Stand to See.

Let the marching armies’ raid;

Let the pin be removed from the hand grenade;

Let the silence be no more;

Let the truth outshine the lies from before;

Let them come – and kill everyone;

Let them take the orders to drop the bomb;

Let the hatred and anger over-spill;

Let the cowards bask in thy own will;

Let us take direction from evil ones;

Let us do their wicked deeds all done;

Let the RepubliCrat behind the desk;

Let’s see him stand to see his foolishness;

Let the spider tap that final bead;

Let the sniper take the spider’s heed;

Let the blood of bad and good spill around;

Let the Elders dance to the drumming sound;

Let all things “American” just come undone;

Let us demonstrate how we don’t see anyone;

Let the tellers of lies herald our nation’s demise;

Let me keep my attention on meaningful things.

Demise.

Like the talons attached to an otherwise, free bird;

A catch of its jagged edges, never we mind;

The snagging of a delicate thread – loss for word;

The snuffing out of the scent we’ve scattered to find.

The upheaval of oceans otherwise, swallowed depths;

The crash of its tumbling ledges, never we satisfy;

The repetitive histories of nations – not too many left;

An evolution into something born and bred of genocide.

Beneath the shifts in the shelves of the Earth,

Fed by the deepest roots of each living, breathing tree;

Beneath the magma and beyond the light of time’s birth,

Lays a carbon copy of everything we think and see.

A paper fortress twisted in the twirl of a tumbleweed;

Laced with spores off the floors that we stand in line to lick clean,

We are filthy – this thing called “humanity” – there’s no denying;

Our demise is solidified as deeply as the Mariani.

Notable Ancient Proverbs: 2 – The Crow.

“Man’s law changes with his understanding of man.
Only the laws of the spirit remain always the same.”

The name of the tribe, Apsáalooke [ə̀ˈpsáːɾòːɡè], meaning “children of the large-beaked bird”, was given to them by the Hidatsa, a neighboring Siouan tribe; they became known in English as ‘the Crow’.
Other tribes also refer to the Apsáalooke as “crow” or “raven” in their own languages as well.
One thing that has always stuck with me about the Crow is something I saw when I was very small and could barely read: an account by a Crow Warrior about his home and homeland. He wrote something along the lines of:

“The Creator put my people right where it is most perfect for us to be…protected by mountains and hidden by valleys. When someone is here, all is well; but if you travel out of my home in any direction, trouble will find you.”

Sour Shame.

bloody mess

Nothing is static besides the bubbles in my veins;
Chaotic beats from my heart to my brain,
Sorry-salty-sweaty – the puckered face of sour shame;
Once willing – twice insane;
never to stand straight up again.
Everything is frantic alongside the steps on parade;
A taste glued to my tongue more retched than fermented lemonade,
Tangy-touchy-begrudging – like every promise ever made;
Once bitten – never displayed;
never to listen to a word said.
Something’s can’t be reined in by the rope or chain;
pitiful spaces for the paces of my racing brain,
Angry-vengeful-hostile – pencils found to write down my name;
Once a ‘squaw’ – always a shame;
never to be ignored like before again.

Boxcars on Fire.

The stars could not capture that flash from your soulful eyes;
The Gods could not have chiseled such perfection, if they tried;
The nights could not grow longer, without you at my side;
The desire could not get any stronger, by the time our lips collide.

The moon could not hang any lower than how close you need to come;
The sun could not shine any brighter than this thing we’ve gone and done;
The days could not be any better, unless you found them in my home;
The senses could not fire any faster; the bonds are set within my bones.

The clouds could not move anymore quickly by, over our heads;
The clothes could not look any better than they do under the bed;
The hand could not fit any more perfectly around my upper leg;
The Spirit could not be fooled or replaced by another one, instead.

The darkness could not have foreseen you strike a match-light;
The winds could not blow out the glowing embers through the night;
The storms could not come wash our dreams away during the daylight;
The promises could not be broken by the trivial wrong or right.

The memories could not be sold or bought for any price;
The tears could not be wiped away with sugar-coated lies;
The smiles could not be faked by either of us, no matter how we tried;
The grip could not feel any better as it tightens on either thigh.

The authors could not write a better Epic Tale than this;
The composers could not compose music better to my ear than his;
The horns could not trumpet a sound more profound than our kiss;
The girl could not believe that the boy finally turned up like this.

The years could not pass any faster between your heart and mine;
The blood could not bleed any richer than the color of My Valentine;
The skin could not feel any smoother, like the fruit pulled from a thistle vine;

The kisses could not be any sweeter, like candy every time.

 

Stand to See.

Let the marching armies’ raid;

Let the pin be removed from the hand grenade;

Let the silence be no more;

Let the truth outshine all the lies from before;

Let them come – kill everyone;

Let them take the orders to drop the bomb;

Let the hatred overspill;

Let the cowards bask in thy own will;

Let us take direction from evil ones;

Let us do their deeds all done;

Let the man behind the desk;

Let him stand to see what’s left;

Let the spider tap that final bead;

Let the sniper take the heed;

Let the blood be spilled around;

Let my people listen to the rattling sound;

Let it all just come undone;

Let us show the world how we don’t see anyone;

Let the lies be finally set free;

Let me keep my fucking sanity.