Bittersweet Golgotha

The pen is mightear than the sword

Only when it cuts with imageries

Imagineries, that can sunderise mass conventional cancerous un-improvements.

Cancers, like capitalism, with its sickening vision

That promotes a scope of stepping on throats

To money grab, money get

A set that begets respect of any sect, any nation

Any identity

All it wants to do is own the world so we

Can be used as kindling

Ash-turned in the fires of their growth;

We appease

The gods of mass-consumerkillin

Starbux, McDonald’s, Nike

Programmable symbolisms that cause swimming visions of what I need

What I’ll get

While Palestine turns into a pock marked crater of un-represented casualties as the world loses its
respect.

And the kids in the street cannot eat

And the child in the dust cannot cry

While every day cholera causes thirty-thousand dehydrated innocents to expire.

I wish I had that fuzzy warm feeling inside

Not a shattered exterior, centre protected by pride.

I wish I had that funny feeling in my tummy

Not a broken trust in a fucked-up society.

For the grass is greener on the other side!

Tell that to the young ones

Tell that to the humdrums

Societies lost bums

Tell that to the child soldier

AK-47 at the shoulder

Mother being defiled and murdered for a reason much older

Than the use of weapons

As long as there’s been missed-conceptions

Short sighted, One coloured, Blood smothered, Power hungry, Human Specks.

These people who aren’t people

To call upon generasism has them clothed, robed, praying to a steeple.

These-a mass convert-as

Mass control-as

Child trafficking, soul selling, saints of sullied sinful sacrifice shotting soldiers.

Soldiers, in a bad sense

Not vehicles of recompense

Not soldiers for right, not soldiers for good

Not soldiers of freedom;

Soldiers of rape, soldiers of conquest

Soldiers of the promotion of apathy

These-sa soldiers of the violation of truth

By products
Of the Hitler youth

Youth in the then

Youth in the now

With blood stained hands and bags on their heads.

And the hypocrites lie in the grasses like snakes

Ready to strike with back facing objectives

Sideling up with a slither to you side to hand you aid with the left hand and pillage your country with the
right.

But we are all hypocrites

Me and you

You and I

Us and them

At least to some degree;

Doesn’t make them right

Doesn’t make us always wrong

To write these verse filled, verb fuelled, pacified protest musings that will cause no change

For if ever an action comes from a reactionist thought is caused by this catalyst intending benign banned
black and white alliteration spanned

Indentation.

The seed was in you. You brought it forth. You are the change. You are great. You are noble. You are.
You are. You. You. you