Modern art is stolen from a first grader.

A painting robbed of its innocence to be given motivation and reason. Raped of the singular joy it had, to be hung on a white wall. As a slow chorus sweeps by to find praise for nothing. Whispers of doubt are blocked by a laser fence. It is a rebellion against itself, and as one man once said, a house divided cannot stand. This art has been propped up on the lies of a hope. A hope that was created when beauty and truth was doubted. In the end of a world scenario none of this matters. In an end of the world scenario everything is fear. In the end of the world scenario art will be the only comfort and in the end I don't want a urinal.


Shart?--
Art is nothing.
It adds nothing.
It gives nothing.
It takes everything.
Artists are frauds.
They tell lies
to convince beauties
that the world is a lie.

Iced Tea--
This ship has hit an iceberg.
Sirens have sung to break a sharp silence.
Ships have been dropped,
to see people jump after.
The captain has a revolver
With only 5 bullets left
This ship has hit an iceberg,
not big enough to cool my drink.

--
I am a lie.
I am hope erupted
Spilled across a canvas
To dry to an eggshell white.

Is it far enough?--
You are love.
You are hope.
You are a gift.
But I am lost.
You are no search light in a storm.
I am a sea with no ships.
You are wish.
Left in a Dream.
That began in a Coma.

Terrorism is a Symptom

Imagine a world where you have no hopes.  An unresponsive government, no education, no money only a religion.  The rage can only build.  Days go by and with no forward movement you slowly dig a hole.  The deeper you got he angrier you get.  Then one day a man comes by and directs your digging.  Tells you where the problem lies, and because you never were educated you believe him.  He seems smart, knowledgeable about the world, and best yet he gives you a hope.  He points to the mountains and shows golden palaces, where men live and love freely.  He tells you how they've raped your land, and try to make your choices.  He goes as far to say that they mock your religion, the one thing that empowers you, the one love you've had.  Deep down in this hole the light won't reach you, and the brooding only continues.  Back comes the wise man, back with the plans he told you about.  There is a solution to the imbalance.  A solution that will leave you a hero, grant you paradise and give your loved ones a new choice.  He hands you a gun, a bomb, a death wish, and tells you to go to war.  You march happily to deaths embrace dieing with a smile on, finding hope in your hole.
Up on the hill, surrounded by fear life begins to shake.  You do the only thing understandable and declare war on the hole.  They've killed your friends because of your way of life so you must defend yourself.  You cut off their money, demand they let you into their lands and mock their religion.  More people die.

Terrorism is a symptom to a disease.  The disease is poverty.  The disease is no government.  The disease is not religion.  And invading countries can't solve any of this.  Help the people.  Give them freedom.  Show them a good side.  And good will follow.