Less than 2 months to go.

April is fast approaching and I am torn between excited and nervous and stressed. Everything has been coming together slow but steadily and only slightly behind schedule due to a computer glitch. Again I wanna thank everyone for their support and encouragement and thank you again to everyone that reserved copies of the book. Check your emails soon for ordering your copies. In the meantime, please feel free to check out my bi-monthly poetry series found only on channillo.com called Ghost in the Reflection. It’s a coming together collection of poetry addressing the issues surrounding the decaying state of morals, values, traditions, and society in general as told through the observations of others’ souls.

“reality” the complete version posted to Channillo.com

 a catastrophic reality

we are a million lost & confused souls
trapped like meat within a can;
blindly misled & falsely fed
a hypocrisy of lies soiled deeply
throughout the many texts of history.

we exist candles left to fend
dancing within the storm & winds;
the images we’re programmed to be
somewhere on someone else’s tv.

we act & react
without ever stopping to realize
a hand covers our eyes;
we repress progress with one swipe
of our right-hand thumb.

we point our fingers blindly
unable to see
the only impurities here
visible are you & me.

we dance in the back of our minds
while our souls yearn to be free.

we dream hope, material prosperity & all
those mind-washed beliefs bestowed &
so constantly deeply-etched into our minds
to be an attainable reality.
we desire to become part of the sacred tree
instead of the severed fruit, we have become to be.

we reach through mirrored reflections
retracing the footsteps that we have already walked within,
we stumble over the present staring down the struggle
for control of a reality unwritten,
like fools, we follow the POTUS, an installed practice
its precedence was set without the foresight of such greed
when technicalities were irrelevant
and now choke upon the cocks of dictators dressed up
like diplomats.

we must cut the strings free from the hands binding us;that keep us dancing, turning around and about endlessly over
like the little marionettes we have been molded to be;
little puppets dancing in a shitstorm of thunderous rain
purely for the amusement of these faceless masters; monsters.

we wander blind unable to know, unable to think
beyond the once-upon-a-time instilled ideas installed
within our fragile egg-shelled minds so slyly spoon-fed directly
from the television console and unbeknownst swallowed as gospel truth.
we are those fools, the pauper’s tools abrasively used and abused
for self-serving, political tyrants and their tirades of war.
we are the pawns upon the chessboard and nothing more.

where lies the truth beneath the propagandized tabloid fables,
so forcefully stuffed down our throats as sustenance
through the channels of organized religion & politics?
the purpose behind these distractions unknown.
where rises the sun on such a dark dawn of a new day?

reality

we are a million lost & confused souls

trapped like meat within a can;

blindly misled & falsely fed

a hypocrisy of lies soiled deeply

throughout the many texts of history.

 

we exist candles left to fend

dancing within the storm & winds;

the images we’re programmed to be

somewhere on someone else’s tv.

 

we act & react

without ever stopping to realize

a hand covers our eyes;

we repress progress with one swipe

of our right-hand thumb.

 

we point our fingers blindly

unable to see

the only impurities here

visible are you & me.

 

we dance in the back of our minds

while our souls yearn to be free.

 

we dream hope, material prosperity & all

those mind-washed beliefs bestowed &

so constantly deeply-etched into our minds

to be an attainable reality.

we desire to become part of the sacred tree

instead of the severed fruit, we have become to be.

 

we reach through mirrored reflections

retracing the footsteps that we have already walked within,

we stumble over the present staring down the struggle

for control of a reality unwritten,

like fools we follow the pauper, the precedence set

when technicalities were irrelevant

and choke upon the cocks of dictators dressed up

like diplomats.

 

an excerpt from the poem “reality”. From the book “a footnote for tomorrow” due out April 20, 2019