"What good is life, if it must bow
to a blood-soaked throne..."
Showing posts with label Libertia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Libertia. Show all posts
Lullaby Of Change
I run my hands up through my hair -
something foul, is in the air...
they always say it's darkest 'fore the dawn.
A sense of dread on the descend -
permeates, my sight and skin...
they never say what comes when
night is gone.
Should we stretch
out,
our hands to reach the lie...
or do we wise
up,
and keep our heads held high?
The weight of fear
that spreads a boundless stain......
too many nightmares, in this lullaby of change,
how can one sleep -
when truth gets all the blame?
I touch the wind across my face -
and it bites, with its disgrace...
I cannot find the hope I once held true.
The many storms that tilt and shift -
a feel of calm, that's cast adrift...
the chain which holds the anchor's
rusted through.
So do we kneel
down,
and swallow this as fate...
or do we back
up,
to fight another day?
Sometimes the cure
is worse than all the pain......
too many noises, in this lullaby of change,
how can one dream -
when truth has gone insane?
I ride the tremors through my feet -
bloody mass, of aging meat...
the wounds from splinters made of steel and wood.
Yet they march on without pause -
not revealing, their true cause...
because they can, does not mean
that they should.
I'm left shell
shocked,
and cannot draw a breath...
do we rise
up,
or surrender to our death.
A black horizon
that cannot be escaped......
too many terrors, in this lullaby of change,
how can one rest -
when truth is being raped?
Copyright © 2009 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written July 2009
something foul, is in the air...
they always say it's darkest 'fore the dawn.
A sense of dread on the descend -
permeates, my sight and skin...
they never say what comes when
night is gone.
Should we stretch
out,
our hands to reach the lie...
or do we wise
up,
and keep our heads held high?
The weight of fear
that spreads a boundless stain......
too many nightmares, in this lullaby of change,
how can one sleep -
when truth gets all the blame?
I touch the wind across my face -
and it bites, with its disgrace...
I cannot find the hope I once held true.
The many storms that tilt and shift -
a feel of calm, that's cast adrift...
the chain which holds the anchor's
rusted through.
So do we kneel
down,
and swallow this as fate...
or do we back
up,
to fight another day?
Sometimes the cure
is worse than all the pain......
too many noises, in this lullaby of change,
how can one dream -
when truth has gone insane?
I ride the tremors through my feet -
bloody mass, of aging meat...
the wounds from splinters made of steel and wood.
Yet they march on without pause -
not revealing, their true cause...
because they can, does not mean
that they should.
I'm left shell
shocked,
and cannot draw a breath...
do we rise
up,
or surrender to our death.
A black horizon
that cannot be escaped......
too many terrors, in this lullaby of change,
how can one rest -
when truth is being raped?
Copyright © 2009 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written July 2009
Revolution
In the beginning… sweet Liberty's dream,
the rights of the one… held in esteem.
Sovereignty’s blessings… ideas so bold,
secured by the blood… of patriots old.
But over time… a hidden few,
directing order… a world that is new.
Where all of us… are blinded sheep,
who bow ‘fore them…
and serve their ‘need’.....................
The dawn of true terror is at our front door,
elitists who want us on knees,
they wish us in shackles because in their brains
we’re just too damned dumb to be free.
Lusting for power and massaging their greed,
driven by rose-lines and tyranny’s seed.
They’ve divided by party, by race, and by creed,
grown hatred from root to the stem.
They know if we bicker and are hating each other
we’ll ignore the true enemy - them.
Their flower is blooming - we must heed the call,
united we stand… and divided we crawl.
Destroy the distractions they with hammer us with,
don’t drown in the toys you’ve achieved.
Harness your wits and think for yourselves
and unlearn all the lies you’ve believed.
For what is at stake is too cherished to lose,
to think, act, and worship - to live as we choose.
Wake up and realize that all that you love
is about to be gone with the breeze.
If that which you value has any true worth
you’ll surrender your pale apathies.
Reviving the spirit of ‘don’t tread on me,’
when the stars and stripes both numbered thirteen.
So get out of your armchairs - gather your friends
and prepare, for the horror is near.
When they start marching they will not relent
‘til they’ve scorched everything you hold dear.
I won’t speak for others, but I’ll swear by this claim,
I’d rather die standing… than kneel in their chains.
Original Copyright © 2007 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written August 2007
the rights of the one… held in esteem.
Sovereignty’s blessings… ideas so bold,
secured by the blood… of patriots old.
But over time… a hidden few,
directing order… a world that is new.
Where all of us… are blinded sheep,
who bow ‘fore them…
and serve their ‘need’.....................
The dawn of true terror is at our front door,
elitists who want us on knees,
they wish us in shackles because in their brains
we’re just too damned dumb to be free.
Lusting for power and massaging their greed,
driven by rose-lines and tyranny’s seed.
They’ve divided by party, by race, and by creed,
grown hatred from root to the stem.
They know if we bicker and are hating each other
we’ll ignore the true enemy - them.
Their flower is blooming - we must heed the call,
united we stand… and divided we crawl.
Destroy the distractions they with hammer us with,
don’t drown in the toys you’ve achieved.
Harness your wits and think for yourselves
and unlearn all the lies you’ve believed.
For what is at stake is too cherished to lose,
to think, act, and worship - to live as we choose.
Wake up and realize that all that you love
is about to be gone with the breeze.
If that which you value has any true worth
you’ll surrender your pale apathies.
Reviving the spirit of ‘don’t tread on me,’
when the stars and stripes both numbered thirteen.
So get out of your armchairs - gather your friends
and prepare, for the horror is near.
When they start marching they will not relent
‘til they’ve scorched everything you hold dear.
I won’t speak for others, but I’ll swear by this claim,
I’d rather die standing… than kneel in their chains.
Original Copyright © 2007 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written August 2007
Slave
The Powers push the buttons, and we say that we’re all free,
products of a system that lets us be-all-we-can-be,
we think that dear Miss Liberty walks with us through our days,
though the evidence rings like a bell...
we’re nothing but their slaves.
The chains may be invisible - the shackles envy-green,
they do their best to keep us blind to all we've known and seen,
distract the truth with scandal sheets and i-things for our times,
we live out this illusion...
they commit these horrid crimes.
We rely upon our government to save when crisis nears,
to cover when disaster strikes - we surrender to our fears,
rely upon police and law to protect from danger’s end,
despite the second bill-o-right...
demands we self-defend.
We rely upon the public schools to raise and teach our kids,
we cannot take the time ourselves - for we have lives to live,
rely upon the grocery stores to fill our cups and plates
and sell us all the poisoned crap...
we shove into our face.
We wake with public utilities, on which we all rely,
our comfort, sanitation - we’re sure they will provide,
rely on global bankers to define our sense of worth,
while gold and silver gets ignored...
to death from date of birth.
We rely upon technology to stave off boredom’s grip,
and trust the Docs to keep us well with greed and IV drip,
and don’t forget the pharma-rot they peddle and prescribe,
keeps us numb and assures them that...
we won’t step out of line.
We rely on those philosophers, the gurus, and the shrinks,
to tell us how to think and feel - self-value slowly sinks,
and if all that were not enough, we have to clear the shelves,
and rely on chosen deities...
to save us from ourselves
You may have noted the frequency, with which I used ‘rely’
we dare not seek an answer, for there’s too much in the ‘why,’
I’ll remind you that if we continue, to pander to this cult,
'rely' is not the path to ‘slave’...
it is the end result.
Original Copyright © 2007 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written July 2007
products of a system that lets us be-all-we-can-be,
we think that dear Miss Liberty walks with us through our days,
though the evidence rings like a bell...
we’re nothing but their slaves.
The chains may be invisible - the shackles envy-green,
they do their best to keep us blind to all we've known and seen,
distract the truth with scandal sheets and i-things for our times,
we live out this illusion...
they commit these horrid crimes.
We rely upon our government to save when crisis nears,
to cover when disaster strikes - we surrender to our fears,
rely upon police and law to protect from danger’s end,
despite the second bill-o-right...
demands we self-defend.
We rely upon the public schools to raise and teach our kids,
we cannot take the time ourselves - for we have lives to live,
rely upon the grocery stores to fill our cups and plates
and sell us all the poisoned crap...
we shove into our face.
We wake with public utilities, on which we all rely,
our comfort, sanitation - we’re sure they will provide,
rely on global bankers to define our sense of worth,
while gold and silver gets ignored...
to death from date of birth.
We rely upon technology to stave off boredom’s grip,
and trust the Docs to keep us well with greed and IV drip,
and don’t forget the pharma-rot they peddle and prescribe,
keeps us numb and assures them that...
we won’t step out of line.
We rely on those philosophers, the gurus, and the shrinks,
to tell us how to think and feel - self-value slowly sinks,
and if all that were not enough, we have to clear the shelves,
and rely on chosen deities...
to save us from ourselves
You may have noted the frequency, with which I used ‘rely’
we dare not seek an answer, for there’s too much in the ‘why,’
I’ll remind you that if we continue, to pander to this cult,
'rely' is not the path to ‘slave’...
it is the end result.
Original Copyright © 2007 Stone Bryson. All Rights Reserved.
Written July 2007
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Known in many (albeit small) online circles over the past 15 years, Stone Bryson is a poet, storyteller, and essayist. He is working on various writing projects, and lives what he describes as an 'analog life.' He resides in Jackson County, Missouri.