Indendence suspends it.

As an unimportant fly,
dipped down from the sky.
And it made it's new place,
just above my knee
(just beneath my thigh).
My primary thought
concerned an expeditive swat.
My inconveniences held a mile high
above this pests fragile life.
But not even a square inch,
of my vacant skin.
Before used for nothing,
but now it was a home to him.
Who am I, then, to believe
my shallow comfort more importantly.
Than the air and the spirit
of a single breath,
no tragedy in this minuscule death.

Brother sister, forever may we be.
Open to even the smallest of pleas.
From a bird or a fly,
or the people we see.
Lest we deny the glory and light,
of living in celebration of life.
For if every tongue was created to sing,
and even flies have tongues (I think).
If placing my own pique a grave above,
another's voice created to love.
It must mean there's something wrong
with everything we've learned.
That maybe we aren't all where we deserve
(and we have, we haven't earned).
But there's people on the streets,
who live much longer than a fly.
And many swatted by,
our grotesque new way of life.
Exoskeletons collide
in the gutters where they die.
And something is wrong.
Something is terribly
terribly
terribly wrong.

The Solution.

The fear, terror, hatred.
That sang us to sleep,
as beneath our bedroom windows,
sirens ring out on the streets.
These parodies of wars, that are knocking at our doors
or teaching us to sing a song, a lullaby,
That keeps us painfully asleep.
Wake up oh, sleeper and rise from the dead.
Could we die and be less dead?
Can our comfort and softened flesh,
once again be beaten fresh.
And our clothing, hair and nails,
be torn, burnt and broken
beneath the glory, while we take sail.
On borrowed wings, on stolen time.
beneath our refusing soliloquy.
Let our dissonance define us, and our arms in defiance crossed.
Between the gears of what we've known, let us be tossed.
Lest we forget that it created the void,
that fills our hearts with greed.
Lest we forget this machine that was built,
was built to create a perpetual need.
Our hearts are stronger,
our minds are wiser
our bodies, now beaten to strength.
What else is there to give,
what other reasons, now to live.
Than to be changed to insurrection,
to aid passion's resurrection.
Beneath a sky lit,
by satellites, cities and patriot.
But the city will shine
with fire and light,
while we dance in our chains,
in shackles, delight.
Let us be made acquainted with the cold cement,
of alleys and jail cells, and tenements.
Let our days be made battle
until the nights that we see.
The end of this stolen, controlling
grasp on humanity.
Let us give our four seasons, our life and death.
To seeing this tyranny end.
To sleep without song and light.
To see this lullaby die,
and to awaken a century's death.