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Alight from your throne,
reeking of superiority.
Cast the first stone!
It no longer bothers me.

Spewing impotent venom,
your willfully caged mind,
conditioned, doped, benumbed,
cradled ideology; you're blind.

Let us meet as equals.
A dialogue must be fanned,
or the cycle of upheaval
will regress the promised land.
The ashes of civilization may be all that remains unless individuals are able to humble themselves to commence in dialogue.
Robert Watson Mar 31
What fools are we,
to hold our tears back,
letting dust and debris
blind the heart, arid and cracked.
Robert Watson Mar 31
Dizzy, dazed, and sedated,
nightly rinse bleaching brains,
slowly spinning me apart.
Roses flashing on screen, withered.

Worshiping at the Pantheon,
novocaine for the brain.
My habitual easy friends.
Lust conquering love.

Lights go out!
Alone in the dark.
Guiltless shame,
I'll quit after tomorrow.
If you understand the poem, you'll understand the struggle that many deal with. I'm with you! Resistance is possible.
Slumbering in my capacious tomb,
I dread the surrounding recesses.
I've carefully examined every room,
silence building into deafening excess.

A horrid intuition commands me now,
Something watches at the threshold.
Hours have passed without a sound,
But I'm no fool, silence, I withhold.

Feigning sleep, I bow my head
allowing the stranger to approach my bed.
No longer a spectre, it draws its knife
springing forth like a cobra to take my life.

Snarling like a beast, I counter its jab
Horror marks its face as I ferociously grab,
Wrapping its head with my blanket,
I twist, and lay the beast into casket.

Every night I battle my beast
And never have I ceased
To terrify that familiar freak,
Haunting my subliminal sleep.
Inspired by "The Tell-Tale Heart," by Edgar Allan Poe.
If we find something we are willing to die for, we truly live.

*Not a poem, nevertheless the birth of many.
I thought of this while writing a paper.
Winter's livery,
Twisted tree twigs ghostly garbed,
*****, lusting Spring.
Observing the frost on the trees on my way to work, and I thought of this, enjoy.
Robert Watson Dec 2020
I have a tremendous fear
my memories will disappear.
Transient is our memory
In the sight of eternity.

A gentle breeze wafts away
my meaningful thoughts by day,
falling fast into the night.
Mind’s eye has lost its sight.

My sandcastles washed into the sea,
time again to return to industry.
I'd like to think my memories are held safe in my keep, but I fear the eventual decay or theft of my precious memories.
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