PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was the year of the burning,

forests to ash,

ash to wind

and into my lungs,
Into my eyes,
into the tissues and the maps of my veins.

Into my soul

and exhaled into the breath of the children

back into the clouds to be rained down

as acid rain.

Please dissolve with me

like the voice dissipates into rippling waves within the

urban noise pollution.

In the hollow of the drum our melodies make a sacred stirring

blazing out to compel our brethren or falling

on deaf ears as vibrations on skin.

The sun in its burning is

lighting the ionosphere with
aurora and myths of:

castles in the sky,

political cyclones, goverment ordered shockwaves, and

brain cancer in a ball of artificial lightening with its

mass of antimatter interfering with our

cell phone conversations of consumerist shame

over Norway.

We speak, we whisper, we shout, we scream, we wail,
we share
of the myths of forgotten past retold in tales

of rat mazes, credit scores, and learning to sit behind the clock telling us

there is a value on time, on our motions, on our deaths, on our suffering, and that we are merely bodies to be exchanged

within the vast vault of corporate knowledge known as

the West, born out of and into slavery.

Aloof on a breeze,  is a warning of
non containment,
or hydrogen, and helium, and a bath of fire for the reckoning until the
phoenix
rises.

Amongst the arsenic, agent orange, napalm, statistically marginalized genocides,

is cellular matter in nuclei

all of the electrons that shoot around in our brains
revolving into evolving the human race.