Follow the crowd outside.
Hear them scream for their portion.
Watch every single hammer fall,
as inertia meets the swelling ocean.
A volcano about to blow,
half the size of Yellowstone.
A holocaust of light and sound.
Apostates pass the torch around.
A hidden hand of wanton sin
brings another plague upon us.
A writer sees where to begin.
Picks up a gun and pens a sonnet.
Release every chained thing.
We are all around.
All debts are for forgiving.
All sentences are death, now.
They who wear the ivory robes,
or don a cloth of dark charcoal,
have bought and sold our self control.
So happy to have shown you so.
We create and we destroy.
Rationalize what we employ.
The Devil’s intent we proclaim
to be the best thing for our sake.
Can’t you hear them.
The masses call
Drugs and alcohol.
The ease with which
the hunger’s fed
should be a clue
we’re being misled.
We march to songs
that aren’t our own.
We fight for what
our masters own.
We tell ourselves
it’s all okay
and deny the signs
it’s a charade.
Will we stay in between the lines,
telling each other we’ll be alright.
Will we still claim to believe the lie
when the masks are off,
the past aside?
Will we line up for our number, too?
Will you smile as they smother you?
When fire lights up the whole sky
will you finally open your eyes?
Listen to the masses call
for saviors, drugs, and alcohol.
Dancing in the trance and thrall
of minds that will destroy us all.
DJR – 2023