Tag: political poetry

Deo

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Tie me down tightly the next time I try to claw my irises out.

The lights are acidic, music is pale and I don’t make myself proud.

Lie to me before you let the rope touch my infected neck –

And remember the hand they’ve given me came from a defective deck.

Don’t trust my cool when I approach the window so slowly.

Dearest, please, hold me back roughly, like you owe me,

Chain my feet to a block of static, mellow memories.

After all, we built this house from second-hand gossip and prophecies.

It’s time to let it slide through the fingers, let it dissolve.

And maybe, just maybe, saying goodbye will let it evolve.

So wrap the leash tighter but don’t let me look away.

The walls we built have to crumble right before my eyes

To make sure I obey.

-JW

The Revelation

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It feels irrelevant to feel the rut I’m feeling, but it’s still true –

My mind is rumbling, I can’t hear the chorus through the blues.

The fences are getting higher and I don’t want to manage,

And every day I don’t, my brain gets twice the damage.

I didn’t know you were listening to my story all along.

To you it might seem that I’m visionless or not that strong.

To you the picture has been painted through a distorting mirror.

But I don’t care –

Come, take in my suffering from the cuts, almost like a killer.

Then he whispers:

“Step away from the catastrophe for a second, let me ground it.

I know that the truths you’ve been hearing sound astounding,

And somehow you keep on beating the current as if it’s your cure –

But there comes a time to realize that you will not be judged

By the pain you endure.”

-JW

Enterlude

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Inscrutable gazes thrown at me from the empty corners.

This town has lost all shame, it’s gauging and devouring the mourners.

I sense a pair of evil peepers landing on my stripped emotions –

And the looks on their faces bite, but their sentences chew me up, these fake devotions…

A while back I would’ve sworn on my dignity to never let them get to you

But you left without saying goodbye, with her by your side, and I’m out of honor to prove.

No country far enough, my trail of betrayal will forever loiter around.

However, I have to flee the scene of the crime, time is an impatient hound.

Way back I heard someone mentioning the neon sins at a city behind the desert,

Three seas apart from this town, just far enough for me to run in black army boots and a nightshirt.

That’s where I’m going, no unnecessary looks over the shoulder, no farewells left for friends –

And why would I warn them? They’re the reason I have to fend,

No time left to make amends.

-JW

Barely

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The glitz and the glamour are ruining our youth –

Too much lipstick, too short of a skirt,

The heels are too high, the words are too brute.

You can’t be book smart if you’re also a flirt.

The anarchism is teasing their brain.

No politics for teens! Stay in your lane.

Shut it, what do you know about pain?

Let’s all follow The Dream and stay insane.

The information is spreading too fast –

When I was twenty, I had a blast.

Now they’re opposing. Who even asked?!

When opinions are given, theirs should go last.

(The reality is changing them too early.

Time is running out, most of them aren’t treated fairly.

But you would rather look away than answer sincerely?

When you claim the youth is pampered, I would say – barely.)

-JW

Leaving Ante: Part V

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Healing

We’re building a corporation from scratch – some luck and eighty-seven guns.

I’m calling you my co-conspirator when they find out so you don’t even run.

Zero factories around the globe, no employees good enough to hire –

Yet I’m convinced you’re the one ruining this, you started the tax haven fire.

The upholstery business is a nice shell for your mother’s inaudible cries.

It must’ve been Linklater who taught you how to be fine when the time flies.

My feet are sore from carrying the boxes of liquid guilt into the basement –

But I don’t mind, the art you keep and treasure was begging for defacement.

Now the flames are eating up the framework of the company without any shame.

Perhaps the next business we build will take less gasoline to stay in the game.

-JW

Leaving Ante: Part IV

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Escape (?)

I see a poorly lit bunch on the mountain tops, waiting for a confirmation sign.

No clue how to send the signal, the burning city left me dumbstruck and blind.

My voice is cracking from all the screaming, throat is aching viciously.

“I don’t have the strength to drag my knees any longer, just kill me and set me free.”

As soon as the words are spoken, someone gently grabs me by the shoulders.

My consciousness slowly drifts away. Are these like-minded souls or another cardholders?

Will they carry me home or will they take me back, to the neon lights of Ante?

I drift further away but in the back I hear them chanting: “Vigilante.”

-JW

Leaving Ante: Part III

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Trauma

How do you embrace the darkness, the fog lingering in your thoughts?

The guides have dropped dead and my mind is haunted, covered in moths,

So I’m praying to hills, I want to get past this mentor-less journey alive

But the wheels are turning to the uncharted territory, pulsating cyanide.

How to forget the grave they made me dig for myself, scarring me to agony?!

Yet – the actions are excusable because only the young and terrified will write a symphony,

A melody submissive enough for their listening pleasure, a hymn for the masses.

My shoulders still ache but I never sung the lullaby,

The one veiling plastic and hourglasses.

And how do you know there’s another side to the endless, smoke filled path I’m balking?

I’ve been penniless and dull, however, never have I felt like sleepwalking.

The dust is sitting still in the unforeseeable, contaminated air I’m chasing.

I know the fog is a part of the ride, perhaps – even the seatbelt, but really…

How do I embrace it when it’s easier to forever erase it?

-JW

Leaving Ante: Part II

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Caution

Dynasties of big-mouthed Roman generals in purple crawl the streets.

Spit and rumors everywhere, bald heads bowing their dirt-filled deeds.

But it’s not cheap to do the world dirty like that, to break a promise.

I was a kid back when I heard the last speech that was humble and honest.

My hate for the leaders made me hate my father, then – anyone who mattered.

If I had the option to save a friend or myself, I would choose the latter.

Not that I’m selfish or ungrateful, but the reality is nastier than fear.

..Maybe they’re close relatives? But what’s the difference if you can’t see clear?

(When I change for worse, I don’t want anyone near.)

So I carry on with a backpack filled with past disgraces, another one with future regrets.

Yellow bandana covering my dry mouth as the moon inevitably sets.

The purple crowds keep smearing truths back at the city, and I don’t mind.

I was raised to survive this war, not to lay my head down being kind in a fight.

-JW

Leaving Ante: Part I

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Stuck

The bar doors are open and neon light falls shyly onto the crosswalk.

A stranger bumps into my bare shoulder. It won’t interrupt the sweet talk.

Cigarette ashes land on glass tables and cover my stained ruby soul.

If he didn’t ask, I would’ve never admitted that I started at the pole.

Three stools away a thoughtless wave of laughter erupts, over and over –

I see doubt in the eyes of a girl and I want to scream, this much I owe her.

The moment is gone when a bottle of wine crashes leaving red dots in the corner.

Where was my savior back then?! Was I always a fraud and a goner?

My lids feel heavy as I’m guided to another cherry-colored car.

I wonder where my self-respect went, it really can’t be that far.

But perhaps my dignity was another re-run of a wonderful mirage.

-JW

The Last Moments of Being in Love

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We’re the personification of a thunderstorm after a heated summer day.

Relief is entangled in fresh air. The daisies in my cheeks are longing for rain.

As soon as the first droplets hit the chalky ground, a lightning strikes.

With the weight of my love I push you up a hill, disturbing the butterflies.

We’re the embodiment of warm July evenings turning chilly in the blink of an eye.

Fruit trees are tired from reaching for sun-kisses. The earth is bone dry.

When the thunder rumbles over the lonely fields, you’re carrying me deeper into the twilight zone –

Might as well run through the dark, the rain is so heavy it feels as if we have blinders on.

We’re the epitome of the golden hour paused by some biting wind.

The chimes are rocking back and forth, calling me saint right after I’ve sinned.

Rosy sky trickles down so quick, burns our skins aimlessly, like a pint of lava.

But we’re taken by the touch, we don’t see it.

When they’re asking which vices to erase, we both whisper “nada”.

-JW