Prose on Friday: With or Without Direction

Presidential Image Consultant: One who councils the president about different communities, resentments, attitudes; knowing how everyday people are the image they project. Also, on this premise is what a terrorist depends. Governmental thugs, one in every camp; it only takes one as we all know. Ain't nothin on this earth, they haven't touched--gold to coal. Air and water compete for mercy; life breath and tears of suffering of the elemental demise. Survival is sometimes the only thing that remains.

Who is a foe, what foe, your foe or mine?  Have we a foe beside ourselves? When do foes become partners in each other's crime?
Note:
Each presidency is labeled as one who puts a leader in the country it wishes to do business when in fact; it is industry that negotiates our foreign policies.

Fogged thinking, fogged perceptions, hidden wealth garnished for the industrial transgressions. Sell the sin, create that profit--margin of deceit; you got to know the truth if you are going to stop it.

Wars upon wars, yesterday's cover-up, today's propaganda. You want promises for tomorrow? Prepay your plan for some remains if you live to use it. People talk...only the dead cease to regret what they never got.

Destructive winds: hurricane armegeddon makes it's next swipe, scattering whatever  wherever it likes. Privatized merchants, sub-sub-contractors of grief ,shake a quaking ground of unrighteous disbelief.  Near immortal practices out live their thief.  Interpretations work more than one way, no time in a half. The perk?... you don't have to work the whole day. Right wing up, disclosures are down and sobbing mothers are told, "We all know war is child's play.

Could it be; our wars on this earth are merely a diversion from another kind of war in the Heavenlies?  False premises, false truths, false wars, real tears; quell this chaotic fog of random measures and bury the death clause or die in pieces. Shed the shackles of sin, concern your selves instead with their blasted message: you  wearing blinders see no friend, so get out, go away, we don't want your involvement.  But hey, it works both ways.

Stay away from the rocks, climb to the top, the caved burial grounds belch out, Sheol's dust at the rim of the bottomless pit. The thieves' gifts, most generous to some; why they even package compassion at the end of their guns.

Sweeted contracts and empty vows, illusions of grandeur, meaningless clout. Your turn to answer your own bitter questions, your death is responsible for our beginning.

Your end.