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ashby-brownPoems
To accept knowing Is not knowing But still knowing some Is enough To know life and Not know life Seeing the creases Of the newspaper The *** rests his weary Head on Is enough To see breath enter Escape the broken body Of a young boy Ignorant to the facts of the world That surround him Is enough At the time The worried Worry The anxious Toil over things Within themselves Outside of themselves Out of Their full Control The bigots Picket a cause They know nothing About, embracing Their unity in Hate But the spellings wrong The forward thinkers Caved in with Paperwork and Hopes and dreams Billowing plumes of twisted Curled, cigarette smoke Ashen intellectuals caught up In the overflowing ash trays Of the overzealous socialite This is our chance To Be Someone The realist Staring blankly at an Empty salt shaker sitting Next to a full Pepper shaker The veteran Wishing there Was no such thing As bullets The president On a pedestal Showing how fragile Man can be We people enter Through these doors Escaped convicts of the eternal Holding a key of Impossibilities There are so many roads That are open to us Who sways us to take the One we tread upon now? Who has enticed us to the The path we now walk upon? I see a glimmer of the horizon The lights show a blinding Ancient yellow, the color of my mother's ***** blonde hair; The clouds Her laughter As she squints, hiding Her joy, keeping it for herself "Safe keeping"," she always said For soon She knew I would be An echo Remembrance of Sound
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Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
Traits of Knowing
To accept knowing Is not knowing But still knowing some Is enough To know life and Not know life Seeing the creases Of the newspaper The *** rests his weary Head on Is enough To see breath enter Escape the broken body Of a young boy Ignorant to the facts of the world That surround him Is enough At the time The worried Worry The anxious Toil over things Within themselves Outside of themselves Out of Their full Control The bigots Picket a cause They know nothing About, embracing Their unity in Hate But the spellings wrong The forward thinkers Caved in with Paperwork and Hopes and dreams Billowing plumes of twisted Curled, cigarette smoke Ashen intellectuals caught up In the overflowing ash trays Of the overzealous socialite This is our chance To Be Someone The realist Staring blankly at an Empty salt shaker sitting Next to a full Pepper shaker The veteran Wishing there Was no such thing As bullets The president On a pedestal Showing how fragile Man can be We people enter Through these doors Escaped convicts of the eternal Holding a key of Impossibilities There are so many roads That are open to us Who sways us to take the One we tread upon now? Who has enticed us to the The path we now walk upon? I see a glimmer of the horizon The lights show a blinding Ancient yellow, the color of my mother's ***** blonde hair; The clouds Her laughter As she squints, hiding Her joy, keeping it for herself "Safe keeping"," she always said For soon She knew I would be An echo Remembrance of Sound
Written by
ashby-brown
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
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