Age of Disinformation 

By Benjamin Shapiro
Dear media, what should I be outraged by today?

(The government, republicans, democrats, gays?)

Dear Government, who’d you like me to hate? 

(The media, Muslims, regulated interest rates?)

Dear Facebook, what should I think?

(Should I yell, should I cry, should I boycott a drink? )

Dear religion, who’s my brother? 

(Fellow Christians, fellow Muslims, definitely not the other?)

Dear brain, what do you feel?

(Maybe something, maybe nothing, check online make sure it’s real?)

Dear me, what do you believe?

(Only what I’m told if it’s summed up in a meme.)
Emptiness,

Emptiness,

Such a mess,

We’re made less.

We’re the sovereign nation 

Of disinformation.

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Harmonic Inspiration 

By Benjamin Shapiro
Music crashes

Crisp blue waves dashed 

O’er grey matter

Mindless chatter

Drowned out 

By harmonic shout

Giving birth

To fertile earth

Ideas grown in red clay. 

Darkness washed away

By even minor chords. 

Blinding bright words

Rushing forth 

Full of worth. 

Creations of stardust synapses

Motion like time lapses

Quickly becoming blurred, 

Lines dying to be heard

As notes and stanzas

Strike up dances

And become 

A greater sum

Than their parts. 

Ancient arts

Made up of

The truest love.

Mindspace 

By Benjamin Shapiro
There’s a space in my mind

Candlelit 

Marble 

Ceilings so high 

They are unseen

But I know they 

Shelter me. 

It’s quiet. 

If a shout came

It’s echo

May crumble the walls. 

Candles flicker

Dancing on drafts 

Twirling in triumph

Of not being

Extinguished. 

Heartbeat 

Lives in ears

A resounding

Silence. 

This is the place 

Where creation

Lives,

Where words become

Sentences 

Paragraphs

Chapters 

Novels 

Where 

Contemplation becomes

Reality. 

A room of universes,

A finite space

Of infinities. 

My place. 

My true home.

Modernity’s Tragedy 

By Benjamin Shapiro
To sit and wait for life to start,

To never find your one true art,

Tis the greatest tragedy

Of man’s modernity. 

You kill your dreams just to get hired, 

Then try to rekindle them when you’re retired, 

Only to find your matches are wet

And that your fire will not set;

But your sun certainly has,

The hour’s late, car’s out of gas. 

So do not wait ’til end of day,

Push yourself out of your way,

Find that thing that lights your heart,

Grasp on to your inner art, 

Scream at mountains ’til they’re flat, 

Run to where your joy is at,

Be great however you see fit,

Don’t bother with the little shit,

And become,

Just become

Beautiful you,

Before life’s through.

Live

By Benjamin Shapiro
Time to dust off the funk,

Wash off the depressive gunk,

To get up and live,

Drain bad feels like a sieve. 

No more feeling muddled,

Gonna dance in a puddle, 

Gonna dry in the sun. 

Life’s always just begun 

With the waking of each day. 

Even when it’s gray

The sun is still above, 

As above hate, there’s always love,

And even sadness is a feeling,

One capable of healing, 

Just as much as happiness,

So release all that stress 

And be free;

Let yourself be free.

Legendary Historical Bullshit

By Benjamin Shapiro
Want to hear a story,

From not so long ago?

Tis about man’s glory;

Don’t you want to know? 

It’s all a lie, I wish to tell,

But you’ll swallow it whole, 

You would follow me to hell 

For a tale well told,

Because man’s glory is a lie,

One which we like to hear,

It soothes much better by and by,

Than truths stabbing your ears. 

So gather round for heroes bold,

And damsels in distress,

Great white saviours of old,

The ones who got us in this mess. 

This true lie myth upon which

We build societies,

Leave out the parts that are a bitch,

No room for intricacies. 

The brush is large with which I paint,

Details will not do,

I’ll make a demon ‘to a saint,

And you will say, “thank you.”

So here’s the tale, free of charge,

Full of danger and mystery, 

It will make your heart grow large:

Your country’s history.

Meaningless All 

By Benjamin Shapiro
Too many words, 

With too little meaning,

Birthed by bilious birds, 

Not worth gleaning, 

Songs by guttural voices,

Endless pages written,

Too many meaningless choices, 

Truths cannot be bidden,

A whisper among angry screams

Can be heard no more, 

A cacophony of bullshit teems,

Words become as whores,

And truth unwritten and unsaid,

Isn’t truth at all,

And when the final writer’s dead,

We’ll wonder at the fall.

9/11/16 Years On

By Benjamin Shapiro
Woke that morning

Stretched, yawned, 

Surprisingly not hungover, 

From a cavalier college night. 

Sun shining bright 

Promise of beauteous day,

Walk into common room,

Roommate sits, glued

To TV news, odd

Because he’s not

Of that mind. 

“A plane,” he tells me, 

“Has hit a tower.”

I watch as his eyes

Fill with fear and

Behind him,

Live,

The second plane

Explodes. 

Sun shines. 

Fires burn. 

Nothing 

Will ever 

Be the same.

The Dice Game 

By Benjamin Shapiro
He closed his eyes and all was black, but then the red snuck in,

The blood of Christ, toss of the dice, a lifetime full of sin,

He was world weary, but not world wise, 

The bones they showed him serpents eyes

And out upon that darkened road,

Upon his shoulders was set a load,

A cross to bear he could not lift,

Some call it curse, some call it gift,

He called it hell, for which he paid,

Looks up to heaven, but cannot pray,

Gathers his dice, with pittance to bet,

Tosses again without regret

And gone was his everlasting soul,

Wasted on that one last roll.