Mother Nature, sing a song beyond the dark; a tune just south of calamity. Where sweet melodies part ominous clouds, and no blood bears the storm. Mother Nature, have mercy on those who know firsthand your fury is no hoax. Their lives have been reduced to rain and ruin; no shine, no sleep, no warmth. Mother Nature, may we soon breathe more easily, gain more clarity. May your waters recede to a place of calm, where countless souls can rebuild their homes.
If compassion can rise from ashes. If it can kiss the bullet from our lips. If it can breathe new life into the peace sign. If the naked truth can skinny dip in bliss. If diseased minds can stop being brothels for bombs. If bombs can stop being seeds for tomorrow’s dying trees. Then maybe we can begin to eliminate this burgeoning cult of hate.
Nothing good comes from the one claiming to make America great. It’s one lie after another, one manipulation piled upon still another manipulation. It’s truth penned by nothingness. A house built with ego and contempt, cruelty and ignorance. It’s the punchline punched into our guts after a very cruel joke. It’s the daily deaths we must endure when realizing hate has been given a pardon to roam free and unchecked. It’s one darkness after another we must work to unravel in this dark world made still darker by our very dark king.
If all neo-Nazis and the KKK become singing robins and bright blue jays flashing across this late summer sky, we can quickly synchronize our hearts with a moment of peace before the next new Hate-o-saurus Rex comes lumbering along. Indeed, we’ve entered a new age where BC stands for Batshit Crazy. A world where twisted, craggy political leaders trade wisdom and happiness for fire and fury. Those dystopian dinosaurs are armed with nukes, nihilism, and brains the size of a cyanide pill. As patients in their prehistoric mental institution, we must gather sticks and stones of peaceful intuition to build new homes with higher levels of consciousness.
Cars once used for leisurely Sunday drives are now killing machines. KKK extremists once dressed in clean white sheets to conceal soiled souls now parade out in the open. Bigotry, racism, and hatred crawl out of the gutter. Those putrid pimps peddle their poisons to the lowest bidder. Such a bitter taste on the tongue when sweet love leaves the equation. Nothing adds up to equal anything good.
People of all colors & creeds living together in peace. Guns & bombs melted down to paperweights. Wisdom, equanimity. The great minds of our generation gathered together, exploring ways for us to live in health, wealth & harmony. Libraries of tranquility where there are never any late fees. Curing epidemics & stamping out systemic racism & greed–that's what they don't want: for everyone to live comfortably in their own skin. The human spirit, a bright billboard along life's highway. That's what they don't want, that bunch of small-minded, thin-skinned, dark-hearted crushers of love.
Pet bombs. Poetry bombs. Bombs of lazy summer days & intoxicating sunset bombs. Beer bombs, water bombs. Geranium & sunflower bombs. Van Gogh starry night bombs. The kids are alright & light my fire bombs. Enormous bombs engorged with gorgeousness. Bombs exploding with civil rights & mighty James Brown beats. Peace for president bombs. Anti "fire and fury" bombs. Bach, Beethoven & Brahms bombs. Only you can save us from North Korea, Dennis Rodman bombs. H-bombs where the H stands for happiness. A-bombs where the A stands for adoration.
Evening comes our way, all lightning-haired and starry-eyed. She's an elegy, not an effigy. Clarity, not calamity. Even when streets are flooded with deceit, she burns sweet with song. Even when mercilessness spreads its pestilence, she still shines her diamond bright. No smoke and mirrors. Only hope and miracles. Here comes evening, all heaven-eyed and moon mighty. Tattooed across her heart, the words we long to hear: Even in the dark, love still dwells.
Days when lunatics rip wings off butterflies, when beauty is grounded, and madmen ride doomsday sidesaddle. Days when violence, treachery, and bigotry are the unholy trinity. When intuition's GPS is on the fritz, leaving us in blind alleyways–bugged, mugged, drugged. Here's to a shot of blackbird whiskey to sing away the blues. A North Star for a third eye to guide us brightly home. Here's to realizing that nowhere can be everywhere when witnessing the world through soul-colored glasses.