Eternal damnation will be our final destination says some author of some old book for people who choose to give up their lives to live for somebody else. Even our own presidents says hey, we can all be free as long as you believe what I believe. This world gives up no choice but to express our opinion then be knocked down driven into the dirt buried under the cement, until our self-worth presses through the decay, the disease, the dark and is laid to rest like the roots of the Elm. But our words will be heard Thomas screamed, “rage, rage against the dying of the light!” the time when shadows take form to reveal who you really are, perplexed, stretched, faded only living life as an exact replica of somebody else. Reach, and struggle, and strive with all it’s strength never touching the divine static the unreachable radiate. Peer into the hole of the Elm witness the soul of old age yearning to speak cracked and fermented bitter and misplaced grasping to it’s skin clutching onto the last bit of purity the last bit of sin. Dragging its faltered fingernails slipping slowly away from its shell until it’s lost. Bosch’s Delights revealed the real lives of The Children whose crevices and ideas are molested with temptation but they smile all the same. A mirrored image of who we are now our minds being finger fucked by the old men on Wall in the White House. “quit the hypocritical chants of freedom forever” as Ani sang. The powerful take money by feeding addictions of the powerless. The reason you wake up and look in the mirror is an addiction they work for. The heroin junky has no one to thank except his deliverer who proclaims The Annunciation of his life ending swollen lips bloodshot eyes tainted skin. When was this man given a voice? the day his wife died or the day his son was paralyzed? “Do not go gentle into that good night” let the world know its’ injustice and while laying unconscious in that rotten ally take out your soul feed it to the rats but do not concede. Let your ideals be reconceived in an imaginable form and your voice echo over.. and over.. twisting, overwhelm the minds of the lost. Do not settle with a whisper not even a scream, radiate your words through skin, and blood, and tears, the faith, the truths, the lies until gazing into your eyes parade not only the soul but also the mind. The world will beat you down and hurt you, bruise your face and rape you, violate every pulse of your heart until this life slits your wrist of your existence and you bleed out your sins… do not go voiceless.