Already Forgotten Read online

response.

  Eventually we returned to how we were.

  I had to ask about secrets.

  Not hers,

  the idea behind them.

  She said it was bold.

  Not the secrets, but my question.

  I begged her to clarify.

  What she said next left me in awe.

  I quote:

  “Harboring a secret isn’t horrible,

  it’s destructive.

  If a secret is to be kept

  a reason must exist.

  Protection,

  Honor,

  Courage,

  Discipline,

  Trust.

  All fine rationales.

  Sadly, the secrets most kept

  are there to enforce a narrative

  And ensure the safety of the bringer.

  Not the keeper.”

  When I asked how someone could carry something so heavy for so long,

  she said it was the lack of options.

  More importantly,

  The lack of belief.

  Although I had more to ask,

  she had to leave.

  I was able to ask when we’ll speak again.

  “Any time.

  Since the questions still apply.”

  Darker Hues and Avenues

  Gander at the various shades upon the spectrum

  and think of all the different tones that connect them.

  Since it all falls on a color line, which has no sign

  Then accept there should be no discretion.

  Question.

  If they all have value regardless of light

  Then why is there separation and rejection based on sight.

  It’s all a part of an infection,

  Nestled in every mind,

  Taught by the blind.

  A legal type of regression.

  The worst of its kind…

  To expand,

  If a mind has a capacity to hold

  nearly everything it was ever told,

  Picture being shown every image on the surface

  and based on that decide which one is worthless.

  Obviously, the division has a purpose

  To subvert and convert and split every person.

  Two halves make one whole.

  A half of a half sees a specific tone and so

  it continues on.

  A shapeless form for the pupils to absorb,

  where cold shoulders and soft shades manifest to lukewarm.

  And tinted corners and dyed rays are subjected to play as pawns

  Within a pond, baited towards delight,

  Hooked on a theory that fishing for a queen isn’t as effective at night.

  Playing out the strategy breeds the intention to separate,

  And brings attention to the obvious and disregards it as a normal phase.

  While the opponent has a reflection

  And the overseer offers protection,

  Pieces of the wave help to discriminate.

  Where to begin?

  My ancestors called to me,

  but I couldn’t understand the language.

  Being disconnected from my lineage

  makes me question who I really am.

  They called to me,

  And I didn’t even know my name.

  Orphaned and stressed,

  I search for home

  knowing it’s not what it used to be.

  Within myself I try to will my soul to survive

  the constant onslaught of hatred I accrue by living.

  At times, the illusion of freedom brings me bliss.

  Unfortunately, it never lasts long enough for me to revel in its false sanctuary.

  My ancestors reached out to me,

  but I was too far gone to be reunited.

  It should’ve never been this way in the first place.

  My roots are hidden.

  I looked under every tree and bush I saw until it hit me.

  What I was searching for appeared strangely on branches.

  Their ends are where I had to start to seek the source of my creation.

  Papers of Martyrs

  A letter stood upon a stand

  screaming for justice.

  Scornful eyes and blinded hearts

  refused to read beyond the surface.

  Years and years that letter stood.

  A symbol for all to see.

  Tears and tiers will always fall

  since the letters will always bleed.

  My what a hero,

  Wouldn’t fold or bend.

  My what a hero,

  Too bad the letter is dead.

  Once, a doctrine took a stand

  against any hatred.

  Evil minds and deafened ears

  rejected every statement.

  Years and years that doctrine stood

  like a king waiting to be free.

  Cheers and cheers will always come

  since the words had suggested peace.

  My what a hero,

  Wouldn’t bow nor tear.

  My what a hero,

  The doctrine is no longer here.

  With no mask or a cape.

  A rebel stands tall.

  This reoccurring theme comes with a cost.

  Death to all heroes,

  Forever consider friends.

  Death to all heroes,

  A chant for enemies.

  Already Provided

  Too many of my given saviors look nothing like me.

  Illusions and trickery can either take away or make suffering.

  Who are they to choose?

  Forcibly molding fake images to turn them into false icons

  is such a devastating tactic,

  Constantly carried out by overinflated egos

  and self-absorbed actions.

  In return, mistaken identities manifest.

  Low self-esteem and destructive habits become normal.

  Negative thoughts and blatant rage

  become imprisonment.

  The damage has been done.

  Such dangerous behavior, stemming from

  Trying to be what they think I should be,

  What I am not,

  What I can’t be,

  What I am mislead to become.

  Visually, a work of art is inspired by original content.

  Stolen, copied, and written over doesn’t provide

  Correct representation.

  Only washed over stories.

  Peers

  Age has always effected my decisions.

  I cannot please those who came before me,

  and I cannot understand those who are with me.

  The task at hand is too much,

  but it was the same as the past.

  As one we can make a change.

  The odds are against us.

  They always will be.

  Any progress we make,

  Evil decides to speak and take a stance.

  Division is a powerful tool,

  Hence why unity hides when it is needed most.

  Fear conquers more territory than one leader ever could.

  Scarcely, is there bravery.

  One against authority is surely a lone fool who never wanted to grasp the concept of repercussions.

  Quit now and join the ranks of those

  who hunger for dominance and control

  of what they have no right to own.

  Then the future will be submissive and limited.

  A perfect abyss hollowed out by selfishness and content.

  Escape being futile,

  And revolution a past action no one attempted to pursue.

  Fight now and stand beside loved

  ones with no name,

  Who will hold strong in the face of

  those who wish to bring chaos and harm.

  Then what follows will be an endless uprising,

  Unstoppable and passionate.

  History
will applaud,

  and the evidence left behind will be trophies.

  Memories of the battles fought

  and the war won will be the souvenirs.

  No celebration until the end.

  That day will come.

  The true peace and harmony that

  seemed elusive will be achieved.

  If not by us, then the ones who will follow in our footsteps.

  Premade Decisions

  Chasing this poorly constructed version of liberation is a death sentence,

  either by the hands of the one asleep or by the design of the curator.

  Being told to follow as others have done will lead to confusion.

  And anyone living and confused is more

  dangerous than the smartest thinker in the world.

  For a confused person won’t accept or

  comprehend why they must carry on, despite being

  left behind.

  They won’t grasp the concept of being human,

  just hope they could be seen as one.

  While the smart thinker, with knowledge of

  self and numerous theories, has the option of picking which trampled and overcrowded path to take

  In order to eventually realize what the confused already knew.

  Holding on to the social laws put in place

  by none other than those who wish to instill

  hatred and force judgment on the victims of

  Indoctrination

  Is the best way to fuel resentment of

  Inferiority,

  Which will spawn doubt in skill

  And loathing in appearance.

  These components have a steady hand in who will see tomorrow.

  A defender of such laws will ignore and often

  deny the call for change.

  Meanwhile the victim is placed in a position of

  Constant fear.

  Many wonder how to get out.

  Many wonder why they can’t leave.

  Many wonder if a better day was meant for them.

  Too many wonder whether or not they’ll see it.

  Too few wonder what can be done

  to heal.

  Deterred Pt. 1

  A lost cause without a reason

  left from home

  To explore the land in the streets of the weak.

  Desperate to find a cure for his being,

  Struggling to pull out any sort of meaning

  Throughout the journey allies came and went.

  Enemies had always been close.

  And assistance was rarely offered

  When it was needed the most.

  As age caught on and restless nights became

  Fueled by hunger.

  The empty soul, tired and old

  Could withstand no longer.

  So with the outcome treading near,

  The cursed rebel let out a yell

  For all to hear.

  Deterred Pt. 2

  Rallying to the sound,

  A community was born.

  And though they were without homes

  They celebrated as if they won.

  More will come.

  More will scream.

  Whether by misfortune or cruel intent

  is yet to be seen.

  A welcoming is extended to the down trotted

  and half dead.

  Whenever a cry is heard a bond is made.

  Future deserters and unwanted

  have-nots will get there safe.

  Embracing the quest and gandering at the signs

  will help them go.

  Bad decisions and poor choices,

  Along with