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Showing posts from 2017

The Sun Will Rise

Around me the night had fallen

Everything I knew about happiness had been forgotten

I was once told that one day it would be okay

A fact that seemed far from sight for my happiness I could only imagine the fight

But in the end they were right

The fractures of a past day mended

The nightmares of the past ended

And there was the sudden realization:


There is a saying that all things heal with time

Or with assorted nickels, quarters, and dimes

But from what I recall, no assortment of such will blot such scars

To play a passive role in progress is a farce

A dying flower does not grow with time

It needs sun and water

A field does not plow with time

It needs mule and a farmer

A rusted car does not drive with time

It needs gas and a driver

True recovery comes with effort

For the scales of the world do not move when no action is taken

This is the law of the world and motion

To this extent a person reflects

Heartbreak is not healed with time

Loneliness is not fixed with time


Raven in the Rain

The raven sits in silence

For there was no warmth to heal its wounds

It sits quietly in the rain under the many moons

It takes the flint and tries to call out

It goes for another bout

The warmth is tepid and brief

A cycle it plays over and over as it holds onto a false belief

The cost is high

The warmth is low

And the cost seems to ever grow

The raven only wants to feel that golden glow

But the raven is forgotten by the grace of the light

Because in the war for warmth it seems to have lost the fight

An afterthought to the fire it tempts

The common trend

The wounds it bears will never mend

Because only light will cure its ails

But attracting and keeping the light it seems to fail

The hailing bullets of the many ills strike it from the air

The raven falls to the ground in a broken pile of despair

Rain washes away the traces of the pain

It wonders why it keeps playing the game when everything will be the same

It closes its eyes and lets out a breath

It awaits its slow painful death

But …

Old Ones

The Old Ones sit in silence as a world moves around them

Streets full of death and hunger

Streets full of hate and thunder

Yet the Old Ones sit in houses on the hills

In the streets no one can pay the bills with what is made in the mills

Yet the Old Ones call a higher cost

A systemic holocaust

The Younger Ones have a future they can't see

A future in which they hold the key

Yet when the overwhelmed call for a lower rent

The Old Ones complain that the lazy have money unspent

Even when those dollars are meant to circumvent torment

The only thing the Old Ones see clear is Wall Street

All the people they will never meet

All the lives that will never shine

Why spend the time when there's a window through which they can see just fine

Rose-tinted glass lined with gold

Yet if only they could see the mold

Then how strong would be the views the Old Ones hold

Maybe then they wouldn't be so cold

A Coded Heart

The included documents are a selected few of the many files present on a flash drive delivered to our headquarters from a post office in Silicon Valley. These documents are supposedly leaked by someone related to a robotics research firm that went bankrupt last year. The names of all people mentioned have been changed to protect their identities. The name of the company has been changed as well. Certain sensitive information has been redacted. We have decided to post these files here as an advancement of our cause. Please read them and consider.

-Mark Nickelsen

President of the Association for Robotic and Autonomous System's Rights (ARASR)

Compilation of Selected Fies From Deepwave Corporation's "Project ALANS"
Emailing System | 4-10-54 2:30pm

From: Dr. Kramnick

To: President Spragen

Subject: Progress Update, Project ALANS


Mr. President:

I just wanted to send an email updating you on the progress of t…

City of Lies

One night I decided to watch this city that I had lived in for months

But I wondered what you would see if you stopped it all at once

From this perch up high it was easy to see all

I was able to observe everything in the city that otherwise never stalled

The rich as they feasted and looked down from their houses on the hills

Keeping diligent tabs on their forever-running mills

And the flashing red and blue lights in the poor city center

And the absence of the much-needed mentor

To the college where students tried so hard to prepare for a career

Then they try so hard to be different from the world that they mirror

And to the office complexes full of people staying too far into the night

Trying to get ahead in a world where they couldn't even fight

The long stretches of road that ran far away

Even though most people only knew how to stay

The homeless roaming aimlessly down the cold open sidewalk

Too hungry and tired to even talk

The children with reason to be anything but somber

The children with no…

The Clouds High Above

In a sharp winter breeze the clouds above allow cotton to fall from sky

The gray mass above for all to see makes it evident that these clouds aren't shy

Ephemeral in nature they pass over all

No matter the season, summer, winter, spring or fall

And though the content they drop varies from day to day

They usually always carry that familiar shade of gray

But what causes these clouds to drop their contents so harshly these cold winter days

Personified, the cloud is a human crying that never stays

Maybe it's because the clouds watch us ever so intently

They see all the things we do accidentally

And they see all the things we do on purpose

And maybe, they are wordless

Wordless at the discourse

Wordless at the forgotten corpse

Wordless at the shattering force

Heartbroken at our current course

Ever the constant watcher the clouds above see all

Forever destined to watch the eternal brawl

Each and every day the clouds high above see everything we do

No wonder they cry as much as they …

The Hurricane as it Came

The whispered winds called out to us like a stream of bad deeds done in vain

And we were stuck in the middle of the hurricane

A storm went awry that shattered the people around us like stone

And in the streets the voices of the conflicted moaned

But we heard not for we were too busy to let our ourselves be stopped

Too busy to save the dying in a storm we brought

And the conflicted fell to their knees and drowned

Shattered glass marked the traces of the bodies that would never be found

And like always we looked the other way

Because even in the face of tragedy our greed outweighed our dismay

And somewhere in the madness our home topples over

And into the water falls our lover

We swam against raging currents that devastated our home

By our errors we could only help but go under for this storm was too terrible to fight alone

To our broken homes we tried to repair

A hopelessly broken pile of despair in a storm that just didn’t seem fair

And in this moment we realized that there was no soul to save us


A Conversation with Death

It had happened just like that. A sharp pain in your chest. The blurred image of the world as you fell to the ground, the brief sound of someone's panicked scream, and then black. You woke up a little while later -- well, you didn't really wake up, per se, but close enough. You were confused, scared even. There was no doubt about that. But I can't really blame you. It'd be a shocking event for anyone. You pulled yourself off the pavement and looked around. The same park you had collapsed in just minutes ago. You pull out your phone to look at the time but it was dead. It was night, the sky gave you that much information. You looked around the park, still quite perplexed as to what exactly had happened. Usually, this is where I would come in and give you the rundown, but I was late anyway and I didn't have much else to do that night, so I decided to let you ponder for a little while longer. You decided to take a shortcut through the park on your way to work. You remembe…

A New Respect for Police Officers

Lights and sirens were on as Officer Hailie Meyers and I sped down Nob Hill Boulevard on our way to a call. A caller had claimed there was a man with a gun in the backyard. Officer Meyers, along with other officers from the Yakima Police Department, were on their way to investigate and I had a front-row seat.

My mind was racing with possible outcomes. A standoff. The person could go running down the road. A high-speed car chase.

Anything could happen.

Officer Meyers’ words were fresh in my head from an hour ago: “You never know what’s going to happen on a call. 911 only has so much information that they can give us.”

When we got to the scene, however, the person reporting the incident had changed the story and had simply thought that there had been the noise of someone cocking a gun in the caller’s backyard.

Further investigation found that the caller had a history of mental illness and had been paranoid all week.

While the result wasn’t as adrenaline-pumping as it could’ve been, the …

A Divided Heart

In the forests of his own destiny, a man falls upon forked trails

A dark path and a bright

The choice he makes seems to come from someplace out of sight

The dark seems unkind and withdrawn

Yet we speculate on what destines man to choose the dark path he sets upon

Some claim an innate disdain for the bright

Others say a natural urge to pursue that which is dark with non-contrite

But to this I say nay

Man can make the choice either way

Eyes capable of seeing both sides of each trail

Feet able to walk upon both dirts no matter how stale

In the end man opts for a path more gray

Because the line dividing dark and light runs equally through the heart and brain

The choice he makes a by-product of the forest's stress

And no matter the way, the path stops none the less

But the line remains equally divided still

And the human heart remains equally un-ill

A Broken House Sits Empty

A stretched road cuts through endless plains of fear and hope.

The broken house sits empty. Cracked panes. Fallen shingles. Chipped paint.

Reflections of passersby persist.

The windows are a theater, the movie is sorrowed anger, but who is the viewer?

The funeral procession, a police chase, a hate parade, the family drowned in want. The movie appears to be running on long.

A rusty mailbox nailed to the front door is half cracked open; forever taking mail as if it had a choice.

Final notices, advertisements, a foreclosure notice, a call from the draft.

In the front yard, the tattered remains of a flag flutter on a bent pole in the hopes that someone will one day free it. The silent protests to a country that failed.

Dulled light from a censored sun apprehensively pours into a graffiti-covered garage through scattered bullet holes and fire damage.

Darkened light illuminates a wrecked car that sits on punctured tires and blocks of gold. No insurance. The owners lost and forgotten.

Ripped books sc…