suicide notes from america…

i’ve become
more
depressed
lately
by
the
way that ignorance
has
enveloped
the
world around me
my
delusions
of
freedom
have
been
replaced
with such a deep
remorse
for
believing
and
dreaming
that
life
could be
as
promised
they
were always
eggshell hopes
but
gradient moments
of
freedom
kept
the fantasy
alive
but now
as
death
becomes
the main course
of
my future
i’ve
reconsidered
my insanity
as
a bit
of
self-hypnosis
brought on
by
societal spin
which
is
neither
here
nor
there
just
a side reference
for
my
note

freedom’s song

ain’t no music
to be played
really
doesn’t matter
the song’s
been heard
before
with words
that
make promises
never
kept
for some reason
folks
always joined in
on
the chorus
guess
flaws are easily
concealed
when
the number
of
voices
are multiplied
but
those damn
solos
never seem
to
attract
a crowd
of
participants
it’s hard
to stand up
and
raise your voice
when
there’s
uncertainty
and
a voting audience
waiting in
judgement
to
contend with
easier
to
just wait
for
the
collective part
of
the song
the chorus
even if words
are
merely mouthed
you can’t
be proven
wrong

grasp straps and pull…

distant words
abhorring
overheard
intended
but
veiled in denial
then
an
all’s well smile
flutters before eyes
repeated gestures
of
oppressors
seen
more times
than
one can count
objective
to grease
success’ pole
before
anyone attempts
to
climb out
of
poverty’s pit
a pit
stared into
by
tormentors
from
its edge
gilded
with
promises
serrated sides
from which
despots
offer
encouraging words
and
relay
how they
arose
from the pit
but
they used
the
stairs

 

what you waiting for…

had this thought last night
two hundred year old promise
always reassured
they say these things just take time
to which i reply bullshit

 

abstruse omissions…

i am
the empty space
between
enslavement
and
freedom
the chasms
between
what
was
promised
and
what came
to
pass
foolish dreams
from
an ignored
lover
of
freedom
who sees
nothing more
than
redefined moments
of
forgotten stories
of
the true founders
of
this nation
hidden
between
the printed lines
of
history books
written
in
the invisible blood
of
those enslaved
whose
undiscovered
mass graves
are concealed
by
the blank spaces
between
the lines
of
lies
your eyes
should tread
carefully
through
those spaces
so
as not
to
disturb
the
dead
for
seeing
what lies
beneath
the surface
of
this nation’s myths
could
make you
shed
tears
of
shame

 

we the people…

there’s no
i
in
freedom
no single
soul
that
brings
redemption
to
a nation
it is
and
has always been
we
however
subjection
does have
an
i

 

future paradise…

an unsigned contract
you’ve religiously followed
expecting rewards
but the life that you’ve wasted
may have been the true reward

 

the bell tolls…

though it sounds distant
death’s solemn ring of promise
may soon be for you
ignore not the world around
each day celebrate life’s gifts

 

in due time…

truth always survives
is what i believed but found
that was just a myth
a story for the hopeless
offered in place of justice

 

the gnat’s complaint…

these webs
are
so unjust
flies
always die
staring
into
my eyes
with
the most
incriminating looks
as if
i
were the one
who spun
this web
but
i
and
those generations
before me
have been
trapped
within
these fibers
of
lies and promises
for
centuries
had i
been born
with
more mass
i
would have flown
right through
this
social web
no more
inconvenienced
than
needing
a quick shower
afterwards
but
that is not the case
i
linger here
as
a bit of amusement
and
as
a morsel
for
a boring day
a systemic slave
the quintessential
essential worker
to be
devoured
or
left
to
just
decay
and
die