She hangs upon the ladder, looking out on all of her glorious creations,
This sun that beats down upon her, she cringes at the pain of it,
Stinging sweat slides all along the sides of her face of newborn nation
Grand things she has promised, although she would build a monument
To honour the dead who fought valiantly to protect their land,
Their new found supposed right to enslave.
And also don't forget their brave new world of uneducated
******, all-in-the family goodness, "un-needed" liberation of
Innocent blacks. Those unlawful ne'er do wells! She would fight
To keep them all to herself and her bidding, even to the grave!

*While in truth they have not committed any absolute crimes,
Like their ancestors-nor any reason why they are doing hard time.

Bite the hand*

You will be behind me, or
Even in front if you like
I wont call you anything,
Or if that is you want me to,
I will call you everything.
Whatever you say,
I will lie here in a pool
of rampant madness, decay,
You shall be my "soul's" leader,
You will tell me when I'm "good,"
Or if I am insane, I won't complain,
I will be your tool, your stool,
I will not shun you if that's ever
Even been possible, you will be free
To ram your religious and political
Ideals down into my mind whether I
Believe or not, or they will "save
You," and take me away in locks.

There was a poet that people would find old
Boring and Stupid...then along came some up
And running smooth poet with all the sharp skills,
Namely-anyone but me. The finest poem by quill.

There was once a poem that people used to love,
But then it got old so they dreamed of a better poem,
One that everyone could find popular and entertaining,
Because the past-due poet was just old news, it was known.

But none could escape the perfection of the brand new poet,
Their poems were so great and it took only a few lines,
He'd have blown your mind and you wouldn't even know it,
The old fashioned poet, this hamlet, this macbeth, just wines.

I at one time had this "unimportant"
Thing called "friends,"
We used to play and run about,
Nowadays it's jut a waste of time,
Don't even have a clue where to find "my crowd,"
I'm just another face in the crowd, oh joy.
I'd probably get left behind anyway,
It's how people are these days,
Don't know if you'll come out to play,
But then again who cares, it's 'cause I'm "gay!"
No matter what it's all my fault, I'm to blame,
So now my life will be a waste, I'll never be the same,
But at least I still have my health and the joy of being
A complete and total "human pain!"

This a "plain simple summer weekend,"
A vastness of terrain awaits us here,
Clean skies and cool breezes send
An unending limitless blue so clear,

This is it, the mountain spring and pine,
One lost lover, through thick and thin over
The years and never forget this moment,
The land only belonging to the great mother.

Like a forbidden island of delights it awaits,
Valley and fields and palm trees, streams,
Into hidden forests and meadows, our new beginning,
Forever...! Through all the years light now dimming,

But it's just the same, light and dark...everything disposable
Accept this image I have of you holding onto me, the spark,
It seems now we are all this pose-able, like some kids toys,
Not interested to take a walk past the rush, even if it's a safe park.

Love now lost, why? Just to be cast on the rocks of tomorrow,
It does seem that death started with something of sorrow,
It does seem everyone is addicted to the next big craze,
Save your pretty penny for the rainy day, sunless haze.

It's all about you, even when it's really about me, I'll make
Everything change, I promise, give this art a chance it makes
Perfect sense if you care to pretend my pointlessness matters,
If I sat there and served everyone, a security guard, car salesman,
I would matter, but no, I'm worthless because I hate those things
I would rather  die than carry on being a waste for not liking
These %#@#$@ jobs that they keep shoving in my face!

As I glance at the stop sign one last time,

*BASH...the cars tires still spinning...

Sour sweet the taste of bitterness and pain,
What's left of this world, what winds up
Floating down the stream into a drain,
It's man-made perfection-so they say,
They take time and effort filling this world
With so much light, they would be
As if the ones who could defeat death
If but with the brightest bulbs, they'll fight!

But actually in the end there is no way
To cure the common coldness of pain,
Of death, why to attempt would be insane,
I should give in to this lunacy anyway...?
Aren't we a busy bunch? We make for
A strange and power-hungry sight,
The only way off this old earthen rock
Is to find acceptance of deaths plight.