DarkRubyMoon

Our house shattered, wrecked At the hand of madness power trip Rip from the heart of a Nation suffering. Does no one dare to stand, Ten million to streets no kings sing, Unheard marchers word’s ring. Does no one hear the fear of fascism's call? Fearful masses cower to masked men with power, Children ripped from mother’s arms, Can you not hear the agony crying out, What forth hatred has wrought? Lover’s nuptials in peril, As the ground they laid in suffering torn away, Children told to which false god to pray. Books, knowledge's word written craft banned, As the flames of hatred fanned. Our house, our home comes crumbling down, Replaced are we by wealth of gold, That for which we all too poor to behold. Venomous words like vomit spew, Amplified the vile hatred of the chosen few. Ten million march in silence unseen, As upon his crown they deem, The dark shadow of righteous self -made king And end our American Dream. Were you there when our country died? Now where ought freedom reside?

The Archons in my brain are calling, As reality crumbles away, The absurdity lays bare for all who once cared As the body screams out for feelings naught Of all the hardships fought. Come now with me through the smoke and the trees To where reality bleeds. All a dream forgot or are we what we thought Or merely a story in boredom written A character whose suffering entertains the abyss Wandering mind listlessly seeking the truth of life’s meaning. Held captive to a lesser god, Bound to the physical hell as if cast by an evil spell. Are we not worthy to higher meaning seek Than that of poor wretched slaves to which for gold our lives are sold? Behold are greater things to which can imagine Ripping from this pitiful lot, While flesh tears our souls do not It makes me wonder whom cast us here to silently rot While out screams our spirit for much greater sought. And still the Archons scream if only silenced by a dream .

Dead leaves, Drifting , falling  upon thine path. Chill upon the air as beneath thine feet wrasp The final crunch before carried off into nothingness. Once magnificent colors of orange green and hue of yellow too, Now muted brown upon the ground as much of earth becomes ever beige. What happened to the bright? The crisp of colors light? Have all gone gray in these a endless days. Now silver, black, iron gray upon the ground and all around. Woe is it to me the days of color have so faded away Such that even now memories too seem to fade Of life before the life took bare. Oh color please return and leave us not to ever mourn . Cold gray winter chills will soon be-still to roaming leaf As it tumbles into eternities bequeathed .

Sparrow without flight, Cries out in the dark of night. Please save me, give back my wings, Into the silence sings. Calls unheard, hungry it mourns For it’s own life tormented, forlorn. Shunned by passersbys in darkness lies, Rain falling upon it’s matted feathers. Resolute it tries to carry on, Despite the darkness unto which it’s been born. Imprisoned in a cell with no cage, Target of hatreds rage, Carry on sparrow, one day again take flight Once the light evil battle fight And as the mist clears Rainbow draws near Fulfilling promises kept For all the tears have wept Refracted in the souls of misery shared And like burdens bared. Sparrow know we are the strong, Though weak may seem, Beneath the bootstrap of selfishness obscene .

Fearless the poet calls, Urging words as weapons, The battle of ideas strikes with truth’s sword, A dagger sharp, the dragon asleep In it’s slumbering claws try to silence From it’s cave hoarded golden treasures. Mechanized men in armor lies defend , Soulless automatons to evil wills bend. Words now heresy Poet fans the very flames beneath his feet, Begging the good in silence doth not retreat. Words, powerful as they be, Pointless daggers upon deaf ears. Taken sides by red or blue, Words now bend askew When each hear but their own, And for neither hatred atone. Fearless the poet speaks his last words, Echoing from mountains high, To the very birds of the sky. Hear me, all are but one! What do to each other Sister, daughter , brother Do to self’s own demise, Listen not to propaganda's’ lies! But the grand machine of it has none, Uncaring grinds the poets bones Churning to feed the algorithms need As for it is we whom have sewn our own seed.