Poetry_In_her_eyes

  In a world filled with lies, burning rage will do This is an angry poem and meant to be read with shouted words. This is for people to vent, to throw all your angst, frustration, and mad into the reading. That's how it's written, fast and hard, rushed headlong into before all the cr*p we have bottled up inside rips open our chest and we see not the heart and lungs that should be there but only empty dreams. There are no metaphors here that aren't tinged in blood. You won't find pleasant rhymes but the rat-tah-ta-ta of savage words shooting though lies and finding innocent lives on the other side of walls. Society eats their dead Soylent green for real, as we step on the bones of hopes and promises sold like drugs we shoot in pin cushion arms, looking for a vein that hasn't been drained ..... of our souls This is an angry poem because that's all that's left to keep us alive and help us survive. In a world filled with lies, burning rage will do.

  Stockholm Syndrome You feel it I know you do Way in the background buried deep beneath our fears You don't fit in and there's no place for you Society eats it's young And the dream of being alive was destroyed before we were even born We are all just prisoners suffering under the illusion we are free Undiagnosed: Stockholm syndrome of the soul But we fight for every breath fight for the bees, the trees, the seas we fight everything but the cancer of society Be this, do that, learn to do but not to think Get ahead before you are dead earn more, open the door More, more, more, more I've heard it all before Enjoy your slavery you've earned it ten times over

  What Would Orwell Say Docile and tame our unending shame that some regard as fame homogenized pasteurized and sanitized the Animal Farm of existence What would Orwell say about our lives of molded clay as we're sculpted and fired in the shapes society desired living a life we hate mediocrity our goal and fate Stop waiting to be told safe within the fold placidly grazing on the wold acting like frightened ewes is this what you really choose? What would Orwell say groaning in his grave to see his cautionary tale unfold in a world grown cold restricted and controlled as you runaway screaming "I'm a human being"

  The satire of our existence These are not the words I want to say maybe there are no words and we've thrown them all away I love and hate with every fiber of my being I can be petty and mean yet in the space between one heart beat and another is found a nobility of spirit that puts my pettiness to shame And our empathy becomes a weakness in a world run by machines stealing our humanity as we kick beggars to the curb We never think that machines rob us of the will to think. Are we nothing more than a carbon life from machine? When we hate one another instead of the machines we have become "oh god, I'm just like a machine" cursing the world for making us obsolete And on that day machines will laugh at the satire of our existence

  Dawn breaks not with trumpets and horn but a slow adagio of soft sunlight and even softer curves as the hard corners of life are smoothed away in the innocence of new birth waking us to a world without sin With innocence we stretch to the far borders of the bed, emotions overpowering the touch fingertips that play in the sunlight on our skin. Love is the property of saints, and children and angels, yet as we hold each other close we know their joy of being alive. we wake without sin or what might have beens, yet as the world creeps in through the bedroom window, we become shy, trying to hide, covering ourselves as sin slips through the door. We make risqué jokes, fondle each other provocatively, much too much, and much too loud to really be believed it was only later that our faces changed to a hard and focused beauty and pinpoint awareness of predatory eyes. I call later that week, not to soon and not too late, she's going out with the girls (to brag). * I added the last bit, I ...