This is a dark satirical poem I wrote about Christmas that is plainly ridiculous on the surface. It is one of my first attempts to create a sort of worded painting with a hidden meaning. When I saw what I'd created it felt like I'd got my answer.
In my room
It was a Christmas night and they had
Christ there in their hymns and these quiet
Vagrants with holy eyes and bankies
Full of drugs, a listless night with the
Sound of wolves raising hackles on our
Skin and the FBI's still listening trying
To catch as at our best, blasting fireworks
And whispering how the system's still
Corrupt, funny how Death came calling
Dressed in Saville Row laughing about
The citadels and the forts the bankers
Bought just to tear em down but in the
Square he said the music of machine
Guns kept the orphans from screaming out,
Little children dancing to the bullet rounds
What a Christmas this has been, the
Women in their garter belts selling innocence
In the streets, the tanks are coming, the
Tanks are coming, martial law has come
To town and there is no silence left for
Prayer, why even the churches close
Tonight, in the colleges they drink to
2012, judgement's in the air but still they
Riot cos there's still a party going on, and
The juveniles are kissing girls in the hallways
Of my school, they run out in violent gangs
Killing teachers and hanging nooses from
The trees while the principal hides beneath
Her desk, scrambling, eyes rotating, scrambling
For her bibles, it's not too late, there's still
15 seconds left, and they talk about the
Persecution that happened that Christmas
Day, with storefronts burning and cops firing
Bullets on the crowd while I stayed inside
My room and sipped Heineken as the world
Came falling down.
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