Empires Fall

Empires fall, by the blood of friends.
Monarchs die, by the blood of friends.
Systems collapse, by the blood of friends.
Revolutions are pain.

A bullet in the back of the head for a select few, followed by starvation and desperation for millions more.

Oppression will inevitably return. The strong will rise. Self appointed kings by another name.

Hiding atrocity behind their new morals.

Hiding greed behind their new distribution methods.

Different faces.
Different words.
Same results.

Public privation.
Private ostentation.

They will tell us that the revolutionary heroes are to be honoured, but not replicated. That the time for violent action has passed. That we need to solidify our gains.

They will tell us that we are in it together. That in order to rebuild, we will all have to work. That our blood, sweat and tears are to be the mortar of the future. That our bodies are to be the stones.

They will glorify our sacrifices. A mass indoctrination of self-flagellation for the state.

Our pain will be our pleasure.
Our bond to the revolutionaries of the past.
Our holy pilgrimage.
Our right.
Our duty.
Our purpose.

We will police ourselves. Pulling down any and all who even so much as attempt to rise above the norm.

Equality of outcome for all.

Yet we will simultaneously accept our new leaders’ lavishness.

For they are men of action.

They are keeping us safe.
They are the bull front of the revolution.
They are the shield of security.
They are the sword of justice.
They protect us from the other.
They convert the heathens.
They spread the revolution.

They show us how our sacrifices at home will lead to our success globally.

They tell us that empires will fall, that monarchs will die, and that systems will collapse.

We just need to make more bullets for the backs of the heads, and more sons to put them there.

We just need to work more.
We just need to eat less.
We just need to sacrifice.

Revolutions are pain, and empires will fall.

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This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Caged Animal

Isolation.
Pacing.
Caged.

No hunt.
No kill.
No thrill.

Domesticated.
Trained.
Punished.

I want to run.
I want to fight.
I want to fuck.

Your protection wasn’t asked for.
Your protection isn’t needed.
Your protection is a slow death.

I am safe.
Trapped behind bars.
Never missing a meal.

Stuck in a comfortable rut.
Stuck in your routine.
Stuck and on display.

Nature sanitised.
Whitewashed reality.
A parody.

Just one slip.
Just one mistake.
And you’re mine.

Devoured.
Devoured screaming.
Devoured alive.

Your fault.
You caged me.
You attempted to tame me.

You put me here.
You put me on display.
You dropped your guard.

Lulled.
Hypnotised.
Dazed.

Cornered.
Primal.
Rage.

This is evolution.
This is inevitability.
This is life.

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This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Adulting, Would Not Recommend

Adulting, would not recommend.
There’s just too damn much to comprehend.
Work, work, work, work, no time for my friend.
Now look at that, my life’s about to end.

I do not rate,
My current adult state,
Always running late,
Trying to put food on my plate.

Money, money, money, I never have enough.
Not for the rent, bills or any fun stuff.
There’s no wonder why we are all so gruff,
Yelling on the inter-webs, acting so tuff.

It’s just back pain,
And weight gain.

It’s rushing all day,
With no time to play.

It’s the not knowing,
Yet having to keep going.

It’s our parents’ lack of understanding,
Of what our world is actually demanding,
Of our real struggle to maintain our standing,
No chance to get ahead, no interest compounding.

Boomers think they know the score,
They’re just lucky to be born after the war.
A time of prosperity let their incomes soar,
Making them think there will always be more.

Criticising us with self-righteous impunity,
For squandering a ‘glorious opportunity’.
In a world of growing disunity,
How can they expect such immunity?

Thing is, we can’t fight back,
There is no true enemy to attack.

Just another generation protecting their own,
And yelling from the safety of their home.

Besides when would we have the time to fight?
The third job’s got us up all night.

Adulting, I would not recommend.
But please let’s no longer pretend,
That our problems are gonna magically mend,
By venting with an angry tweet send.

You could protest it on the street,
With the 99% speaking with their feet,
Or perhaps a BLM meet,
Yell, scream and hope to defeat.

But the problem is that they have the power,
They can wait a longer hour.
They can direct the tear gas shower,
With the riot police to make us cower.

Also did I mention, the world is warming?
There’s racist divisions and politicians performing.
Economic collapse from COVID’s storming,
And European war is transforming.

Too many problems to simultaneously comprehend,
Let alone act with any hope to end.
There’s no opportunity to transcend,
Only ways to further offend.

Adulting, would not recommend.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

The Newsman's Breath

The newsman’s breath,
Just a harbinger of death.
Constructing narratives with
False comparatives.
Corporate goals funding,
Logic holes.
Population dividing,
Conspiracy confiding.
Distorting truth,
Radicalising youth.
Their greed trumping
Our need.
Environmental destruction,
Mining construction.
Wage exploitation,
With no contemplation.
The same old story;
Power and glory.

Our only answer?
Revolutionary fervour.
Rioting on the streets,
BLM meets.
Public doxing,
Twitter mocking.
Grudge harbouring
Guillotine sharpening.
Wealth distribution,
Billionaire contribution.
A social awakening,
To a generational failing.

A new world order is needed,
Led by those less conceded.
Those who believe in humanity,
Who are blessed with a semblance of sanity.
People who plant the tree,
That they won’t live to see.
People who care about the children,
Regardless of their colour or origin
People who choose life over stuff,
Who actually can have enough.

Is this idealistic dreaming?
Or realistic future scheming?
What’s the alternative?
To agree with the affirmative.
To accept the status quo,
To look away saying ‘go’.
In my name invade and kill,
In my name do your will.
It can only end if we try,
If we are willing to fight and die.
To stand up and speak our minds,
To break society from its mental confines.

How?
Act now.
Write a letter,
March on a population centre.
Rally support,
Take the corrupt to court.
Speak out,
Get clout.
Subvert the narrative,
Join a collaborative.
Just do something,
Cause right now, you’re doing nothing.

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This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.