"{Night}(Shade)[Tirade]"

"{Night}(Shade)[Tirade]" 

Way too dark.
Can't see the thoughts.
I'm not elated.
Just lost. 

Impressed by your precision.
Distressed by your decisions.
Obsession tossed around
and dragged across the ground.
Far from home throne
supposedly fortified with cobblestone and blacktop
until the top is black
so you can hop back
into comfort and hang up your pretentiousness.
Eyes wide open
but can't find anything in front of me.
Conveniently confronting me
on my perceived indifference.
Diligence to preserve innocence
while persecuting those
who will not join in the arms race.
Your pace cut.
Copied.
Pasted.
Wasted on the trend of the month.
A front to mask your appearance.
Clearance for any notion
that you just might like the potion
you accuse the world of drinking. 

I stand still
but I'm thinking.
Hands in front of me.
Finger feelers
searching for the filler
in your well placed appeal.
Strategic soapbox stance.
Employing the trance
and threatening the lonesome thinkers.
Tinker with the facts
until it looks more like opinion.
Spite the masses.
Organize the minions
to serve master in malice
and carry out more of the tragic
acts that should lead to a magic solution. 

The Establishment Cannot Condemn The Institution. 

Don't know the time.
Searching for light.
You don't want a fight.
You'll be here tonight
and I know.
It can be taxing
waxing militant
about ignorance
until asked about real world news.
Paid dues in desecrated discipline.
Adrenaline laced pace
charged by selective media
you purport across selected mediums
where the keys smoke faster than the barrel.
Times that travel with the spark
behind the scenes
and in the dark.
A pool of sharks starved for chum
and here we come:
The vilified led in the late
to await the murky waters.
Found it harder to swim at night.
Can't get right
or get away.
Not again.
Not today.
Cussed at if we walk away
by activists of today
that will not buy a ticket
or picket,
assemble,
organize,
occupy
or die tomorrow
for what the same sunlight suicide crusade
that they raved about two days ago. 

Way too dark
Can't see your fist
but graze my chin
and say I tripped
if asked how the stagnant tumbled.
Bastards to the belligerent bastion.
Factions cloaked concealing daggers.
Waving.
Raving.
Belting out the boisterous chatter.
Swinging rifles after trial.
Burning buildings after verdict.
Lord knows something serves a purpose.
Lord knows you're less angry than nervous.
Under pressure self implied.
Switch maneuvers. Exercise.
Pressed for diamonds. Futile goals
when pressed for time to crack the coals
and over time, it should've changed
but after hours look the same. 

Certain hours.
Curtain powers.
Cyberspace.
Inbox then inside the space.
Square pegs between the legs.
Earlier?
Liquor and kegs.
Before that?
Skim through the facts,
plan to react
and stab us when we trim the fat.
Toss reason in the vat and boil it brown.
Add revolution. Tear it down.
Make sure it drowns in each batch.
Whenever we break the latch
or find a way to break the seal,
your soul reveals no tolerance.
Common sense the rarest deal.
Anarchy on eighty proof.
So many sips.
You puke the truth.
Extend recollection.
Examine direction.
Don't question my digestion
while seated in the crowded section
where the nose bleeds
and they throw seeds
at passersby who won't watch the game.
Claimed and you don't know my name.
Assumption the sharpened blade.
You will swing and slice in light
but will you vex under the shade? 

Way too dark.
That's why I stand still.
Way too much.
That's why I chill
and just because I'm drifting,
don't think your anger is uplifting.
You are not the rise of man.
You are warm milk and ceiling fan. 

Say your prayers.
Amen. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz