Memory is a fickle mistress
That bitch rules our lives
All this soul searching
Because of the Ides
Of March
Approaching Fast
Already gone
And yet it remains
We retain
The sliver of information
Fed piecemeal
To the nation
To the world
Cannot allow
The truth to air
The billionaire
Is sacred
An immutable
Impugnable and
Distant master
Ruling over
Filled with laughter
At the struggles
Of the man
Beneath the heel
Almost beneath
The very notice
He craves
And when the stars come
Out to shine
Their light down
Somehow it hits them just
The same
There is no difference
Excepting intention
Pure effort and yet nothing from the
Right direction
Free the people
And yourself from greed
Find the only truth 
You need


To support Adam’s Art please visit Patreon to donate to the author. Visit Amazon to view Adam’s published work via Five59 publishing.


Day One


Day One might end up taking seven
It’s already taken three
The idea is a mystery
Why I do this stuff to me

What will it take
Freedom at last
Is that too much
To fucking ask

War wagers pay wages
Of a dollar or three
To kids making bullets
To kids taking bullets
To mothers and sons
And brothers and sisters
Of the dead ones

Frankly im sickened
Force is unfounded
Adept and novice
Are equally threatened
By greed unbounded
By faith unfounded
People using words to
Lure the others
Use lies to tell truth
The other way smothers

Creativity and wit
Are the tokens for life
Any other pursuit
Will surely bring strife

All in all
I guess you might say
Day One is Messy
Try again Wednesday

Visit Patreon to support Adam Bennett’s writing. Find his published work on Amazon.