When I taste the color blue, I feel more like I do. When I hear the color green, I think more like me. But when I smell the color purple I become the dream I want to be.
Pieces of painful pixels fly by with a swipe, Fluttering in the eyes by flashes of light. Helpless like the ones damaged by greedy wealth, We are drowning in a well of self inflicted hell.
Where is our hope? When is the heaven? What makes the difference? And who can save our children?
Is it conservative Christians? Is it green washing corporations? Is it the fake-to-speak politicians? Or is it the common men and women?
I don’t have the answers, But I certainly have the questions. There are complicated solutions, To the problems of all nations.
Time is the essence, And the hard-to-learn lessons. Universal missions, Are like rotting flesh of chickens.
Are there a right amount of emotions, Stirred up and cooked up like potions, To make change effective, For the whole of the human conscious collective?
I taste what I see. I smell how we bleed. I cry on a seed. And we dive into the despairing seas.
War torn screams and the damaged pleas, Ring like church bells from a Medieval scene. Dreams to me are like seeing the unseen. It’s a part of the story that has no category.
It can’t be organized, Until the wise realize, It’s time for all of us to die, To the old way of life…
Sleepy and worn, Tired, tattered, and scorned, Half the world watches, As it all lights up and burns.
Some sit here and feel bad for the white, When we need the black just as much as the days with the nights.
What’s wrong to read, Are the opinions that bleed, All over our phones and TV screens. Comprehend for yourself, Reach out past the bonds of self wealth, And look past your bounds of self help.
Sure war is brutal and bad, But it’s all we’ve known and had, Sense the ability to seek back, To do something a little more profound than the last.
Humanity sleeps as only some of us weep. The collective sees all the hurt and the need. Like a weed we pluck out what doesn’t work. Our biophillic desires will never rot like old tires. I do not tire of the new intellectual spires, Of glory masts and incomplete pasts. Excavating and waiting for the dirty truth. But with every cycle of the moon, We draw closer to doom.
Cracked glass in my teeth. Bitter sweet garbage taste in the streets. There is a symbiotic drive to survive. Strangled by the very vines that keep us alive. If nature is sacred and humans are profane, We own a one way ticket on a backwards train. Urban crumbling blocks of thought. The war front battle is always fought. There is death, sadness, and the primal urge. When will people and peace finally converge?
When we soar high, we fly by luscious light. Graced by an angel with iterations unfathomably bright. Brilliance so effervescent, the darkest oceans would glow with bioluminescence. What is happiness but a platform to converse? A want to be needed, from day of birth to day of hearse. Is it the way we whittle away pain with love and a name? Is it the way our mother dabs our shirt to pull a stain? Crescent moons don’t mean anything unless the sun shines too. Imagining intangible touch is seeing where the canvas smudged the brush. From one genetic sequence puzzle to another: You are my family, sisters and brothers. I am dirty earth. And you are the cleansing water. They are the flames we pray. And we are the winds of colors. Our ancestors of stars brought us this far. A mighty vibration of frequency flashed before the eyes of god, the universe. Blink once and it all began. Blink twice and we are back to our holy land. But blink three times, and know that you can. You can be that shine. You can be that strong. You can be the one love. And you can be enough. You can do that thing. You can be that feeling. You can be the change. And you can be what is needed.
NVNEZ 