Viva la Rebellion
Mountains of Zion
So full of grace
The Lord is with thee
Blessed art thou
In the last days of Rome
For you are the light that shines through the cold
Blessed is your chalice
The cup of your blood
The wine of salvation
The womb of your throne
The dawn of your glory
Like the crimson at dusk
Who can withstand the night of day?
As the clouds roll in
And the laughter fades away
The warmth of the sun
A distant memory
Fog of the mind
Chains of lethargy
Pray for salvation
An inkling of light
Behold
God is mercy
She sees in the dark
like a bat out of hell
An echo in the park
She preys like a spell
The glow of the moon
is no match for her shadow
Her cold, bleeding heart sheds more light than the towns
That she stalks
And she mourns
And she summons to battle
Look at all the birds
Every shape, color, size
Scratching at the surface
Pecking at the lies
Adorning the walls with excrement
Every day is a holiday
Every day is the same old story
The plot thickens
But none will sway
Where have all the flowers gone?
Where are all the vines?
Where are all the pretty birds?
Where are all the signs?
The following badass poem was inspired by Sue Vincent’s daily photo prompt:
The crow caws in the early morning
then smashes into my window
as I wipe the sleep crusted tears from my eyes
What a wonderful sight to see
as I awake to a hopeful new day
The blood of the morning star
dripping down my window pane
Taunting me to share in his glory
Tweet tweet tweet
Says the morning star
I have so many ways to distract you from your path
It’s so weird to be alive. I wake up, eat, shower, get dressed, check up on the happenings of this strange world, run errands, eat, sleep, dream and wake up. The days meld together. Weeks turn into months. As I drift into the future the past seems more like a dream.
I try to make sense of it all, try to live each day unto itself. I try to dig a little deeper, try to better myself. I try to strengthen my spirit and lend a helping hand. Be a friend to my neighbor, and be grateful for what I have.
The wars of the world never heal
Never die
Hail to the throne
Glory to the kill
The games of the thrones don’t save
Only lie
Beckon to the call
Buy your wasted time
Dreams
Of the famous
And the riches
And the pride
Of the mansions
And the pensions
Picket fences
Little dogs
How can someone who burns so hot be so cold?
How can something that feels so right be so wrong?
It’s like I’m lost in space
And I can’t go home
The further I drift
The hotter I burn
The colder it gets
The more I yearn
For something less painful than the stake in my back
I can’t relax
I can’t look at myself
I’m in rare form
My form is so rare
that no lie is too great to embrace my warfare
No fire can make dust of the bombs that I drop
And no thief in the night can take swift with my plot
I’m a renegade
I give swords to your slaves
Chop it up before dawn
then give bones to your graves
I’m a hurricane
I blow hard through the chill
I’ll do it when I wanna do it
I’ll do it when I’m done
I’ll do it when I’m sick and tired
I’ll do it when it’s done
I’ll do it when I’m all burnt out
And my legs are tired
And taking that first step feels like a marathon
without breakfast or a bottle of water
I’ll do it tomorrow
I’ll do it the next day
The disease of isolation
Self-pity and self-harm
Anger and resentment
Selfish lies and selfish wants
It’s baffling
So obscure
Cunning and hard
It’s your own personal Satan pounding at your door
It’s the first place you run to when you want to hide
And the last place that gets you where you want to go
It gives you everything you want
But nothing that you need
