and piss on their sacred ground…
the hawk soars to infinity,
yet focuses on tiny movements,
and strikes with precision.
winos sleep with their bottle,
walk with their bottle,
see with their bottle…
all of these know something
we dont yet understand!
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i would rather drink bitter hemlock,
would rather starve in the streetsof Haiti, amid the cholera and despair.would rather hide in unknown cavesfrom the bombs that split the earth.would rather rot in a prison cell,staring forlorn through the bars.would rather work in the sweatshopsor pick cotton with the migrant workers.would rather take a bullet,swift, and hard, and final!would rather stand at…
they’re using our attacks
on our own children….for daring to raise a voice of dissent,for daring to question….as an excuse in Egyptto crackdown on their own….apparently, freedom…doesnt allow dissent!
we have lost our sense of honor.
battle, not a crown for the victor,not something you can build or buy.honor is a way of life… and it beginswith respect.we no longer respect the many formsof life around us… hell, we’re so busyjust trying to survive that we dont evensee life, much less know it!every person, good, bad, or ugly, deservesour respect… for…
pole shift?
or just the soundof the screen door banging,when you walked out of my heart?my finger feels nakedwhen i wake up inthe middle of the night….and the wind blowing the curtainstells me it’s true!
loving, burnt…
left on the pillowwhere you laid,the turning whisperof the kiss betrayed,left by the doorstepwrapped in brown paper.the small hint of dampness,be it passion, or tear…the sudden longing intense,as if the world stopped turning…loving, burnt…
If then love,
Let me but sleep,Beneath thy breast.Let me but hope,To be remembered…In the softness ofYour soul!