Author: lbstowe

Now, open for interpretation…
What “we” means in the constitution.

For, those in power aren’t counting some.
Will you shield your eyes while playing dumb?

Just because it’s not happening to you…
You might find that you are in line too.

Power exploits until all is spent.
“Others” to foreign meat grinders sent.

Can’t see their evil reason & rhyme?
What shock will you feign when it’s your time?

Done away with the pretense of free.
They’re out to get us for all to see.

These questions from my brain…
They can be such a drain.

They occupy my mind…
All queuing in a line.

Each, of equal concern.
Still, each must wait their turn.

My thinking was blue sky…
Now, it clouds with each lie.

I review & plan all.
Now’s all that’s left to fall.

Joy is excitement leaving worry in the dust.
Breaking off the harness & shaking off the rust.

Joy is mania’s annoyingly chipper twin.
Hard to tell them apart with their difference so thin.

Joy is loud laughter that cannot ever be forced.
Breaks solemn faces; where it’s defiantly coursed.

Joy is being fine that you forgot everything.
Company is with you…so, you won’t miss the ding.

Joy is when you trip but turn it into a run.
It’s letting go of life’s sour…come rain or come sun.

Time is a story; our climax a star.
Its shine reflects the whole of who we are.

So what would light have to say about you?
Do you live within the gray as most do?

Focus on eaves & leave most in the rain.
Yes, end-zones score; but it’s a full campaign.

Polarization’s an absolute lie.
Fine feathered fringes can’t over gulfs fly.

Reconsider which characters to cull.
We make you special…without us you’re dull.

Once upon a time you were gruff fear to me.
Now, you’re all elderly disability.

Who are you now without instruction’s control?
How can you serve others from your self-dug hole?

We worry about the pain that you’re in.
How do you cope? You weren’t the strongest of men.

Goodbye comes next; but I know not what to say.
You’re ready to go. I’ll not stand in your way.

Endearment just wasn’t on your bucket list.
There’ll be a measure of grief & you’ll be missed.

A pack of wolves in iniquity’s den.
A pack of wealthy, predatory men.

Insert malware in structural servers.
Tech bro-dudes with a dangerous fervor.

Our ports of entry now just for the white?
South Africans longing for apartheid.

Passing abominations while we sleep.
That is where the deep-state gets really deep.

We wake to terror with no solution.
Maybe it’s time for a revolution?

These sad & sullied pitiful creatures.
The ones we all love to hate in features.

What is Count Dracula’s favorite blood type?
Are the Werewolf & Mummy stupid ripe?

My rosy recall of classic monsters…
Much like Gotham’s Families of Mobsters.

We do love to love & we love to hate.
Edward Scissorhands must not masturbate.

Whatever the ridiculous premise…
People love a redeemable menace.

Of the “Bully Pulpit” I’ve heard for years.
It’s never been any more real than fears.

Yet, now, it’s the favored practice today.
Blaming fringes serves political play.

The meek are not uplifted or aided.
Even bold bright margins, now, feel hated.

Their main goal: is that we’ll do it for them.
At each other’s throats; destruction’s golem.

Do your best, be kind, helpful & grateful.
Take away the ammo used by the hateful. 

I do a lot with what little I’ve got.
I can do this because I’m me; you’re not.

Though, perhaps you have the same thing inside?
That thing that shows you horizons are wide?

There’s plenty of room there for planting flags.
Who’ll even make it but hobblers & hags.

I’ve always been privy to survival…
Also, tricks that guarantee revival.

I have aim, stories & my trusty wit.
I stand on horizons…the comeback kid.