The Poetic War

I have risen; walking out of the cemetery, coming from the graves. I am the leader of the poetic insurgents; my masses come in waves. It is time for someone to stand up and revolutionize. The Artistic Revolution and the Poetry Movement is what we must realize. We use lyricism to influence minds and use what we have in our hands, mouths and minds to fight. Some of us have writing syndrome and will write all night. Poetry is our principal but non-violence is only a tactic; the people shall choose. We use internal rhyme to force people to comprehend the hidden messages within the lines. We use no rhyme and start using prose with a new surprise every time. Intertwining messages to let art be expressed by didactics. Using satiric poetry as a tactic. Mixing it to be highly dangerous, confronting and provocative with multiple human wave attacks. Dropping high explosive incendiary shrapnel in your brain like we are in Iraq. Our ink blots fly faster and paralyze people to make them sit and stare. Our pens; some are M-46s and others are M-3s ready to shoot down anyone who says that they don’t care. Artists start coming together with poets to break the creative barrier between them and take the people by surprise. We use decapitation and vivisection to cut off the blood flow of the human brain by our artistic ties. We infect like bacteria and viruses; some of us using euphony and some of us are using rhyme. We will have electricity running through your veins like you’re reading a terrorist plan crime. We trap people in history as we use allusion. Then shoot them in a metaphorical world of life’s illusion. We leave people lost and feeble in perpetual darkness. Where a vast expression of nothingness surrounds people’s senses. We tell them to close their eyes and feel. Sense and feel the emotions we write that are real. We use tactical ambushes with the microphone as we slaughter people with spoken word. Letting our emotions fly like birds. We are like the Nazi storm troopers who stood around the Opera House chanting “Full powers or else! We want the Bill or fire and murder.” We want people to read, feel and understand that poetry is life and we will die for it as martyrs. We don’t need strict security; we just let our minds flow. We unleash our words out of our mouths and let our tongues go. Our hands write like cars on I-95. Going 90 miles an hour, wrecking everyone because we don’t care how we drive. We want to help the world but the eyes of the poet are what they don’t understand. We are the new world; soon, the Poetry Movement will sweep across the land. Defeat and retreat is impossible with our mouths to speak and our hands of slaughter. Using our innovative and productive tactics, we never falter. Ambitious, dedicated and determined poets take on leading us into the war. We enhance and grow our skills from learning information and ideas from each other to let our creativity soar. We let poetry seep into the streets where the thugs drop their guns and drugs and start killing and selling pens and paper. The child molesters forget about abducting children and start writing about how he really doesn’t want to rape her. As rival gang member lyricists and metaphorical minds come together. We shake hands and form the poetic bond that can’t be bent or broken forever. Thugs and lawyers come together with one common goal: write, speak and fight. Gaining new perspectives and learning about issues facing our communities and our nation. Different races coming together in one congregation. Democrats and republicans forget about politics and start to look through the poets eyes. We inject Marxism with chlorine gas so our objective is not a disguise. This is not communism; don’t always believe what you hear. We are just trying to get the nations eyes; so come fight with us or die in fear. The constitution can’t keep us under control; we rain trench mortars and lay siege to the White House. The Bill of Rights doesn’t give us our true freedom and independence; will the president give in and retreat, or even his spouse? Poetry and art fused together with spoken word by lawyers, jail men, congressmen, thugs and ordinary people like me. One day, this movement will stretch across planet earth as we use creative solutions. If there is a World War 3, we are already rewriting the history books to name it “The Poetic Revolution”.