criminal

Streets Governed Criminal

Can you grasp something that's invisible
In the streets governed by the streets driven criminal
In the sheets, painted up with a face that isn't yours
and your hands tainted with the blood of others, and unopened doors

The sun has gone down, and the homeless are freezing
Some dancing around, and with food appeasing
While you and some others are in the room all alone..
and the air smothers you, and anxiety brings life out of the zone

A hand comes out of your thumping heart, and suffocates you silly
It comes out screaming, and dumping the pain of the world, and you get chilly
You wish you could save the world, and cradle the ill in your hands
Bring, pave and stretch out the curled, lost, to comfort the bullied trans

What is the world, when you walk around to live with someone else's blood on your hands
To live when you ignore and talk happiness but can't give and end the flood to the disappearing lands?
Don't you ever wonder what the world means when there's a bunch of so called nobodies?
Acting like a blunder is a murder and people just have a hunch who you are, and lay on our tragedies?

What is morality?
When we are bathed in brutality?
Laugh it off like we don't know,
While people are screaming below
and someone has to pay and die
and all people say is "I'm sorry, I can't, goodbye."

This is humanity.
We all try to ignore the insanity.
and someone's on the floor crying for someone to be there
and others just seem to kick, scream and glare
but for their sisters and brothers they'd probably shed a tear
But for anyone else they say they can't be here

It's truly disgusting
Respect is forever rusting
Screaming "Equality!" yet fighting and burning homes in it's name, adding blood to the unnecessary sea of issues of gender and "race" and the others trivial differences we try to hold
Through actual frivolity of rewriting and turning around simple non-offensive words like its a game, yet somehow determining what you are by shape of your face, through privileged or how old
When we both share the same organs, the emotions, and planet
breathing the same air, through the grass and granite
and still we fight which status, and hands matter the most
Competing with our apparatus and plans, that catch the eye to bleed one of our fellow brothers as a host

What's the point if we stand on dead bodies to live?
To disjoint lives that are so much more meaningful and bite the hand that gives?

This must be the meaning of our lives
To bleed a poor soul and find the next one that arrives.

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transpirit

 

 

..................

 

to you, my teacher, my healing spirit guide,

in my carreer, my sorrows, trials and tribulations,

transformed into joy and peace,

thank you for this morning,

thank you for the signs, 

and the light that shines ever so brightly

within me from your own journey,

this connection so overwhelmingly special,

you know me, and of my path,

 

and i know i'm doing it right now. 

 

greatest healer of all time,

thank you.

 

 

5:59 PM 7/12/2013 ©

 

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Author's Notes/Comments: 

a poem to a friend.

Big Jim

Big Jim was determined that he wasn't going to jail,

He said, "I can eat my way out of this! I'll be sure to make bail!

Because a custom made jumpsuit's too expensive, you see,

That's just too much material...a triple X plus three!

 

They can dig up my yard 

And they'll never find that gun,

Interrogations will cease 

With a cinnamon bun!

 

I have oodles of noodles and ice cream galore,

Cause my pit bull named DD works down at the store,

And me, I'm a gambler, so I can lend lots of money,

Although at 25% interest, the cops don't think it's too funny.

 

They can dig up my yard 

And they'll never find that gun,

Interrogations will cease 

With a cinnamon bun!

 

Oh woe is me twenty years down the road,

I've been hussling my kids to make up for my big load,

My son now got shot, but I'll still claim my case,

I'm literally now addicted to stuffing food in my face.

 

They can dig up my yard 

And they'll never find that gun,

Interrogations will cease 

With a cinnamon bun!

 

I know all the casinos, and they all know me,

I love this life, truly, and I got this gig, see,

I let others be criminal, cause I win the bucks,

I can dig others' their graves, hell, I don't give a f*ck.

 

They can dig up my yard 

And they'll never find that gun,

Interrogations will cease 

With a cinnamon bun!"

 

 

9:29 PM 7/6/2013 ©

 

............

Author's Notes/Comments: 

just a silly rhyme ;-)

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Lullaby Of Death

Lullaby of Death

By Liz Peterson-Braveheart

 

You have no right

To bear your silent wish of death

Upon my brethren’s door,

You have no right.

 

You have no right

To cast your world of hate

Before my child’s eyes,

You have no right.

 

The wickedness you offer

On the table isn’t just,

And as you rant of guts and glory,

Your heart is cold,

A breach of trust,

You have no right.

 

To scowl, or render judgment

On such lies and fabrications,

And then gloat,

While bathed in rapture

Once more,

Hungry for ovation!

Then slay again!

You have no right.

 

To mothers and fathers,

Daughters, sons,

…and innocent babes,

Your desperate gnawing helps

To seal their lips

But not their might,

The beastly seed in you ignites,

And they lay naked on your platter

You call justice

As you feast with sheer delight?

You have no right.

 

Love and freedom suffocate,

In our ears the sound of silence

Is their last hurrah,

As you claim the spiteful anthem,

Your self righteous Lullaby of Death.

 

© 2010

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