a thousand tragedies paned
onto the community headlines
slashes the idle spirits
the wound enrages them to
seek out sadistic glee for the sake
to title themselves as 'woken.'
pitchforks and torches raised
looking for the guilty farmer
with swift words and stories
all the crops seared in the name
of the mindless chase for "justice."
“no god or jury; only us”
the next day arrives new tragedies,
sprouts new farmers to fight,
old pitchforks and torches to light
burning all but ideas
immortalised by martyrs made
from setting the flames
not one man asks for
the purpose of the hunt or be
branded as “the problem”
they walk the same burned soil
refusing to admit that they are
only casting flames on scarecrows
to the new age cult
criticism is blasphemy
indifference is hatred
I can feel this heartbeat, gentle rhythm deep
under my feet, I can feel the blood seep…
I keep it clean, I can feel the scorched earth weep,
what have we done Dear God, this earth reeks…
are the Kings playing for the throne
as the destruction is nigh, the media alight
I can feel this misplace holy war
the suicidal tirade of adolescent apes...
Burning tribes living in turmoil
long are the days on this fleeting earth
the righteous are holy in immaculate rebirth
only to find a cinder of ash, cold at last
A faltering distant earth, holy are days
scorched burnt black, as attrition’s warfare
breaks this crust of a lost infinite earth...
I can feel it’s heartbeat, gentle rhythm creep
inside my mind, I can feel the blood weep…
I keep my thoughts intact
I can hear this scorched earth seep,
what have we done Dear God, this earth is bleak…
An Orange King is enthroned, as the destruction is nigh
I can feel this misplace holy war the suicidal, high.
Murder Hornets do not linger
When they sting you with their stinger
The GOP claim
They have the best aim
When hoisting their middle finger
I see the expanse now,
I see the expense now,
How we expand now,
The sun never sets on Empire,
Pitted, packed dry-cake gully
Sere, stolid waiting the return
Of precipitation
The dearth of rain
Brings Earth her pain
until
The dead creeks rejuvenation,
There’s anticipation of CROAKS, HUMS,
TWEETS, CHIRPS,
That never come,
Reign in your expectations
of
Rain, a bringer of Nature’s exaltations,
But all I see is dry death,
little animals hunt for oil,
there’s parched soil,
that cracks and crunches,
from rock to metal back to rust,
silt motes form massive walls of dust,
As brawling winds blow squalls,
I see the future,
My eyes set fire to it all
Days fill
silhouettes
shadow figures
windowless skyscrapers
scorched rust
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