I'm addicted to knowledge,
and so helpless to absorbing it
that falsities and mistaken truths
will make their home in memory,
only to be brought out
to make me the jested.
All can serve on a jury,
judge my errors, spread more
into the world, to abhor
and be abhorred
by the bullies and the bored.
Save me from this world of waste,
this constant copy and paste
of information with haste.

Social media stories with pictures and lies to enthrall,
The Digital Age will make false prophets of us all.

My belt
Holding my sleeve,
Holding my needs,
Giving my dreams
The life they deserve.

Coaches giving their good graces
As the runners approach the painted asphalt.
Memories race through past races,
Through every failure. They're all my fault.
Sweat drips past my timid eyes
As I see the confidence shine in everyone else.
I ready my stance with stomach's butterflies,
And the announcer screams alongside school bells,
"GO!"
The others run with all their might,
While my ankle is bound by the starting line.
I struggle with the racing track's fight
As everyone passes for their second lap's time.

An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.

Sitting stagnant, songs of stellar
Sing sublime lines
Through minds that remain in cellar,
Never seeing the pines.

Many stagnant years have passed,
Detectives overdue,
The body brought them all aghast,
The stench, the dust, and view.

An ecosystem found upon
An outer crust of dust
Inside abode without a lawn
With tenant taming rust.

God of Luck, please keep us in mind
As the rest of society falls behind;
Their souls all signed to goals refined
To the devilish needs, to find bold minds

Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****.
Anathemas make paths for us.
So thunderous, their misfit ****.

God of Fate, please choose the path
That's best for us. Please set up the math
With a positive answer, without this cancer
In body and soul. No necromancer's

Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****.
Anathemas make paths for us.
So thunderous, their misfit ****.

O' Cursed God, please stray from me!
Please stray from all of those in need.
The cursed souls, they bow to you.
Please stop my bowing, don't make me choose

Anti-eccliastical, non-canonical,
catastrophic bull misfit ****.
Us anathemas make paths, we must.
So thunderous, our misfit ****.

I admire Hello Poetry's
New attire,
With drop-down menu
And search bar for you
To easily browse and love
Your favorite poetry.
Classic Poets for me,
**Yes please!