People say, poems are for the weak and vulnerable, emotional and sympathetically uncontrollable whack jobs who have no life and just sit there wasting time.
Well here is what I say,
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*******!
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People who write poems are the most unique, beautiful beings on this planet, who distinguish their feelings between love, war and pain, where we have no other place to go, yet to express the emotions of our souls to those who understand how terrible and cruel this world can be.
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Man to man, takes a bullet through hand.
Woman to woman, steals the knife of a lover
and stabs it into the chest of open fires...
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I can smell and taste the fresh atmosphere of dead ashes across the sudden hot pavement in the midst of dismay.
Lovers die and some people cry, isn't that what we are here for?
Angry faces and sounds of a click, click, click that make you think,
who are we and what are we here for?
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Time's of change, ****** fingers stretch across the horizon in the open meadows of the blazing hot fire of evil fortresses.
Look into my EYES and tell me that you SEE ME
Of all anguish and pride into all that we breathe the sun of fire of an evil temptress.
The King wears a Crown
and the Devil sits amongst the thrown where he can stomp his ******* feet into the muddy waters of hell and sin...
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