Dustin Lanham

Dustin Lanham Nov 2012

Someday anarchy will ******* the nation,
breaking legs that walk in the wrong direction.
The so-called leaders will be reduced to kneeling,
like those they ignored; begging and pleading.

Empires crumble as structures fall,
an ironic symbol of what we used to call life.
From rulers unworthy, the throne is claimed;
a rebirth of a nation, a new start to the game.

The assertive cure to the poison that plagued us,
administered by those who were previously faceless.

The people as one, not one as the people
grab shovels to unearth the roots of all evil.

In light of Election Day, I thought I'd write something relevant to current events.

Dustin Lanham Oct 2012

An Unlucky Artist

He grabbed a brush and painted the sky.
He painted it broad, He painted it wide.
From a stroke of white He created the clouds,
Then splashed in birds to fill it with sound.
With precision and class He painted the grass,
Covered in dew to make it last.
Happy with that, He moved on to the trees;
The trunks so tall with their branches of leaves.
He poured on oceans, rivers, and streams,
And took extra effort on the sun, it seems.
That fiery ball that makes the day so bright,
And the pearly moon to light the sky at night.
But then with an unfortunate turn of luck,
He spilled on a sickening poisonous muck.
It manifested across the land,
the error of God-
The creation of man.

Dustin Lanham Oct 2012

A Cursive Memory

You're sometimes hard to read
like a book torn at the seams.
But you aren't flawed, by any means;
your elegance echoes in my dreams.

You're a little hard to figure out,
like a puzzle with pieces scattered about.
But when pieced together your image is clear,
like a summer's day;
warm, sincere.

Like an ancient text, you're hard to define.
But the meaning within is simply divine.
You leave me with a feeling sublime.
You'll never be forgotten in time.

Like an ingenious form of philosophy,
you are so much more than what you seem.

You are the words that I longingly read
in a cursive memory.

— The End —