Screams from Juliet

Charred hollow; barren all but

where ardor scourged a burned mark,

remainders of the ashes, singing

screams from Juliet in the dark

Escaping softly, out of reach

with a drunken, chattered tread;

the miles waning in her stride

lay lonely in her stead

Here had stood two cities;

one now sunk beneath the waves,

the other city, once pillaged,

was rebuilt on the graves

At the final, forlorn harbor,

moss will lead you off the pier,

submerge and close your eyes,

then draw a breath, my dear.

O Brave New World

When Edward Snowden leaked classified information about massive government spying to the citizenry of the US and the rest of the world alike, the resulting phenomenon was not a consciousness to our current state of affairs as much as it was an opportunity to become conscious of them. The facts are being laid out before us and irrefutable evidence of government spying is now within the bounds of a Google search. Snowden did more than simply foster a sliver of transparency in the US government; he presented us with the choice of either ceding to the necessity of mega-surveillance in today’s world or taking hold of the thread we’ve been offered and unraveling the cocoon in which we’ve been enmeshed.

An extraordinary number of Americans have gripped the thread and are marching with it all the way to Washington. How noble that in a country of and for the people, what unites us in strife is a threat to the fundamental laws of that very ideal. These laws belong to us, and as such it is our duty to defend their austerity. Who chooses to shed this onus can have no semblance of accountability, and who bears it must preclude the idea of civil defiance, and redefine it as civil duty. Presented with this dichotomy, this red pill or blue pill, many have allowed themselves to feel anger and be instilled with the passion that drives a citizenry to activism. Those calling to Restore the Fourth Amendment have officiated these grievances and condemned the actions of those responsible.

            We forsake the Orwellian postulation of Room 101, a place reserved for each citizen’s specific and most private fears that are exploited by their government’s ability to survey every communication. When information cannot travel with indemnity it is doomed to stagnate. It is lost to the ages and can only be recovered by the agitation of those who think freely. We have been implored to agitate and face our Brave New World with a new kind of bravery; that which takes place before an unwelcome audience.

@Restore_the4th

Josephine

The squalls, sequestered by the

sun then next to me, but

now a chill is dropping on

the crimson-tinted sea

Josephine, was it you, Josephine?

Scattered in the grasses,

asleep amongst the strew, I

gathered every part of me

when I awoke to blue
Was it you, Josephine, was it you?

It's Only Love II

Love is shameful, but only so
when love has been ashamed
Gates torn down in unison,
and loving flows untamed.

Better like a garden tended
to, 'till blossom takes its course
Like gently snipping at the stem,
whereas to take by force.

When Fires Frothed Between The Wakes

When fires frothed between the wakes

forgotten past the hill,

despite their blindnesses, I waved

to those who wished me ill.

It burns on forward, the ardor

that marred the forest floor,

where trees imbibed with chlorophyll 

are ashen at their core.

The embers snapped underfoot,

when all the rest was Hell

I came to where a bridge should be

and that had burned as well.

Murder, A Fellow?

With nowhere to go;

a pleasant end from hello,

is always then murder, a fellow?

I knew by the plaid;

he’d always been mad,

but driven to murder, a fellow?

Whichever one sees;

why would I keep a friend

who could murder a fellow with ease?

I'll Write Her a Novel Someday

Every verse had been unforgettable,

But apart, each verse is a fray

And presently, I can’t seem to spare a word,

So I’ll write her a novel someday

We’re willing to hurdle the obstacles,

Because an unbridled day is ahead

And at the end of the day, I’ll write it by night,

Then say I was sleeping instead

It’ll come once I’m ready to recollect,

I have fragments, but the entire design

I foresee every line, inspired by diamonds,

That are rough until I make them shine

I don’t believe in unfinished destiny

I’m on borrowed time to bide,

And I promise if you promise to wait for me,

So I can patiently wait by your side.

Austerity of Air

The illusive autonomy of pain,

that veils the vital pair:

Ubiquity of purpose, and

austerity of air

So idle, until the moment

to tear the fetters free

Let drag your former chains behind,

then shackle them to me

It’s a willful burden born by love;

a love that bears all things

A love; autonomous like pain,

but illustrates the Springs

I would live in recluse before I’d die;

without this fellowship

And with only calls to mind inside,

Surely, surely I would slip.