Where in the world is left to go?
if all of the cement streets are blood stained
with flecks of sparkling gold,
paved in the cracks of where squares of sidewalk once
laid out flat for footsteps above
a soil-drenched pure Earth.
Waters of turquoise lavender wavers
plentiful slowly quivering gardens made of
their seductive secrets
to the creases of the gently foaming waves ashore.
When guns search to be fired and find the ignited hands of killers with no purpose or intent other than blindly
swallowing whole a poisonous
covered up by expertly painted lies in
served to you pristinely through your pecker squawking loud media of
They promise you choices of
disguised by expert suit and tie smiles and beliefs that translate into care
while hundreds of thousands of unlucky one spirits are
tossed and thrown into heaps of
bloody murderous death piles of
left on the desk of remembrance for some Stars and Stripes’
Monday to do pile.
Sacrificial Skin seeps through the ball point pen that signs away it’s name
of power and authority, that does nothing but signs away on its latest
vacation rental home or ownership.
The mouths in Africa still crack open like a dehydrated coconut,
leaking with the last drop of moisture left in the world, if only it would
If only the lightning could blink away the downpour’s grey cloud of absolute darkness
that enshrouds the sadly mistaken and mislead minds of those in “power”
Power abused and misused,
Mistaken and taken for lands and people and skin and body parts and blood
in the name of the same unrighteously mistaken
righteous mark of
Justice.. Do you
Loud and clear I come close to you purely as a wick of a candle comes close to melting.
to your shadows of
bright light illuminating my night of
darkness that falls as
Niagra during the day
will angels come and play
with my dreams of a peaceful future?
Will the sutures of illusion start to disintegrate before the eyes that used to almost religiously devour all of the its and bits of them?
Trying to spread this awareness on my own when I’m made to feel familiar with this earth place we call home,
I constantly wonder am I alone? Or are the awakened ones feeling this too,
all on their own?
Copyright © 2014 Jennifer Ayala