The Catalyst
by wutsneckst (went as phililogical at the time of writing)
Through the facade of liberalism,
creeps darkness,
avoidance, through political speech, heartless.
selfishness-bred catharsis.
consumerism over spiritualism, regardless.
fears due to myths, create a fascist out of a marxist.
but who knows anyway .
There is no right and left wing, or night and day.
its cyclical and the religious leave their bodies when they pray.
its certainly not black and white. almost everything is gray.
with the support of popular science, governments foster reliance, as the poor decay.
the polarized,
who cant realize,
the real lies,
they steal lives,
lines are drawn, and so form, many sides.
ghosts rise,
in an effort to convey a message, a celestial lesson,
understood from their past, a blessing is cast.
prayers for the dead, returned on the living,
because their fates will be the same, under capitalism.
common superstition, that the lines are a result of minority inferiority.
race is a social construct to provide for white superiority.
every single person can live as an example, yet only a small sample disobey authority.
the rest got animal heads on their mantles, and a clogged artery.
im certainly no martyr, nor am I free.
thus I can conceive of the reason for religiosity, possibly, not honesty but an odyssey.
in a world where the rich’s riches are supposed to trickle down to the poor community.
im sore, and I just cant foster immunity.
but none of us deserve impunity.
bomb the pentagon, crash the white house in mutiny.
mute the t.v.,
finally.
ive been sitting too close, now im flailing blindly.
at least it was timely.
my back is broken and I got a rash on my face, I feel like im ninety.
im living my life vicariously through pop stars like ricky martin, and soap stars on nbc.
im startin to get aroused again, but im sure it will pass.
I have no control over my bladder or my ass.
but in my sleep I will pass, after one last…
mid-day coffee with oprah winfrey…
I hope to win the lottery.
but until then, I will continue pacing, tracing, the delicacy,
of hypocrisy,
not to be told approximately.
not to be told at all,
so those with capitalist moxy,
remain in power and never fall.
they see a shower of riches,
roads paved with gold, but yet there are glitches.
a few cuts, a couple of stitches,
and just about a few thousand filled ditches.
the carcases of the lost souls rot, but their spirits remain,
remind the living of the pain, and the need to maintain, solidarity.
so get off your ass and reverse this parody.
fight the police, who rarely act fairly. barely, taking notice,
of the anger growing within the “hopeless.”
I can see less and less, grass, within the cracks,
I find beauty in the graffiti engulfing the abandoned train tracks.
the once-abandoned grow old and react,
I will flick some dirt on your suit and spit without tact.
even the rich womyn bump and attack,
on subway trains and on crowded wall streets.
hostility, anger, selfishness, impersonality, moderation, prejudice, competitiveness,
fast food, corporate control, stock market stocks, bonds, and gold,
cell phones and pagers, drugs, ravers,
alcohol and cigarettes, yankees and mets, heretics,
genetically engineering, assuming and fearing,
technology, illiteracy, bankruptcy, third world community,
polarization, illegal immigration,
prison slave labor, republicrats versus ralph nader,
max weber, karl marx, and homes in shopping carts…
amerikkka… must I continue?
gimme an open mic and freedom of speech, at a popular venue.
scare the shit outta the masses. rhyme without a beat.
don’t stall for beats, nor another leader, nor any other higher being to hide behind.
keep your nose in your books but your eyes above the pages, and maintain a free mind.
keep the faith, because one day we will all shine.