mere shadows in history…

ashen outlines
of
bodies
on
city streets
and
vacant lots
will
soon ascend
into
the winds of time
graying
tomorrow’s skies
obscuring
visions
of
freedom and justice
and
concealing
the ashes
of
sacrificed souls
memories lost
within
time’s blowing sands
and
when the winds
die down
there’ll be no trace
of
the battles
raged
or
those
who offered
more
than
words

 

 

the hand dealt…

there’s a time to die
we may not choose the hour
but we decide how
curled into a ball of fear
or defiantly to angst
but we all will die
there’s no miracles for death
only vague offers
of rewards and wonders for
our repentance for life’s sins
that doesn’t ease death
but shields us from some questions
we refuse to ask
there’s no need to spell them out
you’ve heard them a thousand times
that is not the point
it is more about how we
face what’s apparent
the presence of our own death
and how we play our last cards

pedagogy of a dreamer…

i’ve read
of
freedom fighters
and
teachers
for
those poor
destitute
objects
of society
both
actors in this
divine comedy
called life
and
each day
i want
to believe
that
revolutionary struggles
will make
a difference
but
then i
look around
and see
the slow grinding
of humanity’s bones
and
morals
between the millstones
of human greed
and
religious servitude
and find
that with
just
one taste
of wealth’s desire
or
the nectar
of self-indulgence
men
like
all wild
carnivorous animals
return to
primeval states
stalking
any helpless prey
devouring
even
their own
souls
to taste
again
wealth’s aphrodisiac

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freedom fighters…

don’t take time to think
it’s best to avoid the truth
watch the evening news