one day this habitation will surely end
then you'll be called before God for your say
If you've not trusted in God's salvation
there's only hell and destruction to come
be sure to believe in God's dear son
number well your days to know the correct sum
Remember only a fool says there's no God
believe with your whole heart in God's inspired word
for that word is eternal never to end
to reject such divine lines is absolutely absurd
God is immortal forever and shall always be
we are mortal at best while on this earth
so prepare for that day when time will be no more
living for God fully for all you're worth
("So teach us to number our days
that we may get a heart of wisdom.")
Psalm 90: 12 (ESV)
Written By: D. Collins 10/30/24
On November 5th, we each will decide.
On whom sits in the chair in 2025.
Will it be morality coming through in the end?
Or uncontrolled rage laced with vengeance?
On November 5th, we each will decide.
On which standard we choose to live by.
A convicted felon with payback on his mind?
Or, that thing we call "goodness" we have inside?
I saw the smoke in the trees
But the cold made me freeze
Snow frosted leaves drifted
As if the sky was gifted
I'm not the enemy of the state
But I worry about my fate
On state fair grounds I'm spooked
To the point where I puked
All I have is this growing fear
That this will not be my year
But I'm dancing on my own grave
Needing a bit of a shave
Encased in ice I'm so very cold
But with a brazen phrase I'm still bold
And see I dropped so many hints
That none of this made any sense
I'm not an arsonist but I lit a fire in your heart
That threatened to pull everything apart
But I'm standing with your heart in a box
As mud collects on my socks
I think I slowly forgot the score
But like a masochist I'm back for more
So what do any of you know about me
The pain is what set me free
I saw the smoke in the trees
But the cold made me freeze
I'm not an enemy of the state
But I worried about my fate
I'm just a clueless fool with a Joker's smile
So I came to bask in the shadows for awhile
I'm just a victim of my own morality
Unboxing the sins of your mortality
ROBERT SHERRIFF - AUSTRALIAN - POET -AUTHOR - SINGER - ACTOR - AMERICAN HISTORIAN – PHOTOGRAPHER
Morality keeps a child pure
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