Blood and marrow
Under her nails
She hid her secret
Beneath a crimson veil
Devourer of hearts
Emptier of souls
Elated his spirit
Set it to sail
Slayer of mind
Axe murderer of sorts
Hacker of thoughts
Displeased with mediocrity
Bored by the mundane
By his mort
I want a selfish love
A jealous love
If the extremes aren’t there
I don’t want your love.
I’m an extreme mist of the worst kind,
I’ll pose at one end of the spectrum,
In full sight,
Or a midnight blind.
I’ll fog your thoughts,
Stir the soil to be sewn,
Have you scurrying back and forth,
Rope ends of your mind.
So push me to that end,
Or to the other,
Through the thickness of it all,
Who knows what you’ll find.
Time to hijack the term back from the lazy throws and empty prattling of media musers.
Too long it has been deployed by the mass hysteria-mongering media, abused to stigmatise people.
Words are not theirs to use when they cannot appropriately contextualise them. They are ours.
The word extremist is not evil, not in the correct context or deployment.
Shakespeare is an extremist.
Beethoven is most definitely an extremist.
Einstein an extremist.
Ghandi an extremist.
Any person of worth or merit devotes themselves to an extreme beyond the norm to spring forth greatness and beauty the conformity of society cannot produce collectively in their mediocrity.
We have a bevy of quills,
Oceans as ink,
And forests of paper,
So how are you ever going to stop our ideas?
We have mountains as microphones,
Valleys as audiences,
Nature as our recording studio,
So how are you going mute us?
We have voices as machine guns,
Our spirit as fighter jets,
Our hearts as bombs,
So how are you going to win this war?
There’s things you can never win.
You can’t kill people to remove ideas.
You can’t sever limbs to shut people up.
And you can’t use warfare to rule human beings.
Writers, poets and thinkers will stop you in
your tracks and win the hearts of the masses