dear mr adams…

what color is death
its robe is black but its face
is a chalky white
and as death approaches you
you’re told to walk towards the light
it seems one should avoid white

the reign of witches…

it ain’t nothing new
a time tested recipe
drop into the pot
handfuls of fear salt with hate
stoke the fire with lots of lies
when it’s nice and hot
pass the brew around and watch 
as hatred takes hold
as mindless disciples drink
ignorance’s sacrament
now they only hear
the incantations you spew
willing to follow
and do your every command
without a moral compass
defying their own beliefs

 

 

go tell lois lane…

folks watching
the screen
with
talking heads
that
mouth
the right words
of
erida
the ones
fools
want
to hear
believe
they’re superheroes
but
they don’t
don
a magical cape
or
have
superpowers
no
they shield
themselves
in
body armor
and
grab
assault weapons
then
slither out
to
slaughter
unarmed
women and children
an act
of
bravery
like
no other
of course
the real
heroes
are
those hiding
behind the screen
whose
vomit of words
is readily
consumed

law of cruelty…

hate clings to our souls
refusing to be dislodged
prayers relieve the pain
but it still remains inside
it’s existence’s parasite

 

 

scavengers of young souls..

feeding below flesh
like soft-minded heartless worms
spewing cruel words without cause
said to a child with pure hate
because of race and birthplace
child adrift in hate’s whirlpool

 

 

so where’s the surprise…

there ain’t nothing new
slave owners’ mentality
fills the nation’s veins
flowing to every corner
with its poisonous future

embedded nightmares…

those
who oppress
others
know
that fear
is
just
soft clay
that
can be shaped
early in life
and
will last
a lifetime
once
hardened
by
time
and
humiliation
such
a simple
science
of
inhumanity
practiced
for
centuries
by
every
nation
on
earth
and
yet
the oppressed
never
figure
out
why
their nightmares
continue

zealots…

shrouded in hate
a life in fear
fear of revealing
that beneath
the layers of disdain
lies
an empty life
with
only
hate
to protect it
from
being recognized
as
a fearful fraud
destined
for
an unknown
grave

but one voice…

can’t hear
own
thoughts
too much noise
trafficking
from
lies and hate
masking out
voices
in
pain
homeless dreams
some
wrapped
in
the currency
of
war
but
what
can
one voice
do
to rise
above
war’s cacophony
of
misery
though
a simple solution
one
could join
the choir
of
hope
sending forth
words
of
unwavering
belief
in tomorrow
that
grasps
the minds
of
social sinners
like
an old gospel hymn
swaying
the coldest heart
towards
redemption
or
offer up
such a sweet solo
of
truth
so
powerful
that
the walls
of
deception
crumble
into dust
revealing
all
that was hidden
that
my friend
is
what
one voice
can
do
so
rejoice

 

 

justifiable homicide…

biblically inspired
post-it notes
placed
on the pages
of
history
easily removed
and
replaced
to
fit
the occasion
and/or
the whims
of
men’s
greed