American Slaves
blatent mediocrity, constant uniformity,
tongues pierced with an anvil.
eyes fogged from realization,
minds trained for situations,
paper hearts, electric candles.
cry of desperation, self becomes a nation,
stepping over bodies without heads.
the newscaster plots his story,
selling condoms in purgatory,
fanning the flames o'er the dead.
ghosts in hell, souls without conscience.
take another pill for deliverence.
children buried in unmarked graves.
oil rigs pumping, American slaves.
flag waving, constant craving,
neon lights blink on and off.
sex heals, addictive thrills,
money dressed in naked bills,
drool on the chin, barking cough.
color fears, political cures,
families lost to the raging sea.
morals traded, hard and jaded,
the sick are shunned, the poor are hated,
only the few can afford to be free.
ghosts in hell, souls without conscience.
take another pill for deliverence.
children buried in unmarked graves.
oil rigs pumping, American slaves.
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Democracy Died
democracy died...
and no one noticed.
freedom flew from the window,
left a shadow on the perch.
they buried equality
in an unmarked grave.
put the faces of unborn children
on milk cartons no one saw.
they sold justice on the block,
and invested in oil...
now the only sounds in the wasteland,
oil rigs pumping, and the cawing of crows!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soul On Fire
Theres a flame that leads our souls astray
No ones safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day its looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again were falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
(? )
But you will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soul On Fire
There's a flame that leads our souls astray
No one's safe from its tender touch of pain
And every day it's looking for new slaves
To celebrate the beauty of the grave
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverance
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
And again we're falling for disgrace
And hate will shelter us from the rain
We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame
And gently raped by the light of day
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
Addicted to our divine despair
The venom of the cross we bear
The guilt will follow us to death
We are like the living dead
Sacrificing all we have
For a frozen heart and a soul on fire
We are like the living dead
Craving for deliverence
With a frozen heart and a soul on fire
With a soul on
Soul on
Soul on
Fire
Soul on fire
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By Unmarked Graves....
i read the labels of soup cans,
the poetry of mechanized food.
while children starve in the back seats,
of cars up on blocks.
and cell phones pray with neon glow,
to the souls of the fathers
buried in unemployment lines.
heartless bastards wave numbing flags,
guarding the border, masks and rifles cocked.
bars on the windows of pregnant schools,
where freedom unravels with sterile yawns.
the fields are quiet, bodies decompose...
crows pick fruit from trees long dead.
microwave Jesus's fill plastic bowls
with fingers severed from forgotten hands.
live or die, most choose death!
young lovers taunt roaches on motel walls.
the wheels of justice groan in the heat,
and darkness erect, prophesies.
the labels of soup cans,
and the brim of old hats!
leaving only tongues left naked
by unmarked graves!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Who can be Redeemed?
Who can be saved?
So many can be saved -
A rich man and his family,
They can be saved.
But who can be redeemed?
Only souls enslaved.
Only those sold
Can be bought back again.
Those who purchase minds and souls
By sermon, fear or flattery
May not petition for redemption
Or ask how it will set them free.
Those who traded on South Africa
While Mandela worked in jail
Those who issued bonds of war
While Iraq's children died in flames
You who claim to be redeemers
While disowning fields you've sown -
The lands you've stolen, slaves you've owned -
Will pay in different currency
Than any you have yet controlled.
Until you've lived in servitude
To justice and its wondrous law
Until you are the slaves to truth
Redemption is not yours' to know.
poem by Frank Bana
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I Am Sick......
i am sick of your justice...
sick of dead bodies strewn,
sick of your bursts of gunfire,
and your bombs without conscience.
sick of the napalm fingers of your equality,
trading flesh for nickels and dime.
sick of your powder and your pills,
sick of the rape of the young girl
beneath your flag!
i am sick of your nuclear bibles,
sick of your buying and trading.
i am sick of the pound of your oil rigs,
sick of the stink of your morality.
i am sick of your hanging trees,
your courtrooms stacked.
i am sick of the money you sleep with,
sick of your colorless freedom.
i am sick of your smokestacks gone silent.
sick of your riot squads gassing.
i am sick of the amendments you've twisted,
sick of your hate and your prejudice...
i am sick of your slavery,
your prisons, your human rights violations.
i am sick of your political lies....
revolution, by common bond,
the choice of integrity, or death!
the dignity of the human soul demands,
that we live or we die!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Praying For Emptiness!
walking barefoot down the streets
of the holy city...
listening to the sounds,
the whimper, the cry, and the roar...
praying for emptiness....
the clock beats in rhythm
with the sidewalks and the walls.
the smell of burnt flesh
hangs in the air....
'Jesus Saves' painted on a fence....
oil rigs and chemical sprays,
fields filled with unmarked graves.
windows broken, doors sway, rusted hinges,
cars abandoned, vacant buildings,
dead bodies, eyes lost stare!
the spirits of the children
sing haunting and low...
words pierce like nails,
the birds hear and weep....
a hand gun, a needle, half pack of smokes....
nobody saves the night from the dawn!
praying for emptiness...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Stop The Killing!
he killed Trayvon
with a bullet to the chest.
stone cold murder!
much as we've killed...
Vietnamese children,
South American children,
the children of Iraq,
and Afghanistan...
Japanese children,
Native American children,
and probably next
the children of Iran!
as Dylan mocks:
'with god on our side'...
whose god?
what type of morality
justifies killing children?
we might just as well
be killing our own children!
and in a sense we are!
Trayvon demands justice...
so do the ghosts of all the children...
their faces ingrained in the curse
on our souls, on our land!
stop the killing!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Temple!
the walls of this temple,
so soft and plush,
made from the skin stripped
from the bodies
of the dead and conquered.
gold plated offering plates
made of the tiny hands
of the ones we let starve.
prayers hang, like the broken necks
of those we executed for color.
scriptures lost, like the children,
to a place no one reads...
the organ pumps, oil rigs regurgitating,
the Wall Street priests perform
like circus monkeys in hell....
the god of the dollar waits for no one,
the register rings, redemption,
food crumbs falling from the faces
of blackened souls without identity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cry For Freedom
(m&l - weikath/hansen)
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever to be free on their load
Time has run out for all tyrans in this world
Your slaves are heedin the call
Mankin an end to all this terror and pain
And the end to your lies and your law
Takin away all your gold and your money
cause dead men don´t need it anymore
Much too long we felt the slash of your whips
So now you will feel our sword
Freedom the eternal cry will echo high in the sky
The day will come when all power has been broken
Your blood will flow down to the gates of hell
Satan will wait for your souls
Pray to your God he wont help you hes dead
He wonpt fool our minds and souls... anymore
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever on their load
Freedom this cry for all slaves will be heard
And the tyrans will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever to be free on their load
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broad Gate
The plague has come
Children of revelry infected
Night with tentacles of pagan masks
Parley with ancient gargoyles
Praise your temple of idols
No asylum, no peace, no salvation
The fever gone, surrender
Tossed with the wind
Love of money over humanity
Itching ears, loss of conscience
All your teachers can't stop death
Fields of evil, the harvest of hell
Drones of sex, Sodom and Gomorrah
Hearts buried and sold
Strange faces of Roman tempest
Lovers of pleasure more than God
False freedom
Fornicators
Given over
Hardened
Defiled
Unforgiving
Bli nd
Slaves of evil
Vile
Lost
The broad gate fills with the living dead
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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A Land Gone Black
the sound of gunfire
rapes the virgin night...
another innocent goes down....
the soldiers of petroleum
buy a whore, a dime, a quarter.
dine on the flesh of children;
pray to the neon god.
waving the flags of mouths
that only speak with teeth.
nothing holy that cant be bought....
step on bodies without faces,
piss on the graves of babies....
winner take all, all is nothing!
and the wind of the beast
knocks at the blackened windows....
in the empty houses of the poor,
the worthless, the forgotten.
the sound of gunfire rips the stillness....
the gods of anger and self
fornicate in the stench,
keeping time to the rhythm
of oil rigs in a land gone black!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Human Chronicles (Part Two)
and here in the United States...
the flag of freedom desecrated.
betrayed by our own greed,
by the sins of 'I, Me, Mine'...
carrying the weight of the wars,
the patriotic lies,
the lives taken,
the peoples abused.
the karmic curse
of Native American blood,
the bodies of the slaves,
buried beneath the hanging tree.
the muffled cries of the immigrants
who did our farm work,
and were herded like cattle.
the ghosts of the common workers
pounding the unemployed streets.
too long, too long,
we've closed our eyes.
too long, too long,
we've turned the other way!
and now we've come to this!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deliver Us From Temptation
Freedom" this cry of all slaves will be heard
And the tyrants will feel the steal of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on the earth
Forever to be free from their load
Time has run out for all you tyrants on earth
Your slaves are heedin\' the call
Makin\' an end to all this terror and pain
An end to your lies and your law
Takin\' away all your gold and your money
\'cause dead men don\'t need it anymore
Much too long we felt the slash of your whips
So now you will feel or swords
Freedom the eternal cry will echo high in the sky
The day will come when all power has been broken
Your blood will flow down to the gates of hell
Satan will wait for your souls
Pray to your god he won\'t help you he\'s dead
He won\'t fool our minds and our soul... anymore
Chorus:
Freedom the cry of all slaves will be heard
The tyrants will now feel the steel of the sword
The chains will be broken by all slaves on earth
Chorus
Forever to be free from their load
Chorus
... Forever to be free from their load
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Equality... (In A Word)
equality...
in a word,
no more talk of
the 'land of the free'.
you founded this country
over the scattered bones
of 100,000,000 Native Americans.
built this country
on the backs of
African-American slaves,
and poor Scotch-Irish refugees,
who turned your earth,
and built your homes.
'give me your tired, your poor...'
more cheap labor?
to build your cities,
your railroads, work your steel.
how many faceless bodies buried
in your cold dark mines?
how many second class young men
sent off to war?
how many women paid less,
treated as less?
how many farmworker immigrants
paid too little,
treated like trash?
how many slum children
sent off to prison?
how many lives sold off
for bottom line profit?
disembodied jobless,
driven from their homes?
how many minimum wage slaves
praying for food stamps?
how many 'cant afford an education'
futures written in stone?
how many sparrows on the fence?
you want to honor those who've served?
all of these,
the people who have served you!
who have met your needs!
Memorial Day, an epitaph!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Grey Windows...
grey windows, grey buildings,
grey streets, grey skies...
grey figures staring,
grey deals are done!
manipulate gas prices,
manipulate food...
manipulate the economy,
manipulate the election.
right and wrong,
never thought of.
hungry mouths and desperation.
win the war,
never raise a gun,
bodies strewn everywhere!
money makes gods,
without conscience or morals.
human lives just tokens,
that buy trinkets for demons!
flag draped caskets,
the stink of money overwhelms.
while patriots dig graves,
for their mothers and sisters.
right and wrong,
never thought of.
hungry mouths and desperation.
pick a President,
who'll stand silent,
as birds of prey pick the bodies!
grey windows...
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Children In America!
one out of three
children in America,
living in poverty?
what happened
to the land of promise?
children hungry,
children homeless,
children that wont
get a good education!
children, broken families,
children without future.
children without love....
turn to hate!
build your cities,
build your banks,
build your kingdoms
drunk on oil and blood!
your children, dying....
who digs their graves?
who closes their eyes?
who prays for their souls?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Free Souls
Free Souls
Rise from the depths of the graves hidden way back by a thick fog of hate
Free souls
Surrender themselves to the red moon turned crimson by the blood stolen from their hearts
Free Souls
Tainted Scarlett by the filthy hands that cut their bodies like the cactus begging for moisture
Free Souls
Let out deep sad moans that make no words... moans that are harmonized by betrayal and pain
Moans who's' symphony cuts their ears like razor sharp insults...
Free Souls
Wonder in this circumference filled deep with cold dark debris... blinding them from hopes of ever seeing the morning glow....
Free Souls
Weep thick murky sewage flushed from others insecurities and selfishness
It runs down their eyes and bodies burning every hope of purity they tried to hold on too
Free Souls
Turn their bodies on all humanity as backstabbers throw rusted daggers into their backs
Laughing with disgust as they hope this will be the one way to take their freedom..
Free Souls
Fight to stand tall and peel off that layer on their bodies created by molested mouths breathing fiery words meant to burn their souls but fails as it disfigures their rotten tongues instead
Free Souls
Kneel as they become one with their bodies once again... their heart beat finds a familiar rhythm breathing life into them...
Their blinded eyes widen as their path becomes clear..
Their flesh heals from all the wounds...
Their lips move to the motion of sweet sounds manifesting from their hearts....
Their words shout out in song and praise to themselves... the waves destroying the weapons being cast at them...
Free Souls
Are are free... never to be held captive by chains inflicting sharp pain into their every being
Free Souls
Can now be FREE... free to see the morning glow
I AM NOW FREE.....
Lerato Ladyfair Shuping
January 8th 2009
poem by Lerato Shuping
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The Rigs o' Barley
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie;
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,
Till, 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Commandant Gideon Scheepers
They tried to send him to hell,
as if he was one of them,
a traitor, a rebel.
The British killed a captured ill man,
that they came across in the veldt
without decency, or any military law being honoured.
They shot a Boer commandant through the heart
and without a funeral note,
they hurried, to get him buried.
A brave man devoted
to his country, to his God,
whose burial place was not noted.
Turning sod after sod
with spades, they dumped him
in a unmarked grave
in the dead of night
without using light
they threw ground upon his chest,
laid him to rest without any honour
and left him alone
without a marking stone.
[References: The rank of Commandant is equivalent to that of Lieutenant Colonel. The heroic story of Gideon Scheepers during the second Anglo-Boer war, who was captured while being ill in the veldt as a normal combatant, but treated like a rebel and shot by the British, who buried him in a unmarked hole in the ground.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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