hearts collapsing.

hearts collapsing.

reach for your gods.
reach for your guns.
reach for your drugs.
well instead,
reach for your daughters,
your sons;
teach them to be stars-
brighter than the sun.

like empires crumbling
or stars colliding,
fall prey to the state,
but i’m not abiding.
and what is it really
the powers that be
are providing?
and if we’re all so free,
why are we constantly
deciding to allow for
power to reside,
be controlled
by a few?
i’m asking you. i’m asking you.
oh say, can you see?
that nothing is true?
in a world
where everyone lies
to themselves and each other.

and our feelings are worn
on our sleeves
when words are bonds to believe,
but these men in suits with guns,
they tend to deceive.
and well this is our one life to live-
beyond what our two eyes perceive,
the universe is constantly
transmitting messages for us to receive.
come on feet work with me.
travel beyond, let’s get moving,
start creating.
a new world
is possible.
the war is over,
if you… if you… if you
want it to.

we’re all just hearts- hearts collapsing.
we’re all just hearts- hearts collapsing.
we’re all just hearts- hearts collapsing.
we’re all just hearts- hearts collapsing.

and oblivious
to basic facts
and tenements
held true by the state
they lie…

surrounded by poverty,
i’m not supposed to say a thing,
just accept everything
without questioning anything,
just thank god almighty
that at least it ain’t me.

i’m surrounded by poverty,
and if i don’t like it,
i’ve been told before
that i should just leave.

i’m surrounded by poverty,
someone else’s property;
victims of sadistic puppetry,
draconian policy.
how you claim to be free,
delude yourself
you still live in a democracy.

i’m surrounded by poverty.
i’m surrounded by poverty.

we’re all just hearts- hearts collapsing.
we’re all just hearts- hearts collapsing.
we’re all just hearts- hearts collapsing.
we’re all just hearts- hearts collapsing.

01.24 – 02.12.14.

19 thoughts on “hearts collapsing.

  1. Frausto,
    Sometimes when I read your poetry, whether they be in Spanish or English, I wonder what it would be like to lay in the grass with you in a park. You on your blanket. Me laying on my buffalo plaid red one. Maybe we’d stare at the barely clouded sky and talk about what it might feel like to die, or to live, or to dive into another life.

    This particular poem echos my own writing about where I live. There are pillbillies to the north of me, a Veteran a bit further (He keeps a garden that he only shares with one other person even though there is food for many), a man who cheats on his pregnant wife every time she goes to work for 12 hour days, weed smokers, meth dealers, and even a Constable, but not a one of them holds gold in their pockets. None of them create something to bring forth; in this I am isolated.

    I read this and I not only get where you are, but I understand where I am. It’s not a park laying in grass because my yard is weeds and dirt. It’s not multi-lingual because there isn’t enough education for there to be more than barely held English. There isn’t another way of life because survival vs. self-medication seems to be the only prescription for my neighborhood. Thank you for showing me that I’m not the only one who sees the beauty of the not so polished rainbows painted by the meat suits that oppress my people.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Excellent work, important message. It gives me hope to see blogs like yours. I worry, however, that you are so focused on the lies of “the state” (in the way that 9/11 truth-seekers are) that you have shifted focus from the TRUE puppeteers, a power structure that transcends USA.

    Liked by 1 person

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