Beth Evans lived in a mirror, reflecting something past.
     A severed soul was the first stone cast.
Imagination was all which remained,
                                 As her flowered dress sit stained.

                Two years gone without a word
                               An adolescent voice barely heard
                          Sat in a room for days on end.
       Thoughts for which no one penned.
                                                     ...
                           Robert Glasse, 40 years of age
                                                  A man prone to fits of rage
                                           Lived off the means of foreclosed hope
                                                             No more vile than a christened pope.
          
                                   Robert Glasse knew Mr. Evans,
                                            Before the man moved on to the heavens
                          He promised to treat Beth as a daughter,
                                      To the deceased man who was her father.
                                                      ...
            Colleen Evans was a widowed mum
                                                     Who soon developed a love for ***.
                                                       Addiction came with the greatest of speed,
                                              A battle which she had to concede.

                             Rehabilitation took four long weeks
                                            Completed at Pleasant Creeks
                                      Meanwhile, her daughter had class,
                                                              So Beth was fostered by Robert Glasse.
                                                      ...

                                          For the first few days everything was fine
                                              Then Robert poured the girl a glass of wine
                                                             The haze outlasted common ludes,
                                                                    Then the girl awoke partially ****.

                                          Confused, she pushed the event from her mind.
                              Though, truthfully, it just lingered behind.
                                                      Then, one night came a trauma quite severe
Where the girl saw no choice, but to divide herself in a mirror.
                                                            ...

                                                                  Robert had planned it all along
                                                   And nothing in his mind had gone too wrong
                                                                                   Beth was shown no neglect
                                                       He had treated her with the utmost respect

                                                 He refused to see the blood drenching the bed
                                                 (That could have induced a sense of dread)
                                       He just left poor Beth twitching and battered
        And continued to pretend that nothing in life mattered.
                                                              ...

Colleen came home after four long weeks
       Finding her daughter, tears drenched her cheeks
                  Beth lay stagnant, blankly staring
                             The torture she'd been through was more than glaring

                                   Never again was a word spoke between them,
As Beth appeared in constant rem
                                 Realizing that her daughter was now nearly catatonic
                               Colleen had no problem returning to being an alcoholic.

A generation born, devoid of thought
Corrupted measures sold and bought
An aged perspective hardly sought
Due to connections with the late Pol ***

Perilous times call for desperate measures
Seeming to mean an abuse of pleasures
Greed acting as a constant suppresser
For the evils deemed to be quite lesser.

Terrified of your average looking glass
Displaying all things that have come to pass.
Revolted by an older, religious class
Who weep over children absent from mass

Lost in a generation exhausting their youth
Forging conspiracy out of men like John Booth
Believing that the world needs a negligent sleuth
Like Alex Jones, to uncover fake truth

There's nothing to be done about a past indiscretion
That lifted many out of a deep depression
War can be a necessary transgression
Without the tools of forced confession

There's no need for idiots to constantly spout
Opinions that they don't honestly tout
All you do is cause mass doubt
Make new wars with peaceful *****

Then there comes a point where a doubtful voice is needed
In times where a government has become conceited
Out of fear of the past being repeated,
and the idea that liberty could be defeated.

This doesn't include conspiracies like 9/11
Or belief in ideas like your supposed heaven
Or allowances for an ultimate weapon
Though to say all this...it is a denial of expression.

I guess in the end what I'm trying to say
Is that Alex Jones just needs to decay
I mean this in an offensive way
The man's a corruptive, and crude cliche

******* sheets of copper,
          Something so improper.
        Balanced on a pillaged scheme,
Straight from a crooked stream.
          The tenderness of mass,
                 A fondled higher class
      Breakfast's gone cold
             Poor champion's been sold.
To a home of swindled means,
   For the sake of argument, let's call them the Greens.
They were prestigious in a worldly right
      The cause of most any blight
To some, they were a cursed name,
      Nonetheless, they had quite a bit of fame.
Mr.Green owned a large stable
     His prized beast a creature named Mabel.
She came shipped in a crate,
                           No mere act of fate.
Mr. Green broke her in that very night,
     Regardless of marital right.
Bruised and broken from that day on.
      Mabel remained the victim of a vast wrong.
In time, all with wealth had a ride
    Wretchedly ripping the poor girls hide.
   Soon she caught a common plague
And passed it on to every stag.
            One day Mrs. Green was heard ******* copper
    And explained to her husband why that was so improper.
                              So the man set fire to his stable
      Murdering poor old Mabel.
It was mostly over that very night
    Then cleaned up fully by a sheriff in the daylight.

Here he goes again, making blanket statements
About chubby girls chasing pavements
It’s a simple conveyance
To avoid an acquaintance
....................................................­.................................................................­..............

You seem so crude?

Sorry, I'm trying to be rude.

Something I did?

Are you bearing a kid?

Go ***** yourself.

You're larger than your average Continental shelf.
..........................................................­.................................................................­........

Too rotund to bow...
...You're a Big Girl Now...

Thomas came from the school of hard facts
No Gradgrind, yet, had slipped through its cracks
A Bounderby born saw light in this day
Believing flowers belong outside with the hay

In Louisa G,
Thoughts would flee
It was clear to see
Just not on bended knee

The girl would gaze towards a flame
Far too majestic to tame
And there hours would disappear
As “Fancy” hesitantly slipped near

A circus of thought
Nine oils bought
*****’s distraught
Isolation caught

Her father left home
A sad clown made to roam
Metaphor in a poem
Lost, no need to atone

A foster child of Logic
There’s no need to frolic
Study enveloped her life
While Louisa became a wife

Married and bound to an age differential
That made her hubby seem quite parental

Thomas had begun new work
Money earned, quite the perk
Then it vanished with great haste
Gambled away like simple waste

His sister, Loo, called to bail
Thomas, who had found life stale
Her few possessions drift away
On donations to her brother’s dismay

Time moves on with little give
Debts build like the weight of a fib
Soon Thomas pleads for far too much,
100 dollars, please rush

Louisa, was completely tapped out
Her brother had broken an ever-flowing spout
He used every penny of the girl’s love
Then drifted, like a fleeting dove.

Her husband, Josiah, sat none the wiser,
Cuddled by the facts of a rude little miser
Then came a parliamentary heart of house,
James snuck in quiet as a mouse.

Mr. Harthouse was a man of great esteem
He came to Coketown on track-lines powered by steam
There he met the wife of a cold little man
And his pursuit of affection began

Lousia had no need for affection
Or for that matter unwanted attention
Yet, as Thomas fell
She thought the notion seemed quite swell

Conversations began with ease
Mr. Harthouse was certainly no ******
Operated amongst the ideas of her school
And even sat earnestly while listening to Stephen Blackpool

…

A servant to no deviant will
And master of a mere peasant’s skill
Stephan spoke in broken phrase
Sentences flowed like a tainted maze

A public speaker the man was not
Still, in front of many, he unraveled a plot
The man spoke with flagrant passion
But, it drifted off in latent fashion

The entirety a man stood casting doubt
Blockading the meager man’s route
Stephan carried on until all was lost
His employment in fact the first major cost.


...unfinished :(

The Noble Soul Has Reverence For Itself

Some saw steel as a hurdle
A material, creatively, infertile
It had no use in a Tudor Chapel
As void an object as Eve’s apple

Innovation died with, past, ingenuity
A true lost sense of congruity
This defined the apparent nature of a coward
A form vacant in Howard
…(A car electric powered,  Clear history soured.)

P.S Eter Ellers

Walked in, mud on his shoe
The substance looked like a mound of poo
Cleaned it off in a decorative pool
Down river, ran the stool

Birdie Num Nums scattered about
Soaked with water from a concrete spout
Furniture moves with a life of it’s own
The will to which is hardly known

An invited pest
An awkward guest
Painted skin
The Party is FIN

Futuristic Nostalgia**

Two are split by the same division
A line drawn with accurate precision
One's caught in the hands of a time piece running fast
Frightened by setting it too far past
Another’s caught in a backwards flock
Allowing time to tenderly stalk
Neither finds it clear to see
Present tense is the place to be

Collectively dismal
Dreadfully sinful
Covered in tinsel
Was a sunken dimple
A quick nibble
Elongated ******
Playfully twiddle
Covered in spittle
Quick to belittle
Before her acquittal
It seemed so brittle
Quite noncommittal