Dead Canaries

Once, a man blew the whistle..

Dead Canaries

Prose and poetry by yours truly - 💜

Once, a man blew the whistle
Warning his countrymen
That they lived in a surveillance state

Nobody listened, 
Most turned against him
He fled in exile.

Now, they live in a death trap.

They are poisoned and experimented on, 
every movement monitored,
owning nothing and are not happy

Except for what they mistake as relief
Microdose mind-killer Rxs from Walgreens, 
They need it just so they can sleep

He, like many others before him, 
blew the whistle
Canaries in the coal mine

But the people, they didn’t listen, 
nor did they fight the persecution of their fellows 
they just continued to complain and 
blame whoever 
the persecutors told them to

Are all the canaries dead?
Would-be canaries now turned from their calling?
They know humanity is worth saving, 
But the humans responsible for embodying humanity, 
Won’t lift a finger to save themselves

Instead of disrupting their waking slumber 
They killed their canaries
And now, not many will follow

Hard to fight for something that 
Slaughters the truth 
While racing toward oblivion

They feel nothing
They step over bodies
They scroll past RIPs
They blame the ones slain from 
The powers they claim to fight 
With their keyboards and screens

It’s strange,
They were warned,
They were given everything,
And nothing happened.

Will not one person help?
The ones that not only help themselves but, 
Fight for everyone else?

Will not one person pull their head from the sand?
Will not one person look in the mirror?
Will not one person fight?
Will everyone remain a slave in the digital gulag?

I wonder, will the day come,
When even the poets are at a loss for words?

Maybe this is why they tell you to serve God first
Look at what the people did to Christ
They are no different now
And if they’ll do that to The Christ – The Spirit of Love –
Surely, they will do it to ordinary humans, 
confused canaries, such as ourselves..

And maybe I'm being an asshole here. 
Maybe I should learn to be vulnerable and ask for help
Maybe I'm not giving anyone a chance at all
Maybe its easier to assume and 
Not try at all

To drown in defeatism and become jaded
Than expose myself and be vulnerable, 
And risk a repeat of that, old sinister feeling,
Of falling into a void
Without a care from your so called kin and comrades 
at all

Is anybody alive in their bodies anymore?
I know they are, the few I see IRL
But why, 
why are so many connected to the hive?

Is there anything we hold sacred anymore, 
besides how much attention and dollars one can garner, 
neither of which will last beyond the fleeting?

Have we become strung out – no different than a junkie? 
Are we a dope fiend nation of degeneracy who
Killed our canaries? 

Or is there still hope?

I know God is real and God doesn’t fuck around

I know God doesn’t do anything without reason 
even if we do not see it for a while,
always, these things are revealed, 
if one has  
Patience..

I will put my faith in God
I’ll ask for direction
I’ll do my best not to let my doubt, 
jadedness and resentment 
cause me to abandon 
my post

The hardest thing about being human is,
the fact that you cannot do it alone.

They say poetry is a bad business because
It sells the problem.
This is partly true.

We are Canaries of the Writ and the Vibration
We are sounding the alarm to warn you

So are we selling a problem by pointing out, 
the herd of elephants in every room?
Or are we providing medicine? 
Because nothing,
Absolutely nothing,
Can be overcome
Without first, 
Awareness.

What medicine cabinet is complete
Without bitters?

They all fear Saturn
But the greatest transformations, 
If one can resist the temptation to
Feel sorry for themselves,
Will always come from the harsh lessons that 
Only Saturn can teach

They say some teachers, like Jupiter, 
Those lessons go down sweet
Of course, this is depending on the
Substance of the nativity,

But,
Shani, Saturn, is known for being effective in other ways,
And at the rate humanity operates..

It seems we still learn better by attack than release
It seems we still learn better by consequence than relief
It seems we still learn better by pain than love
The good things are all too easy to take for granted
But pain gets your attention

This provides the ingredients 
necessary to do the impossible
To seize the line of aide with
The fervor of drowning men

Only waters that threaten the lungs
Can produce the necessary
Will to Live

Much different than the waters
one comes to admire and bathe in
The black hole of the storm will render you transformed. 
The other? 
Relaxed, restored. 

In times when we’re due to act
I do not think we need to “relax” – not in the sense we know it as, 
meaning the somatic - disassociation 
that is what most today, including me, 
do when we think we’re 
“taking a break”

We surrender our consciousness to some screen or machine
And become
Entertained

We surrender our consciousness to some screen or machine
And become
Decayed

Who is driving the bus of our psyches when
We are no longer at the wheel?

How much of our lives do we live like this?
Attention fragmented ten thousand directions,
Zero ability to sustain a singular point of focus..
So is it any wonder at all that 
No one seems to think for themselves?

If minds and bodies become vacant, 
Who or what do you think will come in?

Nature abhors a vacuum, therefore they do not exist.
If you are not home, my friend,
Can you tell me,
Who is?

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ICYMI: Yesterday’s poem ~