Waking life,

another violent ideation.

Across the road,

the prayer books

are red with blood.

Assault on the senses

and the sanctuary

no longer gets respect

from within.

Corruption inevitable.

These hallowed halls,

long abject with scorn.

The principle

sacrificed for the moment,

then immortalized

for the coming dawn.

Hang the traitors.

Dethrone the patriarch.

Replace them

with a new, repulsive eye,

blistered and unclosing.

An all-seeing enemy.

Touchstone like a talisman.

Hearth in heart’s space.

No reality prevails

without the conflict

that moves the pendulum

back and forth.

Another day sustains.

Power still festers

in its chambers.

Every time

it spits another filthy edict,

its spawn swarm around

to lick it up.

Eagerly awaiting

the next atrocity.

No minutes left

just to live.

No future,

but this cycle

of waking

into thoughts of war.

Blue skies

and golden fields.

Grey mountains,

and the world

ceases to exist

anything like this



there will only be thoughts

of violence.



DJR – 2022

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