What would it take for you? (Revised and Original)

(Revised)WHAT WOULD IT TAKE FOR YOU?

You can rise above this,

you can be the promise that was kept,

you don’t have to love this,

you do need learn to accept.

We can be better than we’ve ever been,

we can make the future proud we intervened,

we are not playing a zero sum game, in which only one can win,

we, when dignity is forfeited elsewhere, are everywhere demeaned.

I wish to sing of the humanity in us all,

to tell true stories highlighting the

rise and fall of empires, as well as the helpers along the entire way. Those with their whittled own brittle bones working, not for the limelight, but through the rain, for each and every as it ought, as it might, and as it heals from pain.

I’m wishing I had a wand that I could wave,

a perfect song to pull from the grave to stay,

if somehow, every bod and soul to save,

like a musical instrument that only I can play.

These dangerous dilapidated days

unravel the thoughts of existence,

to perpetuate the dancing coin

on the carcass of sustainability,

rather than agreeing to be free

and see transcendence.

Sticking a dusty thumb in the eye

of the storm and daring it to flinch.

While the gavel is just a hair’s breath

from its travel to the point of

pinch and striking.

Busy following. Busy liking.

Those young enough to understand

the connection of everything

will see with clarity

the damage being done

at alarming rates.

Situations strike sparks seemingly everywhere

and spikes in hate.

We’ve tunneled and mined,

funneled and dined

through the earth, to ourselves,

and we’ve met ourselves at the gate,

disregarding spines across our shelves,

for the end we don’t wish to wait.

We wish to apply additional pressure

at the weakest points of structural integrity.

Pressure over time bores holes

in mountains and generations.

It affects the water

of which we are.

It builds, upon itself,

and thus starts to seek

itself out.

Pressure to create sides.

Pressure to choose sides.

Pressure to deny choices,

to deny freedoms,

to deny dignity, to deny respite,

until what we’re left with is

a whole large barge in charge

full of no.

Can I?

—No!

But what if?

—No!

How about?

—No!

Our powers that be

have showered disease

forced technology

and weaponry

all across the seven seas,

brought the heart of the land

to its knees,

and then denied the outcomes

as well as our victim’s pleas.

I want to write a poem that

might just save a life or two,

including my own.

Whatever it is of my body

that I own,

besides the ink, that I’ve bought

and paid for which I’ve had put in it.

Overgrown,

overthrown,

under known

growing weary by the minute.

There are stark gradations

in the levels

of human fear,

What would it take for you to leave here,

with only what you could carry on your back?

able to hear the end

it is so near,

as we have widespread

fractures and cracks.

What would it take for you to

put your children

on the roads

and the trails

in the wild,

headed for the unknown?

When your choices are artillery and

collapse in chaos, or seeking asylum,

the child of your own

may never reach fully grown.

What would it take for you to starve

to death in the carves of the desert

in rock?

What would it take to make you

hold your breath,

longer and stronger

on the endless walk?

We have been shown what to do,

and prepared across our lives

for these times.

We are being tested every minute

in this unforgiving play.

For poor poets are prophets with rhymes,

though we know that we don’t

heed how they pray.

What would it take for you

to feel secure in what you have

as well as where you claim home?

Now which of that would you pack

in one napsack or one bag

if circumstances forced you to roam?

What would it take for you

to lay in another’s place?

Still and cold all through

mud covered downward face.

In how our doings do

we leave absolutely no trace

of what was intended to

be the way we treat and embrace.

This isn’t only a rare few.

This isn’t amazing grace.

What would it take for you

to become human, fully so,

magnified by being able to

use a larger percentage of the brain?

What would that look like?

How far are we now?

Why still here remain?

These lives.

These precious lives.

Bonded as family,

which when torn apart

severely bleeds,

Part of communities

all too often destroyed,

through military employed,

by aspects pertaining to our

nation’s completed convincing

as to how our wants are needs.

These lives.

What would it take for you to see these lives?

What would it take for you to be these lives?

What would it take for you to free these lives?

These lives sing hymnals to the insolent in the pews.

These lives paint murals on the eyes of children’s lifelong memories.

These lives dance in the face of attempts at

cold hearted legalism, and selfishness seen as virtue.

These lives are our lives.

We should be fighting harder

for our minds and our lives.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

(Full Original Version) WHAT WOULD IT TAKE FOR YOU?

The why as to us being at this endeavor

is keeping Immigrant Families together

so we are clever here and ever ready to face down injustice.

Only time will tell if the fates will trust us.

And just as sure as you’re sitting here,

There is set up a Direct Response Fund

for meeting needs and wants

along the journey already begun.

Needs coming up range from Medical Bills to Posting Bonds, a flowing need for emergency housing, food, transportation and representation.

I can hear myself breathe,

I can smell myself think,

I can taste how we’re deceived,

I can nearly see the brink.

You can rise above this,

you can be the promise that was kept,

you don’t have to love this,

you do need learn to accept.

We can be better than we’ve ever been,

we can make the future proud we intervened,

we are not playing a zero sum game, in which only one can win,

we, when dignity is forfeited elsewhere, are everywhere demeaned.

I wish to sing of the humanity in us all,

to tell true stories highlighting the

rise and fall of empires, as well as the helpers along the entire way. Those with their whittled own brittle bones working, not for the limelight, but through the rain, for each and every as it ought, as it might, and as it heals from pain.

I’m wishing I had a wandthat I could wave,

a perfect song to pull from the grave to stay,

if somehow, every bod and soul to save,

like a musical instrument that only I can play.

These dangerous dilapidated days

unravel the thoughts of existence,

to perpetuate the dancing coin

on the carcass of sustainability,

rather than agreeing to be free

and see transcendence.

Sticking a dusty thumb in the eye

of the storm and daring it to flinch.

While the gavel is just a hair’s breath

from its travel to the point of

pinch and striking.

Busy following. Busy liking.

Those young enough to understand

the connection of everything

will see with clarity

the damage being done

at alarming rates.

Situations strike sparks seemingly everywhere

and spikes in hate.

We’ve tunneled and mined,

funneled and dined

through the earth, to ourselves,

and we’ve met ourselves at the gate,

disregarding spines across our shelves,

for the end we don’t wish to wait.

We wish to apply additional pressure

at the weakest points of structural integrity.

Pressure over time bores holes

in mountains and generations.

It affects the water

of which we are.

It builds, upon itself,

and thus starts to seek

itself out.

Pressure to create sides.

Pressure to choose sides.

Pressure to shut down

public transit because billionares

have ties to fossil fuels.

Pressure to deny climate change,

to deny choices, to deny freedoms,

to deny dignity, to deny respite,

until what we’re left with is

a whole large barge in charge

full of no.

Can I?

—No!

But what if?

—No!

How about?

—No!

Our powers that be

have showered disease

forced technology

and weaponry

all across the seven seas,

brought the heart of the land

to its knees,

and then denied the outcomes

as well as our victim’s pleas.

So these younger generations

and many of mine

are ready to say we won’t go.

We’re not moving away.

There is no away.

Every thing we’ve put out

is coming back for us

on a different day,

in a different way.

We’re here to stay

and say as we please.

For all of the diss—ease

is the disease plaguing us today.

I want to write a poem that

might just save a life or two,

including my own.

Whatever it is of my body

that I own,

besides the ink, that I’ve bought

and paid for which I’ve had put in it.

Overgrown,

overthrown,

under known

growing weary by the minute.

What would it take for you to leave here,

with only what you could carry on your back?

There are stark gradations

in the levels

of human fear,

as we have widespread

fractures and cracks,

able to hear the end

it is so near.

What would it take for you to

put your children

on the roads

and the trails

in the wild,

headed for the unknown?

When your choices are artillery and

collapse in chaos, or seeking asylum,

the child of your own

may never reach fully grown.

What would it take for you to starve

to death in the carves of the desert

in rock?

What would it take to make you

hold your breath,

longer and stronger

on the endless walk?

Animals in labs being tested

for our countless grabs,

living in cages die every day,

so what would it take for you

to become the voice for those

who chose the better or lesser of two,

not liking either choice,

and the world never rose

to give play to what they might say.

We have been shown what to do,

and prepared across our lives

for these times.

We are being tested every minute

in this unforgiving play.

For poor poets are prophets with rhymes,

though we know that we don’t

heed how they pray.

What would it take for you

to feel secure in what you have

as well as where you claim home?

Now which of that would you pack

in one napsack or one bag

if circumstances forced you to roam?

What would it take for you

to lay in another’s place?

Still and cold all through

mud covered downward face.

In how our doings do

we leave absolutely no trace

of what was intended to

be the way we treat and embrace.

This isn’t only a rare few.

This isn’t amazing grace.

What would it take for you

to become human, fully so,

magnified by being able to

use a larger percentage of the brain?

What would that look like?

How far are we now?

Why still here remain?

Are we ready for where we’re leaping?

Can we maintain upon that stage?

What secrets are we intent to be keeping,

which would have aided the coming age?

These lives.

These precious lives.

Bonded as family,

which when torn apart

severely bleeds,

Part of communities

all too often destroyed,

through military employed,

by aspects pertaining to our

nation’s completed convincing

as to how our wants are needs.

These lives.

What would it take for you to see these lives?

What would it take for you to be these lives?

What would it take for you to free these lives?

These lives sing hymnals to the insolent in the pews.

These lives paint murals on children’s hearts.

These lives dance in the face of attempts at

cold hearted legalism, and selfishness seen as virtue.

These lives are our lives.

We should be fighting harder

for our minds and our lives.

About SIDEWAYS EIGHT

Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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