Orange Friday


On Friday

War started.

Headlines read:

 

“WE NEED TO STOP THINKING

SAYS EXPERT”

 

Thus thought ceased

To save vital brain tissue

And identities died

Laid alongside casualties

Of sense-stripped soldiers –

The maimed of mind.

 

So survivors of both sides

Limped past row upon row

Of rotting souls

 

Underneath the eternally burnt

Orange sky.

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Chaos Fill Chasm


Tabulate my thoughts

Each fear

Each tear

Each dream

Designated, denigrated

Stagnated.

Count my broken breaths

Catch my crooked eye

Tell no lie

For truth touched by you

Takes me away
To instilled insanity

Distilled inanity
Springs of vanity.

Now

Let chaos fill chasm;

Your hollow heart.

Follow me.

For you

This mind is

Divided.

White Words


When weighty words

Of nescient nobles

Weigh nothing at all

 

Yet those words

Still burden broken beings

With lead-lacquered lore

That holds captives

Captive with dark dreams

Dreamt up –

Leant upon themselves;

 

The oppressed –

Supporters of their

Own oppression.

 

That is when

Suppressed speech

Speaks up

First, a word

Then a torrent.

Thoughts tearing down

The self-supported cell…

 

The pale words of white-washed men

Weighed

By the masses –

Found empty as echoes…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Totalitarianism Topples


Charlatans – infallible

(In minds made theirs)

Order oppressed living obituaries

To propagate propaganda –

“To publicly proclaim perfect pretexts to total truth”.

 

They urge all under them to

Question questioners

Whose thoughts have travelled –

Now having returned

Need to be jailed or put to work.

 

Overt braggarts,

They declare their own divinity –

With covert lies clad with

Logic-defying, stupefying speech

Strikes mass in stupor.

 

Upon these conmen-

Illusionists of the dusk

Who paint every shadow

In blood – save for them

To support selves as salvation. –

Downfall fixates it’s eyes

Strikes – but once.

 

So uncovered is –

Scam and scammers

Swindlers of the soul –

 

Freed defrauded devotees

Wander, wondering when

Their angel’s flesh will roam

Again.

Sky Scattered Stars


Hanging like a dying man:

Lunar light sphere –

Crimson harbinger, dread dealer

Of dream-filled night.

Do not take day away

Forever

For fear we may fall

Into nocturne figures –

Static silohettes to be stared upon

By massless masses –

Passing by, art lovers

Of sky scattered stars.