Richest Tongues

write please read and enjoy

If words are cheap, what is the cost of a story?

A picture is worth one thousand words,

what does that make your portrait now?

What is a life, a legend, glory, an allegory?

What does the weight of a false accusation truly allow?

If talk is cheap, what are words worth?

How much sense... for those ticking keys?

How many times will it cost to explain only once,

that the consequences are relentless, once unlocked

you can't close your mouth again, nothing taken lightly is free

nothing you give is given in vain, your observations laid out and plain

all under the scrutiny of the next generation of police

they promise you ease of living, no offense, just justice and just peace

Then with that big red rubber stamp of a grin

does the true work begin,

no, no, no!

You do not overthrow your fascists wolf-skins for these sheepdogs, I refuse!

Lobotomize me, roboticize me! I refuse!

Censor my eyes, I can't see the use!

Their propaganda, all is planned-to

take apart a microscopic crack in the legs that take a stand-the

generation who will bear the ashes and trashes and barren-earth gashes

and the morally bankrupt hidden blackmail-blackbox-blacksite-cash-in-stashes

I vote true anarchy in a whirlwind of scared and confused, disenfranchised cries

all that was old no longer stands, burn it down and raze their alarms to meet fresh eyes

whose attention is sharper and whose wits do not harp-or linger on attracting flies

when they speak it is common, to the point and in union, without comical bickering, backstabbing or lies

whose council is one of Utopian ideal, in that it exists only in this Anarcho-Paradise

where nothing they say matters, nobody listens, and there is no order, for if you pause you do not survive

and Nothing is all you are while alive and nobody feels nothing when Nothing dies

it's not like pandemic or fire, riots or dissent, global or local could paint a place into a corner like that though

armed to the teeth, doctors stand back, morgues stand by

Civil unrest, I hereby diagnose the Northern United States with Insomnia

I've been there

what is the continental equivalent to hallucinations, mood swings, weight loss and blacking out?

Civil discourse? I've heard some bad jokes, I love em, but that one's the worst

talk on your stages, your pages, your backseats and square icons

you throw spears from crumbling platforms, unable to hit one another and babble on

when in person the magic of active threats turned, too-soon, too tragic

is becoming lethargic, more shock, more bodies, a better tactic

humankind doesn't deserve its own environment, we're toxic

why can't we all just shut up and stay at home sick, oh

s**t.

The wealthiest opinions buy their silver spoons before their birth

with all their mercury they speed to heights, and never reach their worth

all the talk they do is quite a feat, indeed!

For, you see it comes from a slit in their neck and both sides of their mouth,

while the noise made, like pickpocketing hands' slides into docile minds with greed

empty, nimble, unnoticed and plucking chain and coin and bead

the richest tongues would rob the rest of roots for their baby to have but a seed.