Author: lbstowe

It’s unfair; this burden we each must carry.
This anxious worry that cruel will get scary.

The heavy weight that misdeeds lay at our doors.
Creeping cringe that knows they want us on all fours.

That glint of pure avarice in leaders’ eyes.
Stripping all things sophisticated & wise.

All for gain now…or the birthing of evil.
Their hate for my people is low & lethal.

Just the tip of the iceberg in every day.
So, keep cranking the heat till they melt away. 

Users & takers don’t give; they receive.
Any proffered warmth is meant to deceive.

Takers are not concerned with what you need.
They lap up your kindness with jowls of greed.

Users won’t worry about what you feel.
They are shopping you for what they can steal.

Yet, you have defenses built in for these.
Close your eyes & see their aura’s disease.

See blank, black & grey wreathing their persons.
Ignore your gut & all of it worsens.

Like vampires, they cannot get in with force.
Clock intentions & they’ll leave in due course.

We live in this age of constant content.
Where, happiness hangs on likes & comments.

Thunder doesn’t help us notice the rain.
It only signifies a WiFi strain.

Night’s dark doesn’t lead us to look for stars.
Doom scroll & gaming, our midnight mars.

Dawn’s brightening does not draw us to nature.
“Weekend Binge”: hypnotic nomenclature.

Constant content is not experience.
So, we’re trapped in states of esurience.

It provides nothing but dopamine hits.
Reject distraction from all life’s best bits.

The truth is cheap but we are broke.
We’ve sugar pills on which to choke.

Campaign promises broken swift.
Total access for massive grift.

Apologetic weathermen.
Too, patriotic revenants.

Conspiracy theorists online.
Humanitarian aid mined.

All this ugly was voted for…
By jaded rich & naive poor.

I owe you nothing; you owe me.
Nothing so mere as cheap money.

Lifetimes of ease; earned in the first.
Eternal love; quenching hell’s thirst.

Money enough to not worry.
Shelter from rain, cold & flurries.

Comfortable clothes & warm skin.
Warmth provided by loving kin.

This is the place to send my bill.
It owes me & collect…I will.

I am not ready but the paper days turn.
Rusty muscles & bones; all feeling the burn.

Pushing ever harder to milk all my best.
Focused on exercise, on diet & rest.

Living with physical limitation sucks.
Still, I am capable of giving some fucks.

It’s a big internal fight every morning.
The pain just sits there; ignorant & scorning.

But, beat it I do; both, day in & day out.
Weaponized motivation…for fear, has clout.

Collect memories now to curate later.
Write a history without all the haters.

Tell your story as if they were all absent.
Do not let the troglodytes mar your talent.

Enrapture the world with the news you’ve arrived.
Leave off the speed bumps that your foes have contrived.

Understand…be proud of what you’ve overcome.
Yet, not including their snags will strike them dumb.

What a blow to the bullies who just serve strife…
That, they get no credits in your happy life.

Wear this interpretation like ink on skin.
You’ve built too nice a tale to let ugly in.

I am not lost; nor, am I a cause.
I am no one’s; under any laws.

I’ve an aim in mind for legacy…
One unmatched in its immensity.

I’ll out-create all I’ve seen destroyed.
By the end, all skills will be deployed.

Celebrate now, but conjure the end.
Strong lasts long; but remember to bend.

Sight is set ever on the distance.
Now, past & future-coexistence.

We all of us find ourselves lost in our times.
Do not trust the certain soul; that all but climbs.

We thrive on routines, but not inside the ruts.
We must weave in new strains without going nuts.

We swell & fall to pump life thru digestion.
We masticate it all with hard cold questions.

Eyes on horizon is the right way to go.
It lashes us to the big picture; you know?

Shepard the livid nows but remain steady…
Keep your hands busy; but,  keep your mind ready.

Novel threads of life pass us by every second.
Treat every strange thing as if it’s been beckoned.

I’ve left more blood on the page…it’s what you want.
I trot out the trauma for my freak flag flaunt.

I’m naked, standing & looking for leather.
I am not ticklish; so, put down that feather.

So, yes; I’m frustrated, I’m scared & worried.
Our freedom from danger hasn’t been hurried.

Time drags on & every day there’s something worse.
Where is the big red line in our sand…a hearse?

I’ll keep meeting moments no matter the lows.
I leave rebuttals for psychotic shit shows.