Dead Time

Gangs

roam
ransacked streets

soldiers squat
around the governor’s
mansion

churches filled
praying

protected

skies streaked
mini drones
peek

some of us
ready
ripe
stockpiled supplies

armed
ourselves
hidden
defenses

we’ll fight
survive
new beginnings

a blood drenched parcel, acre, country, earth.

Dream?

My direction seems set
unchangeable

hypnotizing
numb

yet exciting
like watching a movie

I’m in
my mind

all the world scene
everyone

my brother and sister
dream

should we scream
awaken

realize
someone is pulling the strings?

Those at the Top

They
can only look
down
from
their fortress
towers
and up
from
their periscopes
from hell.

They’ve been
too long
removed
from the daily
truth of living
and struggling
in a world
they control
at long range.

But they’re getting
the message,
we’re breaking
their code.
Soon coming
after them
with butcher knives
and bare hands.

Run,
you little weasels,
run!