i will not bow down
i will not tithe
so miscreants can be buggering children
or decapitating their innocent dishonouring
daughters
we may all well be drunkards
may well slip and fall ingesting poisons
toxic to heart, kidney and lungs
we may well be homeless hapless victims
subjugated to another’s rules of conduct, prayers
for usurping all the world for some god that does not see
to some world that does not act
i will not bow down
i will not
i will not bow down
to self righteous claims of honour and glory
so blameless ignorance can be taken in and held ransom
exploited through the recanting of tears and fears
planting doubt
i will not bow down
i will not
i will not tithe
so some sanctified shit can go out butchering gays
burn our homes, go out killing mother earth for dollars
and gold, those transgression will be theirs alone
those holy rolling demagogueries espousing their false
political, religions and sin.
i will not bow down
i will not
i will not bow down
to no fucken Goof
and will always be wary of their words
for Where? Where?
Where? are we at? and what do we mean? will anyone
listen or care or see we have entered a twilight zone
seeking a spring.
But what are we offered only lies and deceits
Life in a realm of no spacing, CEOs
holding firm to the path of the shaman
all alternatives lay exhausted, spent
the choices forcing you beyond yourself
body and mind, taxed to your limits and more
so we deal with survival and little salvation
transcendence, maybe a new existence
a higher plane of being metamorphosis the
last grace offered ,
one shall only return to the homeland as
a new, this is the end life of the shamans
the return of choosing choice.
For we can all now identify the,
Carcinogenic intercepted well fed men of import,
Taking themselves down the yellow brick roads to find you can’t
buy or sell anyone else’s soul but your own and what happens next
is anybody’s guess but the challenge is still ahead.
As such…the ends will justify the deeds
Mysterious are the ways, the means of delivery
Placing shadows upon walls and lightening up the fools
Collecting what comes out of our own inaction glorious are the goals
These hollow words painting visions that no one will see
Such are the promised lands mapped out and blithely screened
Such are the wounded blooded and never to be delivered
Such are the last days spent; such are so many to be pitied
For knowledge of good and evil now signifies nothing
but the concupiscence to create and we can
call ignorance then that state of grace
that should fall by our own hands
choices have always been within our own
microcosms
expelled by the meeting of the macrocosm
we are all circumspect to the extradition from Eden
nineteen hundred and eighteen, nineteen-forty and five
nineteen-fifty and two, the same as our two thousand ten, all that has
been proven is,
evil does not create, can not
but spread through,
contractions of ignorance
and fear
for the contesting is never fully over
nor the field ever freely won
yet the claims of the self-righteous
ring out religiously and perverse claiming
victory over defeat
evil cannot create, cannot but mimic
the constrained contractions
of life
go vote, or not, but recognize the untreated extremes
no hope, no name, no identification
just voiceless sleeping faces
laying on mats our social metaphorical
disregarded, disregards
my/
their/
our/
disregarded, disregards
this human condition, self-perpetuating
the human condition perpetrated by mythic desirable
experiences short term immediate gratifications
suspending disbelief of contagions, passing from face
to face, nesting watching flocks take stock
queried rumours just even to question
is to invite the dark plumes of those thoughtless for
keeping the hopeless down, out of fear
what choice, before there is no choice
how far, before there is no return, just even
sent away to the new world, set aside to be forgotten
left aside, dreams , goals all aspirations smothered
by the disregarded disregards
their/
my/
our/
disregarded disregards would be
minimized down to even one but here we are
(one hundred seventy?)
a nice round solid number
of wandering lost lonely souls to be lain about semi derelict
in this transient graceless solitude that is only one half of one day
even so there comes a joyful soliloquy of laughter beneath their fogs
of servitudes, maybe memories of gratitude in thinking out their past.
bruised ,battered, scraped, scurvi-ed, never broken
never broken, always broke, but never broken in this uncertain
wavering reality, leaving nothing for a conclusion simple
speculation the disadvantages, disregards adjusting
disproportionately the general disbelief of existences fostered
carried on the bottom rungs of our consumptive consumerisms
dislodged ladder falling from that sky-high piece of pie
their/piece of pie
my/piece of pie
our/piece of pie
the circumstances live and die and live
the solitude never mastered, the void left cold.
acting for free will, and freedom’s roll for
this may very well be our last new-year, all the other ones are old now
the ones not coming are lost in visitations and denial of forsaken
Dickenson industrialized revolutions just like that. (yep just like that.)
the capitalistic cabal writing on the wall, provides still births the way they
played their Marx, worth their weight in a griffters hall of fame couldn’t
we say. (yep just like that)
greed the old seed of Eden, a snake for we to behold, it slithers through
the decimations smiling as it goes, swallowing little piece’s breaking states
of grace, just like an ode, (yep just like an ode)
any time, all time, the time
all runs into moments into one another
from the breath of infancy
to the depth of the tired worn soul
bedraggled familiar all borne forward with
each the moments their own
the perfection first and last, the truth
glorious the earth cannot be owned, through
blood or sweat or tears only borrowed and shared
So let it ring out now,
we will not bow down
we will not
we will not tithe, to any corporate world
and we demand our humanity back.
Dale A Herrington
