Fist in the Air

The Third Fist

There is a part of me
that wishes the journalist
at a Presidential Press Conference
would all suddenly rush the President
for the simple reason as to see
what the reaction of those within the room
would be;

                                             bloodshed;

hesitation;                                         
                       hi-jacked frequencies;
collapse;                                           
                                          relapse;
a time-lapsed slow-motion escapade?

How long would it take
to bring a nation further down
with an unfettered chaos
within the briefest of moments;
within the heart of complete control?

How many would it take
to end it all?
How many would it take
to start over again?

Hungry people don't stay hungry for long;
they grow strong through hope
in the fire and smoke,
and the promise of a new dawn;
from the stockade to the cell blockade.

The weak don't stay weak for long.
Hindsight is not always 20/20,
and we don't have time
for history to judge our actions;
we do not have that luxury
when you can see
the end of the world that we know
from here.

Politics works far too slow
when the foe we face
moves on a timeline
that stretched beyond the beginning of time;
before the beginning of God,
and grasps to a time
long after God is no more,
and demons have all turned to dust.

We stand now at the crossroads
where the Christ was stripped bare
and beaten down
as He cradled the spirit
we were all supposed to nurture,
but instead we brought down the Broken Man
who was never a broken man;
behold the crossroads we stand at,
begging us to choose a path,
because the Christ is at our feet weeping;
cradling the spirit we all raped;
the spirit we were all supposed to nurture.

Thoughts fluttering around
like a thousand moths
caught in an oil lamp
leaking fluids on the ground,
creeping slowly towards the wildfire we started;
we can't afford to waste today
when yesterday drives a hearse.

Our salvation
stands at the foot of a guillotine
holding a vaccine;
our damn-nation
stands at the foot of jails
guised as churches.

To put it quite bluntly,
your beliefs
are not enough
to justify
your ignorance;
your beliefs
are not enough
to justify
your endangerment of everything else.

Who needs a key
when we can just break-in?
Isn't that how
we are seen
anyways?
Give Chomsky a sniper,
load the ballots with bullets,
place an X on your voice,
and plead the Fifth,
because you sacrificed the First.

Question who you are told
to hate;
to fight;
to disagree with.
Hear the masses whisper in unison,
"I think I heard a shot..."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.