Catalyst

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Photo Credit: Thomas Hawk

We live in a society in which others’ opinion dictates love.
A man can pour his liquefied heart into a ceramic coffee mug, but have it poured it down the drain because it was offered to another man.
There is no remorse for the women who melted in each other’s arms as their house burned around them, because they were in love.

We live in a society that promotes personal satisfaction above all else.
Damned be the girl who fights against the man who insisted she wear a short skirt and a low-cut blouse for her interview.
Coupled with a blow job, she just might get the promotion she was promised.
But before that, he says she’s got to lose a few pounds.
Damned be the boy who confesses his youth instructor raped him.
What kind of a man allows himself to be raped?
He should be so ashamed.

We live in a society in which tradition trumps progression.
To hell with science.
To hell with minorities.
To hell with queers.
To hell with progress.
Fuck love, give me money; you can get a whore instead.
Five-dollars have never gotten you more.

But above all else
We can change society.
It may not be tomorrow or next year
Or without spilled blood and tears.

To hell with their opinions
To hell with their threatened personal satisfaction
To hell with tradition

Love will prevail.
And it all starts with you.

White Rabbit

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Photo Credit

One by one they march

Their swords drooled blood of the enemy

They won’t stop

It was time to claim the divine reward.

 

Even the seas of magnetic dynamite they pass in stride

A cynic’s illusion, He should have done better

The purest magic wilts against stolid steel, they assure each other

Their eyes glued to the glacier palace, they keep marching.

 

Though the crystalline keep was anything but.

With every inch closer, the tower transforms.

Dreamy beryl walls to tarnished silver

Glimmering treasures to bleached ash

 

The Ivory Prince rises from the levitating tomb

His gaze reverts the silver suits to searing ingot

The soldiers’ knees buckle, but still they march.

He won’t let them stop.

 

Roaring razor storms consume the East

Corrosive lizards creep from the crevasse in the West

The forked tongue of darkness flicks at their heels.

All that remains is the Prince and His keep.

 

One by one they march

Crippled under concrete crowns of thorns.

They’ll be royalty, too

Dreaming of crystalline treasures in the furnace.

Behold the Begrudger

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Photo credit: Tim Abbott

I envy the dark souls who beg for time,

The ones who spend them stoned out of their goddamned minds

Too beaten and bloody to face the next round of rapid purgatory.

 

I envy the saints who have no regrets.

They wave beautiful gifts of glory with eyes and mouths sewn blissfully shut,

Disoriented by the very light from which they claim liberation.

 

I envy the hopefuls who always stride forward,

Finding ambition amidst hordes of cynical fiends.

They’ll never descend.

 

I envy the boy who once had all the time in the world

A ghost of the past,

His light violently extinguished by the hand of the ones he loved.

 

I envy the miscreants who ask for forgiveness,

Scarring their knees on icy daggers as remorse consumes them.

The slain monster lays broken in its teardrop prison.

 

Though I envy not their revelation or rescue, their happiness or faith

But their willingness to live

Despite the spirit they lost mercilessly clawing for a way out.

 

I envy volition,

The gilded steps to tranquility,

For desire I have none.

Ostriches

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Photo Credit: Esra Erben

The king wears a crown like no other;

Gaudy ornaments conceal a cranium of illusion and treachery.

 

He points to the left, executing the peaceful lamb.

Signalling to the right, he leads his people into war.

 

But they see and hear nothing,

For their heads are buried in the sand

With the lifeless others who dared defy the chosen one.

 

A life without purpose, without freedom and dreams,

Welcome to the land of nightmares.

Code Blue

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Photo credit: Jacirema Ferreira

Gone are the days of courteous suits and well-mannered sprouts.

The last drop of decency rests at the bottom of a bottle,

A shallow globe of love-drunk nobodies.

 

As the surviving guardians disappear

In comatose clouds of abandonment,

We hide beneath damp cloths.

 

Chivalry is dead.

Every Day Is Christmas

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Photo credit: Andreas Sautner

Gray boxes are unwrapped amid

A hapless audience of frozen machines.

As we’re lost in avalanches of veiled dysphoria,

Powder snow stains steely sidewalks red.

 

The paparazzi flash their black flowers,

So we sport a grin and sit up straight.

It’s what we’re bred for – all we know.

But behind pink, plastic walls rests a frenzied terror.

 

You’ll read about it tomorrow, I’m sure.

For the Silence

 

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Photo credit: Flickr

The way you look at me,

Hide yourself from me.

These euphoric dreams

Are all I need.

 

It’s not impossible

To cure this madness.

It courses through my veins,

But never lasts.

 

Now they’re calling me,

These hollow demons.

Please let them take me.

I’ll be their last.

 

The walls are closing in,

Going dark again.

It’s reaching for my hand;

Nightmare begin.