Blood of Your Passion

He's staring off into oblivion; dead-lights, who of their own free will choose to illuminate the gray matter microwave that is TV: too vain, too vulgar. Thought Vanquisher, brought to you by your friendly-facade-keepers: the politicians pussyfooting on a pedestal built of an uninformed (yet united) public - whose belief in "connection" is in reference to a wall socket. Not love. Not kindness. Who unwittingly become hamsters on a wheel, convinced of stars held in our pockets; while promises of prosperity dangle on a string. Like Maya's caged bird we sing - but not of freedom - to sing of that would be akin to declaring the sun has risen in the east. Freedom is a given, at least that's the belief that's bandied about. There's a boldface lie in that belief . . staring us in the face. Are we too ignorant to see or too coddled to care? Organic antenna, playing a fuzzy station; our loved one's voice like a pesky fly - six-legged silhouette on precious phones. Halfhearted hmms-and-yeahs exuding from lazy lips. A lone wolf, misunderstood youth - the euphemisms of today, tomorrow's regrets. The diarrhea of words floating in cyberspace; ricocheting off planets, but never touching earth. The constipation of passion - nonchalant bloodbath of values - no one strong enough to carry the hearse. We'll have to work together - in unity redirected - to carry the load of our ancestor's past. We descendants who reap the aftermath; let's carry on and forgo the calm. Complacency is no destiny to pursue; crack the bottle against the bow, that ship has sailed. Let us dabble in truth, instead of sugarcoat lies; deception maybe be sweet, but give it time, it'll go straight to your thighs. Embrace controversy with a bear hug, and give tyranny a timeout. And should our words sharpen swords instead of mold minds, may the massacre be only metaphorical - and the white flag of truce be mistaken for a canvas - painted with the blood of your passion.