Between The Cracks

In systems complex,

A function unaccustomed,

Between the tall spires

Of civilized estates,

Wander weary children

Unburdened by order,

Creeping through the cracks

For scraps of a niche.

Workers and worriers

Consigned to commission

Could scarcely fathom

Such anarchic fashions.

Scouring the cities

For profits and pleasure

In whatever scarce amounts

Their subtleties can acquire.

These unguided forces,

So volatile and so reckless,

Surviving as a single self

Amid so many societal tempests.

Uninhibited by customs

But restrained by necessities,

Hunger, stress, and heartbreak

Without a remedy or a compass.

Unlost without direction

And unashamed without justice,

The wisdom of disorder

In nature’s law is too apparent.

Live on or die,

Obtain or go without,

Learn quickly or be snuffed

Like a candle blown out.

So the builders and planners

Imposing straight lines and roads

Offer little but questions

For these wanderers to pose.

“Who are you helping?

Can disorder be owned?”

Calling from the cracks

And splinters in the road.

“Enforcements must be vain,

For surely you must see

Nothing can be owned

And everything is free!”

 

 

 

 

 

Pleasant Springs

I don’t know why,

But cruelty always lived in that town.

Maybe it was in the water,

Regularly dosing the inhabitants

As it was swallowed every day.

Perhaps it was under the influence

Of some madness inducing parasite,

Indifferent to it’s casualties.

Or maybe it was cursed

By the remnant of some spirit,

Exercising wrath against the living.

Or maybe it was just cruel.

All I know,

Is that it was hardly innocent.

Behind the pleasant persona

Of a quaint woodland town

Lurked a sea of illness,

Brutallity, and active hate.

To walk the streets

Was to be exposed

To those who stalk the weak

For hardly any cause at all.

Stories of random beatings,

Robberies, and rape

Would circulate so often

To be an ever-present rule.

The law,

The real law evident to all,

Was the Melian Dialogue.

Never spoken, but even so,

Obvious to all who saw.

Small town America,

Christianity and moral life,

Those superfical platitudes applied

So heavily to disguise

The ever-present disscordance

Dancing before their eyes.

The same persons clamoring

For prayers in church gatherings

Walk out continuing

To prey on one another.

Maybe it’s the water,

Some parastie, or spirit.

Maybe it’s a culture

Of sickness they inherit.

I don’t know

What caused the place

To be the way it is,

But cruelty lives there

Nestled deep

And all do as it bids.

 

Children Of Pain

Never forget a childhood spent in pain

Or the sufferings that are unique in youth.

As a living being dependent on protection,

Conditioned to accept and embrace their misuse.

From seething traumas to reinforced behaviors

We’re shuttled from shelter by society’s whims.

Pre-designed systems of disciplinary education,

Traditions of conduct to make us like them.

Emotions you’d feel but maybe couldn’t explain,

Ideas dismissed as mere innocent mistakes.

Assumptions that you couldn’t know better

From adults who didn’t understand how you think.

Petty injustices seemed relatively large

When individual happiness meant the whole world.

The first steps towards tasting the bitterness of life,

To the first sight of cruelty’s colors unveiled.

Remember your rights and remember your wrongs,

Remember the choices left for others to decide,

Remember what you were and how you’ve been changed,

And remember the battles you used to fight.

Know children everywhere will face the same pains,

Know they’ll be fighting as we did to survive,

So when you acquire some decisions on fate,

Remember adults are who structure their lives.

 

Leviathan

Power, punishment, and privilege

Demanded, accepted, or predestined

Damned to be a piece of this puzzle

In assimilation as in rebellion

Welcome to the machine my son

Participate and perish herein

As cells in circuits interlaced

As blood in our Leviathan

Protection, peace, and pleasure

Paid in luxury and exploitation

Survive, thrive, and embrace it

Serve and suffer its expectations

Refuse, resist, and raise a fist

The weary, beaten, and broken-hearted

The cycle of revolution carries on

But a circle only ends where it started.

America becomes Britain, becomes Rome,

Becomes Greece, becomes Persia, becomes stone.