I wish i could be more optimistic
The apocalypse or I wish I could be more
optimistic
I feel like americas gonna
blow.
I wish i could be a little more optimistic
You’d probably like to see more also.
Optimism that is.
I feel america’s gonna show itself
To be the false illusion it always strived to
be.
I wish i could be more optimistic.
It’s not my friends who lack, nor poets, nor
black lives matter,
Who forsake that Peace,
But we're talking about america, can’t be
anything other than a unexploded munitions just sittin there, waiting for you
or me.
Like a ups gift, amazon, prime delivery.
I wish i could be more optimistic but it’s not
in my blood,
I’m sore battered and bruised from trying to
believe the mean and evil will one day see the light.
Bulb,
We live in a world of make believe.
The end times. Man, will my illusions be
shattered when the horned Beast takes down the crowned bitch of heaven with
seven bells, horns and trumpets sounding for a whole Millenium that’s yet to
come, When will it end? When will it begin?
it starts all over again and again with a
fortnight slaughter
Upon the wicked, forsaken, and derelict.
Someone will be left to rot on the street. And
that will be sign of something to come, to end, to be manifested
Will it be you? Will it be me?
Goddamned i wish i could be more optimistic.
I’ve gone from black power to black lives
matter.
Transformed from Roman Catholicism,
authoritarianism to free thinker contrarianism,
From power to the people to power in the
streets,
From red scare wars to military defeats.
Damn, i wish i could be more optimistic
No one cares, no one matters
We're all left standing waiting for the next
step to take, shoe to fall, make the right call, but we’re on a one way street,
going backwards. Against the grain
I don’t feel as if i can do much and feel as
if i don’t want to try if i could,
I wish i could be more optimistic,
Maybe even be a little funnier.
Forget about the numbers in front of the
washington monument, the ones washing their feet in the long pond of the
Lincoln Memorial, the ones who will go home and eventually get murdered in
their sleep, run down in the streets, sleepless under their sheets,
Voiceless in their screeds, chopped up,
crushed, by the surrounding drumbeats and chants of kill, murder, maim, put them
all in chains, secure the cages, fill the jails, and even with all that, I
see, this prose fails to complete.
I wish I could be more optimistic.
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