Little Puppet on a String

just a poem

Pools of red in fields of green.
Waging wars eternally.
Messages now seem to be
lost, to the bane of those who see
the wrong in he who claims to be
always right in every degree.
Sprouted roots from money trees
sometimes called the bourgeoisie
The keeper of the stolen keys
hoarding the land of Honalee
The high class aristocracy
claiming birth in Galilee
where a blind man once was made to see
they say “Us” instead of “We.”
Betray the buzzing busy bees
label them miscreants and thieves
to keep them down upon their knees
supporting weight of pedigrees
existing just to show their greed.
Rotten Johnny Appleseeds
spreading death. They once killed me

waging wars of money men.
An infinite story. It’s always been
a puppet show from beginning to end.
Behold the bowl once used to blend
the ashes and blood of long-lost friends
together with the ink of pens
used by those who could transcend
but wound up on the receiving end
of those who’d rather wound than mend
Hellish fire around the bend.
The Dallas skyline! Man’s best friend
performing acts of evil, then
scurrying back into the den
to be tied up like a loose end.
Words are dangerous when they’re said
like a guillotine blade over the head
of a man buying up the Sudafed.
What’s he going to do with all that red?
Spread the wild disease of hatred
and kill to gain sweet street cred.
Remain in the safety of your bed
Don’t listen to me. I’m already dead.

Unlike slavery: a delicate word.
An evil one, most will concur.
Or at least those who have heard
or seen the wrath that is incurred
when a man is treated like a thing named Snerd:
Edgar and Charlie’s caged bird.
A performance theater of absurd
places and faces and sounds unheard.
Soulless eyes leave them disturbed.
Listening vainly for His word.
Believing they’re the ones preferred.
The favored ones within the herd,
with words and thoughts so often slurred.
Drunk on poison from the curd
of the bovine massacre.
What a ridiculous metaphor
At least I didn’t say “Nevermore.”
Or speak of murders in a morgue.
Stalling now. Stall some more.
Dee dee da. Dee dee der.
Don’t jump and shout and claim you’re cured.
Be careful where you’re being lured. 
We're all dead. That's the word.