The Conquerors

  
     
There will be guns    
but not in our hands    
there will be death    
but not on our streets    
and the suffering restricted    
to our TV screens    
Our war will be fought    
in our minds    
for our minds    
for our God given free will    
for our very souls    
Never in any war in history    
have the stakes been so high    
   
Will you surrender your freedom    
in the name of peace?    
Will you sacrifice your eternal soul    
for this one and only life?    
These are our choices    
This will be our fight    
Do we succumb to the darkness?    
or do we keep the light?    
   
Is this life your living    
worth its cost?    
are all these technological advancements    
worth the things this world has lost?    
We are given everything we’re told we want    
yet the thigs we need, slowly slip away    
and while everyone is shouting    
no one’s voice is heard    
   
Do we carry on regardless?    
accept, this is just the way it is?    
the way it’s always going to be?    
that you alone    
you do not matter    
that you alone    
no difference can you make    
This is their desire    
their agenda    
nothing less than mind control    
if we accept their rules and reasons    
the laws we know are just not right    
if we become    
the apathetic, melancholy grey    
then they have won    
and we have lost, without a fight    
   
A well placed word can save a life    
a single life can change the world    
every beat of every heart    
is a reminder    
we are still alive    
so if your life to you is sacred    
with every breath, you must truly live    
Live the way that makes you happy    
Live the way that makes you free    
Don’t conform to someone else’s ideals    
or the confines of someone else’s plan    
Remember, there is always a choice    
there is always another way    
don’t let fear and greed become you    
don’t let fear and greed dictate    
   
This war is for your consciousness    
This war is for your mind    
your free will    
your humanity    
for your very soul    
Only you, rule you    
Only you, are the captain of your mind    
The enemy has no real power    
The enemy has no physical form    
Its weapons are lies and misconceptions    
Its weapons are    
Fear, Doubt and Greed    
YOU can make a difference    
YOU can change the world    
Open your eyes    
watch them fall onto their knees    
Open your eyes    
see the wood beyond the trees    
   
Free your mind    
Free your mind    
FREE YOUR MIND          
      

What if the Reaper were to mourn?
           Would he swallow his pride  
deny the folly of a newborn?
 
Death is the ultimate purveyor  
Necrosis does not discriminate
If the Reaper were to sully fatality
He'd be out of a job  
begging for change in some alleyway
                            
                            Children kicking cans at the funny skeleton man
                            The Reaper surrenders his self confidence
                            Waxes nostalgic about his former glories
                            The Hitlers, Bin Ladins, and Joseph Stalins
                            Drinks five hundred beers without so much as a buzz
                            No barley is strong enough for a metaphysical construct
 
Five years pass, no human dies
The earth is gleeful for a while
A radically brief period of time
Thus not even twenty four hours pass
Before the screaming conducts.
                
                 Earth is consumed with pain and suffering
                 For death was the sweet release from agony
                 And finality has been abolished in the Reaper's absence
                 Kicked out of his cushy job without severance
                 The bartender conducts a heart to heart conversation
                 Explains that an unemployed, disheveled bag of bones  
                 Needs a hobby,  a Linked-in page, to try networking.
 
And as the disgraced reaper of souls shambles to his dingy apartment
An epiphany dawns upon his imposing visage.
 
The reaper discovers a talent with words  
A pulitzer poet in the making
The bony author draws upon a range of experiences
Ballads and tales from time immemorial
                          
                          The Reaper has an enduring legacy to dwell upon
                          Reminiscing about his grand achievements
                          giant lizards obliterated with space rocks
                          Horny Romans buried in molten rock and ash
                          women cast into inferno by bigots in funny hats
 
 
                           As the Reaper explores his newfound gift
                           He uncovers an odd conundrum
                           After submiting his praiseworthy prose,  
                           to Jane and Sally and Dick, publisher extraordinaire
                           proprietors of print company "Hot licks".
                           *Unrelated to the Rolling Stones*
                          
                  A local paper prints obituaries the following morning
                          
 "Jane, Sally and Dick found dead, no last names found.
 Family names unknown. Mournful parents lack foresight
 Forget family names of Jane, Sally and Dick on birth certificate."
 
And as, I the Reaper himself scrawls this clumsily metered poem
I desire that you too, my precious sweet darling reader,
Will be granted the blessings of death as well
To you, your loved ones
And even a Cat or Two.
Perhaps not this day
Or even the next
Maybe the bus will hit you
On your way to work.
 
                 For I have learned a lesson today
                 One I shan't ever forget
                 Death is neither curse nor satanic
                 just an inevitability
                 Thus I hope you enjoy it.
 
The Reaper is back in business.
Will you be my next client?
 
I have a really good deal on ammonium nitrate
I hope that you try it.
                

  
my worth was measured
by my nerve to slug another man  
a man who was much older  
larger and stronger  
   
   
he’d belt me with a coil of leather
bound to an eager fist  
till I witnessed my father’s downfall  
the day he was broken by another man  
   
   
it was inevitable  
that men would turn into animals  
and fight in cages in some  
perverted blood lust  
so brutal  
it’s senseless  
to tear our eyes away from the slaughter  


fists and elbows smash men into raw meat  
bodies slam the canvas  
faces piss blood  
smeared into a masterpiece of pain  
   
 
fighters grapple for limbs
twisting each other into knots
forcing joints beyond the point
where muscle and ligaments are torn from bone  
until the battle is over  
and the disfigured emerge from the arena  
reborn in the destruction    
 
 
this is the closest a man will get to true strength
required for giving birth
to his own abomination  
   
   
such a bloody tragedy  
that men go to war to prevail enemies  
we drink for health to numb the pain  
we stick our cocks inside cunts to feel love  
and we spoil our children to fail as fathers  
   
   
men destroy love  
to prove we are only worthy to breathe
alone  
   
   
this fight to survive is not beaten into a boy  
and the scent of death  
can not be washed from doctors hands  
a man is born  
crowned in gore  
when he is delivered into this world  
and placed upon the bosom  
for his first taste of victory

 
 
 
southeasterly chunk  
of massive greys, a thickety  
darkening dome  
fiercely enshrouds  
in opened clawhead
of clasped lightning streaks  
& threatening thunderbeats  
across a stranded  
and 'shiv'ering  
universe  
 
 
four jasmines  
in twilight's tender plucks  
despite the tempest blows  
and boisterous bumblebees  
get blown away  
to distorted destinies  
& left in an instance  
as lifeless remnants
of deepbled assaults  
 
half cut tahiti lime  
in the sipped greentea cup  
resurfaces  
from its drowned osmotic  
times, an extracted skull  
gorily emptied  
of its succulent  
& segmented  
memories  
 
 
sanctum sanctorum  
of this temple soul  
awaits its ultimate  
plunderer..its ghazni
 
neither a stable slave  
of the ghouri dynasties
nor an extravagance  
of the mingling moghuls  
in a blandly reigning  
permanence  
 
no expectations my lord
except it to be the most  
barbaric plunderer  
recorded ever  
untiringly  
in tries of a holistic invasion  
to not comprehend  
but feel until the depths & edges  
as you wholly takeover
my leftovers or whatever  
till  
my horrific ruins  
feebly resonate just
your historic incidence  
of 'the' brutal indulgence  
 

my pathetic conquerer  
 
there is no further escape  
from my wholesome curse  
eternally mummified  
to your soul  
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

golden planet glowed in a rare fusion symphony
glancing consistently his magnetic moombeams
hatched out of conquering gravities in feverish shyness
each goosepimplicious-pitted fertile earthen shards
catapulted high in a spatial orgasmic ballet-bharatanatyam
   shrunken eyelids, humming dewlips, shivering jaws
   fluttered rhythmic in addictive painpleasure moves
   flowered fragrant hymns of her ancient devotion
   magnified in blooms before the meditating moon


moon is not moon, a reddened plasmic sun of passion
overflowing fluidities in an enlivening zygotic precision