We Shall Rise From the Ashes If We're Not Afraid To Let It Burn Down

It’s like shooting fireworks into the rain,

Useless sparks that quickly fade,

Water casting out the already limited potential for oxygen to carry out a flame,

Borne from humanity’s pollution colored lungs,

Coughing up more than disappointment immersed in climates changing for the worse.

Are you yet feeling the Bern?

Let us suffocate on the smoking gun’s flag for change, for a change,

Admit there’s choke-hold cloud over a reality where false promises were made,

Let them die and again regain an origin dignified even if you’ll never get to see that sky.

Dreams that were cryogenically frozen will slowly surface to the land even if with greater uncertainty.

But self-control and commitment to the present is a higher order masochism when you start to feel a heart felt resistance.

This House of Cards is Made of Jokers

Wings across halls of tall buildings,

Wings across long tables the same,

Put your place setting next to those you seek to set precedents,

Whether it’s the president or interns you’ll roast into shame.

Learn which piece you are on the chessboard and which players are playing the game,

Don't be afraid to turn the table,

Use every card in your hand as your own claim to fame,

And don’t forget to shout the loudest,

The one that consumes the most oxygen is least wavering flame!

Brave face to handshake fake sincerity,

Ignorance feigns plurality’s smoking gun reigns,

Held by horses’ asses on high horses…there are no classes!

Marry right and have a kid’s face to parade around, or two,

As a god-loyal family man, what on Earth would they do without you?

You’re finally a spectacle in the big show,

The game show lame show reality show spectacular!

Jeopardy?

What is...the current state of the union?

Should there not be sacred ground for the conquered?

Should there not be solace for those we’ve struck down?

If your enemy’s enemy is your friend on that stand-alone, who’s to say when they’ll turn it around?

Disbarred

Get out of my dreams you temptress,
But please linger some more,
You are my muse.

I'll never learn and I don't want to.

I could be a meteorologist, but I'm too distracted.
You are a cyclone I almost don't see coming as I walk the plank across this still marshland muck, cloaked by grey shaded skies at what appears to be dusk.
It's then dark and I feel as if I'm expected to catch a fish in the lake across the way,
But I'm compelled to seek shelter in a stilted wood-cabin-like bar while I sort my foresight sore head.

God I want you.
I wish you'd walk in, but I see that you've blocked me on social media instead.

As the sun comes up, I lean on a smooth, but splintered wooden ledge and look through the wide glass bay windows.
Below, a few small boats with sails blow by and I'm still lost.

Drive

There's popcorn strewn all about the car.
That rotting banana peel bears an imprint from the upholstery.
I should hide those mini-bottles in the center console.
My cheeks sting from all the self-inflicted slapping to stay awake.