Marxist Thinking RevisionRevolution!The banner for,The Proletariat of my ambition,Subjugated,Beneath the bootheelOf my Bourgeois apathy.Salivating with determination,Fierce, savage, thundering;Across the steppes of my mindWaving flags of redOver trampled, burnt fieldsCasualties of revolutionTriumphant shoutsOver the burning white flagOf status and classA phoenix dawnAcross an infant stateUnited from the ashes.
The Bells of St. Paul's RevisionThe mourning bell tollsAcross the bricks and shoalsOf London, oldPast pubs and roads where, many stories toldThe city cold and still, left to mournA hero, once bornNow laid to rest,On his nation's requestRange Rovers of blackShouldering this armored caskDraped by the Union JackTo inter this son, named SlackBelow the titanic spireBefore the funeral pyreFrom this once great empire,That has fallen in mire.
The American Dream RevisionHeading full long, across the tarmac expanseSlender strip of black, strecthing into empty vastnessThe start of this journey, across one nationSearching for its heart, and its soulRolling through fields as far as the eye can see, under the gentle breezeClothed in green, as the money roll.Caught by the tumultuous city, gilded in light and sparkling distractionFounded on broken backs and splintered factions.Speeding through small towns crammed with charm and the musings of SteinbeckLeft to rot, without gold or lead, upon piles of the long forgotten dead.Skirting crashing waves of cold, the warm wind blowsBringing garbage, oil, and evermore; ashore.Stopped before steps of white marble, pure and justMired in bureaucratic bustResting amongst plots of final rest, tranquil and cleanCosting the legacy to be left, and a family bereft.The end of researching and explorationInto the deep seated heart, of this fine nation.
Love Song in Drop D RevisionAn old guitar,Hanging on the wall,Collecting dust.Catching my eye.Battered body,Worn neck,Dull frets.Paint, far gone from luster.Walnut stained with oilFrom one setOf unskilled fingersAfter another.This old guitarPassed from personTo person, butWithout glory or fame.Handed off for,The same old reason:"Out of tuneNo matter what I do."Old strings, pulled throughReaching out, into stagnant airBeconing,As aged fingers of the beggarThe sound hole peeringPick guard, as a tearStill, it weepsSilent, it speaksI take this old guitarThat has been stoic witness for too longAnd left, battered and wornStriking one chordThe beaten strings singA sad, minor tuneA ballad, pleading..."Will you play? This song, without E?"
Marxist ThinkingRevolution, the policy that is neededThe Proletariat of ambitionunder the boot heelof Bourgeois apathyA slash and burn,Scortched earth of RedA new stateBorn of ambitionWorking for success.
Love Song in Drop DAn old guitar,Hanging on the wall,Collecting dust.Catching my eye.Battered body,Worn neck,Dull frets.Paint, far gone from luster.Walnut stained with oilFrom one setOf unskilled fingersAfter another.This old guitarPassed from personTo person, butWithout glory or fame.Handed off for,The same old reason:"Out of tuneNo matter what I do."I see this stained bodyEvery crack catching the afternoon lightDust, hanging in space.Silence holding my breath.Fighting my instincts, I breathe"May I see?"Large arms unfold accompanied by a nodFrom the man behind the counterHe grasps the neck, gingerlyShocking, from his size and strength.Dust cascades in thin whisps, down,As the battered body descendes from its gallows.He sets it down,Conscious of its age and wearStill, it restsSilent, it speaksI take this old guitarThat has been stoic witness for too longAnd left, battered and wornStriking one chordThe beaten strings singA sad, minor tuneA ballad, pleading..."Wil
The American DreamRolling fields as far as the eye can see, under the gentle breezeClothed in green, as the money roll.The tumultuous city, gilded in light and sparkling distractionFounded on broken backs and splintered factions.Small towns crammed with charm and the musings of SteinbeckLeft to rot, without gold or lead, upon piles of the long forgotten dead.The crashing waves of cold, the warm wind blowsBringing garbage, oil, and evermore; ashore.Steps of white marble, pure and justMired in bureaucratic bustPlots of final rest, tranquil and cleanCosting the legacy to be left, and a family bereft.
Jazz NightThe Big Easy swaysLeft to rightLeft to rightIn flourish of refinedDecadenceLeft to rightLeft to rightAlong the Mississippi's mightLight flicking like flameAs bodies pass by the panesRaucous bedlamTo the tune of bourbonPlay on, play onMan, play onDance madam, danceTo that whiskey bluesDance madam, danceBoth of you take a bowIn the light of the rum-fired skyLeft to rightNew Orleans swingsBy the shores of lake PonchatrainShe writhesLike the madam in the windowTo the golden sheen, whiskey bluesThe slow moon shinesAs the songs lieLike the sun at high noonA French Quarter tuneBelow that rum-fired skyDrifting, to the pinesOf that whiskey blues
A Tree of BlackBranches, lashing outClawing, as talons and FangsRending with shadowBlack, writhing plagueScarring this sanguine skyIn pure defiance,Fighting the white lady's mailed fistResisting her course'Till the last breath.
RavenThe raven would not say my name -only flutter its wingand settle on the branch.I watched its cockle eyestudy me and the rooftopsthat sang of autumn.Leaves swirled in the wiresas the air blisterd around meand I could feel myselffalling once again -somewhere the lightwould still remember me.
Lies Told to Children1. There is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. You can end your family’s financial troubles if you can find it.2. Your older brother just said duck. Really.3. Once a tooth detaches itself from your gum you should put that mass of dead cells and bacteria under your pillow. A fairy will enter your room once you are sleeping and exchange your tooth for money. Why your tooth is worth 5 cents when your classmate gets ten dollars is irrelevant, the tooth fairy has her reasons.4. The bully is just jealous of you, if you do not respond they will leave you alone.5. A magical elderly man watches you year round and judges you with his moral standards. Once a year he will enter your home via chimney. Trust this man, for his perception of good and evil is undisputed. Should he find you worthy of reward he will leave gifts, if he sees the wickedness in your soul he will leave coal. Coal is pretty helpful if you need fuel for a fire or want payback next year.6. Nothing is wrong.7. &
Late nightAll alone in my roomSurrounded by darknessThe clock keeps tickingTime doesn't stopAnd there I layMy mind wanderingWhile I waitFor another day to come
Don't Be Like Me: The Five Reasons WhyHello.My name is Rachel for those whom may not know.And I am here to tell you about myself.The first thing is that I don't like myself.Well, my body, to be precise.My hair is too brown and bland, never long enough for my preference and always tangled.My nose too big, my eyelashes too long, my eyes too green.I'm too short, my nails too chipped, my lips too chapped.The second thing I don't like is my personality.I am far too shy in front of strangers.I am far too loud in front of friends.I say the wrong things and come off as insensitive.I don't say anything and come off as uncaring.So I'm stuck with being completely sarcastic, so I can easily say:"Of course I didn't mean it."The third thing I don't like is my mentality.I am technically smarter than most, my IQ higher than average.I can read faster and comprehend more than most teenagers should.I think creatively, not analytically.Which translates to my fourth thing.I don't like my social skills, if I have any.I cann
TodayI drew a picture of you today. Not because I wanted to. Not because I miss you.I drew a picture of you today. Because your face invades my mind, Every waking moment of consciousnesses.I drew a picture of you today, Simply to rid my thoughts of you. Because I can't bare to see you.I drew a picture of you today. And when I find the courage, When I find the strength.I will burn it.
Bitlets 229The man in the mirror was framed and hung.
A Fairy TaleDismembered limbs fall from the skyDramatic chorus sings silken ribbonsOn the mountaintop, out there in the darknessWhere plants are withered from lack of sunAnd all that is now will be what wasAnd all that was will be once againAs limbs attach themselves to torsosWe get up and walk, smiling, into the lightTeeth, hair, skin, bone re-assembledNew feathered wings stitched to backsThe plants are green on the other sideGrowth ensured by the ever-bright light
lets play pretendI am a lion, brave and strong,I am your defence, for when others see you wrong.I am a warrior, bold and alertbut I am still a person, and a personcan still hurt.
Dancing AloneYes I dance alonebut only because there are no parties tonightwill you come dance with me?
FacesFamiliar faces in a crowdLike wildflowersIn the sea of green fields