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
anymore.
Today,
there will only be thoughts
of violence.
DJR – 2022
