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By Arcassin Burnham

Power of greed could consume and
Bring out the worst in you,
Putting down the hopes of people around you,
Terrifying the youngsters from their destinies
And destinations , mixed with fantasies and
Lust and occupation,
No law,
No code of conduct,
Just free spirits wandering in trees and places filled
With so much vegetation bringing forth communication
To nature and what it gave to us humans to survive
And let go all of the false information that we hear on
T.v,
Or is that just me?
I take my hat off to the -people that brought us into
This life,
To live and learn and love to be precise.

/

The sight,
The smell,
The sound,
The thought of you,
I put together pieces of this virtue,
Darkness follows and your head is so cold,
Love I swear to you is not a fluke,
And my love for you has finally grew,
In search of color ,
we just brightened up the hue,
Evil lives here,  
it's just something you never knew,
Finding ways to please it,
Only in a muse,
no matter what happens we have to maintain our
Youth.
©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/01/black-hat-evil-lives-here.html
Gold-dipped spires in pastel light
Betray the coming of the night
And the purple skirted summer sky
That harbours high society -
Crescents of wealth, alive with songs
The echoing of dinner gongs
And tenants stumbling through the dawn
From cypress-clad Olympus.

The Georgian rooftops, copper-capped
Once kept their vices tightly wrapped
Now attics shelter sharpened tongues
And whispers in the night.
The nooses tied in gilded rope
Foretell the total loss of hope
Of those who watched their dreams elope
From cypress-clad Olympus.

The faded queens and men of rank
Who filled the world with wine they drank
Now tumble to the river bank
From crumbling castle walls.
The terraced pavements' privileged throng
United in their ***** song
Repeat the lyric 'what went wrong?'
On cypress-clad Olympus.
Bother me no more
guilty conscience set against me
wish my soul should I abhor.
But slowly running
having  just begun in
this locking out of joy.

Tether not my soul
tearful demon.
Who comes redeeming
the past that I so buried
with quiet scheming
and pain rendered briskly
leaving even tepid sorrow teeming.

Take but one more glance
of what will be no more.
Forever smitten by desires
and ever growing climbing spires
that scream ascending over
what crushed, shall not return
to bother me once more.

It can bother me no more.
Spinal necessity exists
Between ludicrous *****
And the pulsating brain
Lumbering and slobbering
Separate from the mind
Which is tuned to distraction
Feeling every nuance
As a ricochet
For this sensitivity is not delicate
But damning and demanding

Tentative toes step around
Lightly sleeping memories
Which will bawl upon waking
Demanding delivery
Into the light of recognition
But, evading perspective
They become demonic in aspect
Causing crashes
Stamping all over corpses
Bringing them alive
And each of these ghastly debutantes
mutters softly
"Dream of me"

                                By Phil Roberts
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