The Spring of Slavery

Peace in our time they promised us.
They pretended half our world was not alive,
So the illusion of peace could still survive.

In the world... where boy like man lives,
Those who spoke truth did choose to die.
The names of villains they taught as saints
For safety and prosperity,
Our freedom they bartered away.

Then across the globe, the people rose
Demanding the slaves be made free.
Under tanks and gas their bodies fell,
Until Kings (only kings),
Demanded to them our bodies we sell.

To the demons of hell our bodies we gave.
For why be free if to 'peace' man can still be enslaved?

America: The Journey to 2016

God Bless America,

The land of the brave and the free.

For here a quarter of the world’s criminals lay,

Waiting behind bars like flies.

In this land, we created you equal,

So long as God did not bless you with colour,

Then shorter and poorer your life may be,

Until the day we decide you can’t breathe.

Give me your tired, your poor, you claim.

Your huddled masses who yearn to breathe free.

So long as you not be Syrian,

Or trust in Ishmael’s God.

Innocent lambs you send overseas,

To die on behalf of your sins.

Like cattle, we trample and graze on whole nations,

Till nothing but oil can bleed.

This is the land of the American dream.

Where mice and men live in prosperity.

We will burn so much, to become so rich

We don’t mind if we get flooded in our sin.

Unalienable your liberty forever remains

So long as you not be Mexican,

For then we will smite your children’s children.

So like convicts in hiding you will remain.

So God, would you bless America?

For this land needs to love once again.

So God, would you bless America?

But if not… Canada remains free.

The Ship by the Shore

I am the ship by the shore,

For, I cannot see beyond the ocean beneath my feet.

I am the ship anchored to the beach,

That was built, painted and loved…

Yet is still anchored to the beach.

I am the ship by the shore,

Watching as the other boats sail by,

Each one bigger and better than I could ever imagine to be.

I am the ship by the shore,

Which sometimes wishes my builders had made me bigger,

Yet is powerless to change the designs by which I was made.

But I am the ship by the shore,

That can do what the bigger ships cannot do.

For I am the ship that brings a smile to the child,

As he cruises on the waves by the beach.

The other boats you see…

May always catch more fish,

Always travel further,

And always win more awards.

But I was the boat made to bring joy and life to others.

You see,

The only way those children will ever smile,

Is if I remain… the ship by the shore.

Fools Gold?

A boy stands on a beach,

A beach no different than any other he has seen.

Yet by the toil of his hands and passion of his heart,

On this beach he digs for pirate gold.

His hands become scarred like the cliffs,

His arms heavy like the waves.

The young men would rather laugh and play,

The old men amuse in this juvenile fool.

While the seasons change, the boy never ceases.

His hair grows as long as the drifting weeds,

His wrinkles become as deep as the runnels on the beach.

The young men now are too tired to play,

The old men have become the sand of the beach.

Yet still the boy digs for pirate gold.

One day the sun breaks where sea meets sky,

The men rise from their slumber as they did each day.

But on this day the boy is no longer to be found.

Was he made rich or swept out by the sea?

The men of the village they never will know,

For only the fool who never ceases to dig,

Knows if the cost makes him richer than sand.

The Hero of Old

Once upon a time

When history was present,

And man's future beginning,

A brave solider would roam the shores.

With youth and zeal he would lead the troops,

His only fear, that he would not be feared.

Like a Lion's roar he would sound the call,

And saint and sinner would follow.

Oh, how in those days we fought.

Did we not dream that we could conquer all?

Did we not dream that Kings and Queens we'd court?

But now the years have passed,

And our youth has turned to age.

Now again we hear the trumpets call,

As battle looms once more.

Yet here we stand with battle scared hands,

And with hearts that know the cost of war.

But shall we be doomed to leave the lands?

Or to fight prepared to take the fall?

The old hero marches now

As a younger leader sounds the call.

But a hero of old fights until the end,

Though it costs him life and fame.

Dear World,

I look around you.

I look to the east and to the west.

I look at every home in which a man did rest.

I look. But all I see,

Is the invisible trail that we have left.

A trail not left in markings or footprints.

A trail not left in our wonders or our arts.

No. I see a trail of pain.

Like an infection, it called us home.

It does not show partially towards the good,

Nor does it give mercy to the weakest among us.

Oh, humanity. Have you not foreseen?

That we were made for more than we currently see?

Was it ever upon your mind?

That this trail we leave should never have been?

There is one cure.

A message of hope to a hopeless world.

Please find this hope, before it is too late.