On the Elite of the Countries & Nations

This world is full of undue significance
Values parodied and profit personified
It’s not sustainable and won’t last

It’s the receipt of doom before
Our last meal, the anarchy has begun
And I don’t even dream anymore

About getting married, having children
In a world like this, of extravagance
Where you or I are replaceable

Only existing to fuel consumerist growth
Art is dead, literature is in denial
The crickets still sing, the sun still sinks

But the world has changed
In bronze and blaze, in false media
And politics ripe with corruption

And leaders whom I can imagine
Have rhetoric of profit and change once again.

O’ it’s Broken this Society

O’ it’s Broken this Society

O’ what is the sound of love aborted?
Does it hum, drum, thrill the ear
For a lifetime of waiting

Like in countries where freedom
Does not exist, where
There is no protection of law for the poor?
O’ what is the light so flush and clear
Does it color the distance bright

Like a star, or an angel of morning
Shatter the usual manoeuvres of morning, warnings?
O’ how do the scarlet soldiers fare?

Who have not life, not love, not house or cheer
They have no future, well, my dear
Only the sun as their weapon
Only the promise of tomorrow as their idol
With so cunning and misfortunate, opportunity,

O’ we have no fields to farm, anymore,
Or mothers and fathers, they have died
Before society became too ill, O’ what of the

Sad dark years to come, I can feel it
Impossible to prepare for the world that is coming
O’ what is the sound of hope departing?
Does it hum, drum, flash before our eyes
Does it dwindle, kneel, down to our last savings

Until we have to sell even, our
Most prized possessions, our dignity.

the media only tells us what they want us to know

“Me and all my friends
We’re all misunderstood
They say we stand for nothing and
There’s no way we ever could…”

~ John Mayer

fast is the century, the airplane crashes
tsunamis more common in their
execution, destiny enlightened
i watch for signs from the ocean

meteors, extinction events
plagues, global warming
governments muzzling scientists

democracy being wounded
by corporations taking over the media
I see it every day
this is what I witness

currencies cracking
fear in the marketplace
panic amid layoffs

fast is the century,
each month they tell me
it’s the warmest on record
i speak of eternity, but nobody listens

they are living the American dream
exploiting others for profit
Mexicans leave their children

inside the borders, so that
America might become a spanish place
it is happening, soon there will be no
‘us’ and ‘them’, the world is changing
And I’m waiting for the world to change.

global connectivity

it’s survival here, nothing new
lungs knotted by thirst
sunheat in our heart, starving to belong

it’s corrupt the way
the social feeds are telepathic
last chance for freedom
not likely, when water goes on the stock-markets

I’m pinned by this world
like as the love for my criminal child
the kind of wound that

is never quite urgent enough to heal
but sticks around like deformity
“heal the world”, there are too many
bodies you say to feed the planet

it’s survival down here, at the ends
stomach growling to be someone
heart’s pitter-patter against the gloom

our fragility was really contagious
the world learned how
to suffer together, it was a kind
of progress, to realize we all belonged

to the same economy, a doomed currency
where the sun was thrown, raised and lowered
for the number of years we had left

before some tipping point of our anarchy
until we have to depart, to say goodbye
we make do, with teaspoons and testimony
with words from vague saints who were cripples

we learned to see, a bit of ourselves
in everyone who suffered, in how they fought.

art courtesy of: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Global-Warming-86554791

Chaste by Revolt

It’s a serene irony, isn’t it dear?
How impotent we are in our moments
Across the bitter ease, of our lack of ambition
And the sevenfold love, of our lost dignity?

Languidly we plod on, like beings of evolution
A landscape of fresh Dawns, in cruel lands
It’s a surreal comedy, isn’t it friend?
Under a vast ceiling of silence

We suffice and part, equipped with desire
Enacting will, smited by the wilderness
The heart-mangled scorn of the past
Has nothing of note left on us

We are free at last, with the rich
Faun flash of new lines, new destinies
Beauty can flourish even in anguish
Life can feel vivid, even when sleeping alone

Feverish with independence, I beat away attachment
It’s a serene irony, insulted by promises
How I’ve grown old, even
At the risk of falling into eternity.