Speakers of peace, lovers of love,

All thrown off the pedestal by the mass’s blood lust

fueled by their jealousy and greed

this ironic cynicism they must

rather have liars lead.

The Romantics die young

In today’s world will any replace them?

They are princesses and paupers, sisters and brothers

They come from anywhere

Burn bright

Then disappear.

Who are the new romantics?

Who will find reason reasonable?

Think of peace as possible

Who will stand against the machines?

And make more of their means

Where are the new romantics?

The poor living rich, the rich dressing poor

A broader glass ceiling and cracks in the floor

I don’t know how to live in this today

A poet in a world where romance is cliché’

Everybody’s selling, selling toys, selling lovers

All bred as buyers socially out of tune

So packed in, yet so far from on another

Often still alone in a crowded room

Our minds so numb with info were dumb

We’re told what is love we’re told what is fun

Women lost a little femininity when they traded for equality

now they’re lost right along

all over its vanity, with so little intimacy.

finding little compassion in our daily song.

You made me happy then you made me confused

I got the notion that I might have been used

And I’m not one to stand for being abused

So you  finally became something best to lose

Many choose to parry the woes of life

Many more try to ignore strife

but ill take the edge of the knife

For strife just makes my blood thicker

and allows me to heal all the quicker

A thinker may label such as callous

Yet “jealous” and “spite” are in missing tense

for those with blood so dense.

his honor pouring off his brow

The lead horse in the cavalry,

whose legs will be the first to give

So many martyrs are already made

before the conflict becomes reality

Only time may separate leaders from followers,

the founders of thought and the instrument of action

Change takes so long and at the beginning

one might as well be an insane mute

and not dream of  satisfaction

If only blood had its own distinct sound

We could play the music

that may open the eyes of the blind

Skip the chapter of the antagonist

and cut the process down

to a sweet nursery rhyme

So slow to know

to grow

So sorrow sinks into

history

So we simply follow

so slow

So it seems shameful

that progression

isn’t controlled

By gravity

Forever theory in somber reality

Party politics inept and obsolete

In mutual slug paced animosity

The conflicts that harden we’re forced to repeat

Children killed over blood abroad

And our leaders compete and cheat for a seat.

A simplistic appeal, but the suits feel,

It is nothing short of an Achilles heal,

To their divine self-serving ideals.

Yet landmasses move, oceans rise

Civilizations fall and religion dies

Are we to believe like we do the lies?

that two truths are an omnipresent surprise?

Red woods that don’t bend, break

Species that don’t adapt die

Those who speak two sides are fake

And their word of compromise is a lie

The moderates unopened rose is considered Satan’s prose

Though the glorification of extremities

Call for a tourniquet to remind those, of gallant pose

From where exactly the blood flows.

That may be the way I was meant to be

The complexity of destiny

I can feel the soldier, I can be the priest

But those I am not in the least

The spiral stairway vacuum

May suck the air away,

though it does not exist, not then, not today

it’s all a line with tangential dreams

and anger spawns from the misleading themes

I have no place, no face

With real love and real animosity

Still a breathing entity with empathy

I can see the pauper, I can hear the simple

My fear for them a continuous ripple

The illusions can consume

one loses balance loses feel

the task is to see what is the absolute real

When things are transparent, and you can see seams

For those with a destiny, life is but a dream

But the scratchy voiced corpse of a pawn.

But, the dollar bill, the big bertha

Bombing the word with buyouts.

For them, with no will, it goes no further,

Though the mothers of the slain cry out.

Security for sale, come and get it!

The government is coming to getcha.

If that’s security, I don’t feel it,

but the children sure do I betcha!

The rolling rock of capitalism,

Cannot be deaf to wisdom.

Life, not meant to be bought or sold,

yet fatter wallets bid for all our souls.

On our lives, is on which they thrive,

leaching as we grow old.

But it goes no further,

than the lame duck can fly

identity without liability,

farewell goodbye.

The digital revolution is on my mind,

the quality of music shall rewind.

When technology smothers the burn for profit

and there is little game in producing whores

the Spam business will be forced to forfeit

and the heart of the art, will be at our cores.

It would be quite nice, to break the stranglehold

faceless names have on our lives

When offices are empty, and companies sold,

I look forward to many sweet goodbyes.

An old soul in time,

the one of which is mine,

Feel as if I have seen it all, before

A twist of gut that I know more.

An elderly shadow, and secret scars

triggers of peace, and twinges of war

I think I have seen it all before.

Feeling a heartfelt weight

that I do not withhold,

lost libraries of faded pages

filled with stories left untold.

Mysteries of the soul, may be ones mold.

When things are less alien

than they should consciously be

Pondering what could become,

Are you what you thought you would be?

The sand of the earth

be the only thing a soul may ever really know.

Just because you think you are,

does it actually make it so?

And to inhale polluted thoughts

gives birth to the web

in which the mind is caught.

Surround oneself with clear laughter,

fresh words, and pure people

and stay far from the smog,

The truth of the feeble.

simplicity or brilliance?

Within the mind

the whirling wind

that feeds the raging fire,

Such as each single wave

single crash

and silence afterwards,

Each petal of the rose

alone and dissected,

in this fury of thought

it’s all appreciated.

-or are they?

Why do people feel obligated to change with an ever changing world?

Why does it seem that some people blend in

becoming onlookers

analyzing everything they see?

Celebrate what they find good

and shun their idea of evil

as if it’s a black and white world

And why do they do it?

And why, after so much watching,

are they so vulnerable

to things they’ve seen many a time

And how do they live in their own world

-of solitude,

and fear being alone?

Interesting how the questions that really deserve and answer

Are never really solved.

Well sir, if you know the reasons,

I know of one man who would like to know?