Surreality

A restless night with sweat-soaked sheets,

conjures images of blood-filled streets and pain.

Cetaceans mourn for humanity

as dogs howl at a blood-red moon, which all too soon

becomes a ghastly, horrid, evil eye

staring, as crap, garbage and trash is blasted

into empty rooms and heads to demoralize

the innocent babes who cry for sweet dreams

and whimpering in their beds lose hope.

 

Where labels and tags speak louder than kind words;

costly automobiles shout down the voices of reason.

Amid the anger, the ambition,

a few struggle against the tides of greed

where vicious cannibals feed on rotting corpses of the fallen.

 

And some of us weep for the birds.

They have all gone and we are alone with troubled thoughts.

 

Still, all that we have been taught amounts to nothing

as the seething, vengeful, ignorant masses overwhelm

and we blankly stare at a future that violently passes on

as tomorrow drifts lazily near.

 

Those with hearts and conscience tear at their flesh, ashamed to be.

Those without, sneer, without mercy and declare the free of mind insane.

Step up now Paddy, show us your DNA and stay awhile at our expense.

You’re always welcome, you know, and in good company.

In the land of the free and home of the naive,

chips are prepared for insertion in their Stepford herds.

Just to be sure, don’t you know.

 

The winged angels now cast aside their harps and halos in heaven.

To meet Satan’s hordes on level ground they pick up AK-47’s,

two mags, one in the breech. And Peter passes out hand grenades,

three each, and demons screech and spit their venom

and multiply and beseech their master for blood.

 

Below, below, bellow, roar, scream your prayers,

for no one can hear, no one wants to hear

as small innocents lie huddled

and quietly wipe away tears that streak dirty faces.

And follow the cigarette smoke and discover stale beer

and animals and empty food trays

with butts and howevers and whatevers,

weighed down with disgust and deaf to lonely sighs.

 

This is our future and our present

where we exist, or don’t, or can’t.

Where dirty old bastards pant at the sight of a child,

or smirk at a broken lifeless corpse never to reach puberty.

And still they don’t see.

And still the images come into our very homes.

Insecure domiciles that breed reptiles

and kill smiles and crush children’s dreams.

 

Oh religion, what use?

A front for abuses legitimised,

maximised, scrutinised,

while purity in life is terrorised,

brutalised and eventually exorcised.

Oh father why hast thou forsaken me.

Why has this devil taken me to this, a ditch, a pit.

 

On the dark continent, greed’s acid fingers

have left their mark on a people, on a land.

And boundaries declared by an evil heartless man

cause despair and bloated bellies and  bulging eyes.

The vultures swarm from cloudless skies

to feast on wasted flesh and rip apart young limbs

and swallow young dreams.

 

The metal Z-hail still falls in cruel season

eliminating the young of Gaza with cruel reason

as beasts picnic and feed as babies bleed

to soothe a creed of evil cause, in need

of end and bloodied ax on grasping claws

that wrench the life, the homes, the land

from the weakened hands of a people

ignored and gored and floored on demand.

Terrors stream as children scream

as nightmares gleam in a shining bloodied horrific dream.

 

Awaken tomorrow, perchance,

to light on paths not yet spurned,

to blossomed youth with bodies not yet burned,

with choices yet to make, trees to shake, chances to take.

Where hope will trickle behind the stinking flood, and strive.

For without such, how can the good heart hope to survive.

A.D.