Tears

           

Tattoos below eyes

Dead dreams and foes,

The struggle of meaning,

The slowly fading glow.

The slow boot tread,

Footsteps in the muck,

Keep moving on,

Be strong don’t give up.

Defeat comes easy,

Success comes hard.

More likely,

Is nothing,

meaningless canard.

The point is its own,

A dot in the expanse,

Just keep trudging on,

And fight through the trance.

Don’t give up just keep moving,

Life takes care of its own,

From birth to struggle to death,

Seed to life to grown.

The end is natural,

It’s bleak

It’s grand,

The truth is the truth,

The plan is the plan.

politics

It's a different sort of feeling,
Embarking on the hegemon's quest.
A man may struggle for power,
but he may never be the best.

Inculcation of insolence,
insinuation of need.
It's an indictment irrefutable,
of irredeemable greed.

And there is one thing above all others,
that governs the movements of man's stars,
the quest for power ends two ways,
on the throne or behind bars.

That's not to say that many others,
in limbo don't exist,
but they float between extremes,
and exhale wasted bliss.

The idea is so simple,
they've taken what is yours.
Your life, love, laughs and liberty,
are things the void adores.


Rebellion is too bloody,
subversion is too cheap.
Calm, vile, submission,
well that's just right.
continue to bleat like sheep.