I Want to Be a Fugitive

I want to be a fugitive.
On the run.
Homeless.
A wanted man,
yet as free as a bird.

Dancing in Chains

Free-flowing words
like the flood waters,
not bound by any barrier.
Free to reach and touch
everything.

Not branded by some
corporate agenda
or the desperate “get rich”
scheme of some pimp
prostituting his soul to
whoever will pay
top dollar.

Politics

prideful politicians preaching their charismatic propaganda with no regard for the poor, the oppressed, the down-trodden
playing the polls like its some sort of game
making away with a get-rich-quick scheme.
selling a product with no substance
raking in money and producing no results.
promoting party positions with no regard to personal perspectives or perceptions.
powered by the power of the dead  presidents
peddling cash to provide for their needs, wants, non-wants and non-needs
nonsense spews from their mouth as they work to please party supporters raising more money for their causeless cause.

purchasing presidency with petty cash
pursuing their own interests only.
I am nothing but a pawn in their plan for world domination.
I am done playing this game.

Freedom

I want to be free.
Free from the rushed,
hurried, this and that
which we call life.
Free as a leaf falling
on a cool autumn day.

What is our right?

What have we come to
when poverty is defined as
3 meals a day,
only 1 pair of clothes
for each day of the week,
a small house,
but a house nonetheless,
and only 1 TV.

Technology.

In the great paradox
of practice,
that which is said to
theoretically
make life easier
does no such thing.

The Eternal Show

As I stand
sheltered
in a small forest of trees,
I notice a spotlight
of sunlight
beam down
and settle on the ground
near me.