Dumbledore looks inept

He didn’t have a clue

To distract death eaters, like the media

But he had nothing on you.

Merlin is old fashioned

He cared about tables round

Your ways of manipulation

Makes alternative facts sound

Gandalf with his staff

Bolsters warriors to protect a ring

But you, sir, want to badly go back

When climate change wasn’t a thing

Dr. Strange was a real doctor

Medicine and magic, such power

But you, a Snakeoil Salesman

Makes mole holes out of a tower.

Can this mundane world hold you?

Will this democracy survive?

Will my children have a future?

Will our species continue to thrive?

Your finger is on the trigger

No wand, no cape, no spell

You, Masterful Angry Dark Wizard

Are creating a Masterful Hell.

The Sound of Bliss

Chit chatter 

Fills the void

With words worth hearing 

If you dare to listen. 

But busy minds

With cluttered thoughts

Insulate

Isolate

Negate the spoken word.

A venomous bite and arrogant slap

Cements destiny 

And births the sound of bliss

Silence.

Perceptions 

You and I could spend a lifetime

Seeing the same thing

But draw different conclusions

Because our eyes see

What we want them to see

Through lens colored 

By our world. 

I see a straight line

You see a curve

I see beauty. 

You see ugliness. 

I see chaos 

You see order

My desire for peace

Keeps me moored. 

Your wiring for manic

Keeps you busy. 

Can’t Talk

Have you ever felt 

Like you can’t talk

To anyone. 

Everyone gives you

Half an ear. 

You know their not

Listening

Because it’s written

Over their face 

And it colors their response

With muted tones. 

Makes you feel invisible. 

Don’t mistake my smile as acceptance

It’s my default to get through life

And weed out strangling vines

That causes all the strife.

Don’t mistake my sugar for sweetness

That’s folly through and through

If I’m always perceived as sweet

That doesn’t  bode well for you.

Don’t mistake civility for meekness

I’ve read the social contract

To get along, you go along

My motives are that exact. 

So go your way and I’ll go mine

My framework now is listed

If I treat you like a stranger

Just know you got it twisted. 

 

It oozes through the veins

Like moldy soft cheese

Coats the walls

In yellowish green

Putrid slime

You found hard to believe

Could have ever once

Been anything pure

Good.

It oozes through the arteries

Making it hard to move

From one place to another

Without feeling sick

In its wake.

It oozes out of pores

So small

You’d need

A microscope to see the

Holes.

The smell surrounds you.

Everyone can sense

Decay,

But too polite to say a word.

They watch you fade away

Slowly

With smiles and platitudes

It oozes.

Sitting in her car

In the stifling garage

Breathing in deeply

the air of freedom.

So sweet and clean

He’s not home.

Thank goodness

But HE’S home

Oh goodness!

Sitting in royal robes

Made in Africa

Preaching God and Religion

Wishing she was never born

To be there.

The sweet air of freedom

Her hair falls out

Combs over the bald spot

With a painted on smile.

How did she get there?

How can she leave?

She’d rather be alone

Because she doesn’t want

to go

home.

Done

How can a good idea

Be so wrong

A short time in 

And I am done. 

A dream in theory

A nightmare in life. 

The promised joy

Nothing but strife. 

Smiling past tears

Looking for the lining

That’s promised in silver

The masses were lying. 

The joy is minimal 

No detection of fun

A short time in this

I’m already done. 

She walks with wolves

They know her name

She adorns her body

Without the shame.

Tribal markings

Frame her royal face

Beautiful woman

Her skin, her race

A shadowed friend

Attempted to mock

Wolf woman stood tall

Immune to shock.

Her grace are pearls

Wasted on swine

She leaves them mocking,

Yet wanting to climb

Into her skin

And be so free.

The friend now banished

The wolf sips her tea.

Can’t Turn Away

His life ticked by

Like a broken watch. 

The media and Web

Trained him to pick a side. 

He rolls down the velvet path

Clicking on choice pieces

Of carrion so dry and tough 

The maggots reject them

Looking for juicy truth

Over dried flecks of bitter dreams. 

He fools himself looking

At the other side

Tick tock tick tick

Bastards are wrong

Nothing is right. 

The slave to the master

What else should I believe

  • My life is gone and you’re my pillow.