The Artist & The Tyrant

Image by Shepherd Fairley

(Style Inspired by Melvin Tolson's The Furlough)

The artist carves creation into surreal ideas which scream 

words that reshape the landscape of time 

into the horizons of tomorrow of which children dream;

for there remains a world to be made and redefined.

Words that reshape the landscape of time

cause sleepers to awaken who have not seen light;

for there remains a world to be made and redefined

which the artist pursues to bring about when they write.

Cause sleepers to awaken who have not seen light

is not what tyrants desire to come to pass

which the artist pursues to bring about when they write

so that truth and justice are given twin birth at last.

Is not what tyrants desire to come to pass

the extinction of words which challenges their grip

so that truth and justice are given twin birth at last

to the class alone from which his cup of gall does sip?

The extinction of words which challenges their grip

the artist cares not to contribute to the demise.

To the class alone from which his cup of gall does sip

the words spoken by the artist are weapons to tyrants eyes.

The artist cares not to contribute to the demise

to the worlds of wonder which words create.

The words spoken by the artist are weapons to tyrants eyes

destined to bring about the tyrants cursed fate.

To the worlds of wonder which words create

the artist toasts and longs to forever dwell with pen and pad;

destined to bring about the tyrants cursed fate

the life of a poet is not that of a fad.

The artists toasts and longs to forever dwell with pen and pad

like a mystic who transcends both time and space;

the life of a poet is not that of a fad,

creating alternative thoughts of existence with form and grace.

Like a mystic who transcends both time and space

is the mind that sees beyond the surface scene.

Creating alternative thoughts of existence with form and grace,

the artist carves creation into surreal ideas which scream.

Method To The Madness

when 

sound 

vibrates 

at 

high 

frequencies

it penetrates 

the thickest 

of ear drums &

beats to tribal rhythms

which then bleeds letters

from the pens 

of pugilistic poets

who pound words

into weapons 

of mass reconstruction.

and then 

there are tongues

who lick lightening &

strike souls 

with thunderous tales told 

to tame uncivil society

sick with supremacist systems

symptomatic of sucking 

the source of life

from souls who sell 

their subconscious states 

for slippery promises. 

but it takes a mind

out of touch 

with the status quo

to go beyond the veil

in order to perceive

the fraility of the lies

buried deep beneath

the surface 

which serves as the

very foundation

upon which 

the infrastructure

of this present hell rests.

it takes a chest

filled with 

the love of life

to reveal how

the deadly wheels 

of this beastly system

turns to crush

the will of the people

into a sleeping submission.

and it takes

an unconventional wisdom

to rebel against

this supremacist

beastly system

which is known to either

clone its children or

drone its civilians

to stand 

with resilience

against the fascist 

villains stealing

even the light 

from heaven

of the Son.

But despite this run

somehow

someway

some time

some where

led by someone

something 

must be done

to remove 

the parasitic invader

from the collective body.

and oddly

it is the duty of the poet

to compose liquid solutions

to cure the spreading

epidemic of confusion

bcuz in this flood

of ill information

we need more gil's 

to survive during 

the untelevised

revolution 

from her-on.

and yes

the pen 

is mightier

than the nuke

for when considering 

the fact that

at its root

there is nothing

on earth

that can bring

an end to the truth

then just perhaps then

every poet will awaken

and begin to regroup

their thoughts

form a troop

to dispute 

with united arms

what has been lost

to the politicians and bankers

who are intent

to pollute earth 

with their absolute 

corrupt powers

which have cursed

so many with sadness

as its the purpose

of the poet

to write the wrongs

of the world

which is the their 

method to the madness.

but what has this

world to gain

from the absence

of ethics

but some strange

infected reality

as told 

by media magicians

who cast spells

on uncritical audiences

thinking that 

entertainment is not

a war front &

to be more blunt

there are sorcerers

who indoctrinate

the unsuspecting 

in institutions of 

higher learning

that are meant to

assimilate a segment

into an intellectual 

stupor with 

bacchanalian rites.

these are masters

of perverse arts &

wicked sciences

demonic doctors 

of philosophy 

who associate

with dragons

in dungeons of 

darkness and fire.

ancient mystery

professors who 

undresses minds

only to clothe them

with hidden signs & symbols 

so now knowing this

Blacks must be nimble

to scale the serpent &

whites should seek not

to resemble the ones

who fell to merchant lust.

and for the poet

it takes a certain trust

in the transcendent 

to bring these unseen

dimensions into being;

it takes a spiritual connection

to the source of inspiration

to provide souls lost with

an accurate revelation

bcuz in a world

suffocating from depression

truly inspiration is king

and it takes self sacrifice

to become a star &

shine bright from within

as night has fallen &

so many descend into

the darkness which this

heartless world spreads

which is why it is the poet

who must find the words

to bring to life those who

are living dead in the place

where shadows lurk,

for it is there

that a poet must be intent

to shed light instead &

rewrite the times

in which they exist

by using hot lead...

The Inside Devil

 With two horns on the capitol
there are traitors who cast trent lots to see
how fast the house of cards will combust.
These fallen who star in shadow government
plots directed by cartels off shore where
tsunamis are scripted to modify markets
with incurable floods. There is a city inflated
on the backs of slaves where the mall
is filled with elephant asses who sip tea
and party on the sweat of proletariat dreams.
Ill legitimate Nazi offspring with confidential
accounts sitting in lobbies pulling
serpent strings turning corporations
into living beings and humans into
strawmen making Japetto jealous
of their collective Gargamel powers
as they proceed faithfully along
the fire and brimstone parade. Fade to
collapse of morality effortlessly
achieved by founding fathers
of rebellion against eternity,
focused on NASA descent of
bloodless coup d'etat transfer
of righteousness for Mammon.
This is the mason fearing godless
country destined for self immolation
mutating daily into the swamp thing
that it came to be to rot complete.
There are six hundred sixty six feet
of Satan's penis planted square
between Virgin(ia) Mary(land)'s legs.
The altar of Baphomet resurrected
at Langley with five points centering
the senses to the heart of death worship.
Everything is hidden in plain sight
but American dreams has many
sleepwalking towards their own guillotine
nightmare awakening to the finality
of the paradise fallen; the inevitable
uprooting of tares to rid of Satan's
inside presence on the planet
and ultimately proclaim with certainty
sic semper evello mortem tyrannis.