All I can see
is a wasteland of
stone, glass, metal,
and wooden rubble
in an open air prison
where children are living.

Six thousand bombs,
stirring up
thick clouds of grey dust,
obscuring the horrors
people are enduring.

The attackers are
barely even
warning people
to move on.
The exits are blocked.
The power and water is off.
The suffering doesn’t stop,
and these civilians
are unable to leave.

How are you unable to see
the hell spring of grief
that is burning human beings,
the furnace that still cooks
even when no one bothers to look
because all of the crooks
were just waiting
for the perfect excuse
to make the news
with a justified genocide.

Mass ****** and more oppression
with the weapons
America supplied,
and guess what,
another child just died,
more parents got radicalized,
and if they survive
will you be surprised
if hate is the new demoncont.
that wears their tired red eyes.

The rich guys lied and decided
that unequal retaliation
is perfectly justified,
so we are on a road
to the extinction of
human decency
as the world murders
our collective humanity.

Crack, boom,
the sound of thunder blooms
orange heated chaos,
breaking the foundation
an entire building.

A whole family line
gets an early burial,
as what’s left of my heart
gets carried inside,
popped in a box
to be buried alive,
because their beat
was the same as mine.

Nothing I write
will change the minds
of those unwilling to
listen and see people who
are close to total annihilation,
as deserving of love,
and compassion,
but even so
I am still asking.

Help, please, help!?!


Instead we get beheadings,
mass shootings,
****** assault,
retaliation,
and the expectation
of more tragedy to come.

I can easily condemn
violent actions taken,
but I need to understand
the origins of this rocky foundation,
and potential solutions,
because I can’t stand the
horrors I am facing
without eventually breaking.

I can barely catch my breath,
there’s a sea of swirling madness
bodies bursting with endless
tragic tears of sadness
and all the sobbing leaves me
heaving and breathless.

Wishing I’d see death less
and more days of happiness
for all the world’s children,
but I can always hear them
crying, begging, for heroes
who will save them.

Little girl amidst the wreckage
loves her people,
lives in fear of the evil
acts of other nations
as bombs burst her foundation,
and she is left feeling
lifetimes of devastation.

Years of boots on throats,
of truths I wrote
of true experiences
only slightly altered
by my lack of living in it.

but I can see the way they live it.
Fear, and sorrow, pain planted upon
the soft soil of childhood.

I can breathe but I
don’t think I should,
don’t think people are good
as other human beings suffocate
I don’t want to take their place,
but I would exchange pained
lungs and ease the air of despair
from their chest to mine
to give them time to repair
their hurting hearts
as they breathe in fresh oxygen.

my name's mort
the third
and i sell the
bombs

after hours
me 'n' the boys
grab a bite of
carpaccio

the world is ours
but never yours
without the Wheel it
stops

ring around
guys 'n' gals
we'll give you the
deal

take all you want
sure, you can
pay us back next
year

“From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”
–William Shakespeare (Prologue to Romeo and Juliet)

I was hewn from the helpless limbs of a tree
Which could have grown
To become something magnificent

Through sanding and carving
Through varnishing and the work of human hands
I was formed

In a way, the tree which was mutilated to give me life
Was a foreshadowing of my truncheon fate

I swing through the air once again
A weapon in the hands of a vehement oppressor

Skin splits
Blood sprays
Bone shatters

Bodies litter the dust
Staining the earth with crimson testament
To the cruelty I have wrought
Some of the figures are marred
Reminiscent of the tree from which I was hewn
Which died to give me life

The dark throng of protestors
Are but mortals
Faced by the immortal power
Of those lighter beings
Who wield me, mercilessly

I wish to weep
For the destruction, pain
Anguish I leave in my wake

I wish I was still a living bough
Capable of shedding resin tears
Capable of yielding to greater forces
Not to force the vulnerable to break

But I cannot weep
I cannot yield

I am a baton
A weapon in the hands of those who swore to protect
Yet scythe down those who rise to protect what is rightfully theirs

Ancient grudge of black and white
Break to new mutiny of segregation
Where civil blood of those who seek protection
Makes civil hands who swore to guard them
Unclean.