Danifest Mestiny
Manifest Destiny!
Restless ol' quest esprit-
Best of the Westerly claims!
Drunkenly binging,
Ah fuck, we're impinging!
Our cups runneth over again...
Three cheers for Jefferson,
Preachers, and Remingtons!
Free jeers for everyone else!
Gawblezamurica!
Good God, I'm sure it's a
Damn-shame t'live anywhere else!
Don't flinch if we harm ya!
...sure, I've heard of "car-ma":
Ain't that what's makes chocolates so tasty?
We's was blessed with a sword
'n we earned our reward,
So now don't ya go calling us hasty!
We'll break'em and bleed'em,
So here's to our freedom!
Cheers to the Land we was born in!
Danifest Mestiny!
Tip back the rest... hope we
Don't regret that in the mornin'.
The Needed Man
There are no real men, only needed men
We need a man who is stoic- above all.
Emotion catching in his chest, fueling his coal heart and his workhouse arms.
But the fumes never fouling his stolid jaw
and implacable face.
A monolith, a titan, a refuge.
We need a man with the wisdom to yield.
Primal fuels find an unfettered filter at his larynx.
The breaker of the tear-stained embargo; hopeful, unlikely geyser
of a renaissance release.
A balance, a dreamer, a peacemaker.
We need a man who is steady, and watchful.
Just beyond bias; exacting yet generous;
Who's known well every suffering which drives men
to mercy or spite.
...and has found the better of the two.
A provider, a judge, an absolver.
The needed man is a necessary evil.
A fatal fractal flaw,
an altruistic auto-genocide,
we feed on,
we need.
And I fear we have too few.
A Sentiment from Ness Creek (unabridged)
Shoulders slump.
Something like love
That's been curled there too long
curdles in the hollow of my chest,
Yearning that a night
long past could be tomorrow
Smolder above
the acidic jump.
This reason stinging sourer than the rest-
like the sweetest note of a sad song...
The greatest sorrow
is to regret a thing done right
An Excerpt from “A Beginner’s Guide to Enslaving Sentient Alien Populations: Humans of Earth”
(page 313, Ch.7: “On Definitions”)
“Another such term which can be usefully manipulated is ‘independence’, because although it appears to denote complete individual autonomy, it actually has much more to do with which powers an individual human decides are worthy of their subservience. Consider this more helpful definition:
To be independent is to surrender one’s well-being to an indefinitely long and arcane chain of command, at the extreme height of which is an immutable power to which one (often inexplicably) has chosen to bear a level of personal affection and shared identity.
In its most frightening incarnation, that chain is a single link, and that immutable power is the individual.
However, most humans are aware that having a single link chain is strongly correlated with problematic scenarios like being eaten alive by bears in a dark forest where no one can hear them scream, or being forced to maintain their own garden without the benefit of high-speed internet access. For this reason, most humans choose to define their independence in terms of one of the long and arcane chains previously mentioned, while simultaneously crafting a shared identify with the immutable governing power such that their subjugation retains a cozy, personal temperament.
In order to install one’s own authority (or the authority of one’s own trans-galactic hive-minded super-species) at the zenith of such a chain, it is necessary that we next discuss the definition of ‘liberation’, and how it may or may not correlate with the increased individual freedoms of humans…”
The Inscription Upon the Vaulted Stone, as Related by the Keyholder’s Final Grandson
Thrice, the watching towers knelled
to warn of strange ships off the shore;
Twice, the hooded smiths did weld
the crown the sons of Cazmus wore;
Once, the sacred tree was felled
from ancient seeding long before.
Never now can hate be quelled
in lands condemned to endless war.
Never now can hope be spelled
by lips which spat the vows they swore.
Never now can an ax withheld
atone, or the sacred tree restore.
Never now,
Forevermore.
There, where once the moonlark dwelled,
seek not respite from soul-dark gore.
There, where once the fireleaf smelled
so sweet, find ought but fest’ring sore.
Never leave here.
Most abhor
the thrice-damned lost who’d dare explore.
Never breach the vaulted door.
Never now,
Forevermore.
**Inspired by the poetry in J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of Rings series, especially the opening epigraph regarding the rings. This is my crack at using his style and a few of his themes to do some fantasy world-building and narrative exposition.