End Time Provocateurs

Many blessings, testings of breath
the death of civility precedes the utility of mediation,
concedes the futility of obfuscation,
of agendas cloaked by pretenders stoked by
compendiums of fear
while the tears of children sear skin
dulled by deprivation.

Salvation lies in love,
more simply put, acceptance,
coexistence as above,
so below, the skies we ride high
upon dogmatic horses,
pretending the forces that keep us
down are not the real sources
of our collective malaise.

Blame games rain flames
and drain spirits of vitality,
mob mentalities leave us worn,
torn between self and the group,
between prideful pie
and humble soup.

Everybody’s hungry
but nobody’s reading the labels,
so provocateurs are able to
clean off the table
with dirty cards
and hidden eyes,
everybody looking one way
while in the other
a comet falls from bloody skies.

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