Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shruti Atri Oct 2014
It's easy to be good at many things,
It's sad to be known for just a few;
It's alright to try everything once,
But it's hard to be an Ace among the crew.

It does take a lot of courage
To accept the norms and later pine;
But to stand up to what you believe in--
That takes a hell of a thick spine!

People call it arrogance,
To walk away from the crowd;
But with time, the one who walked away,
Is the one who walks proud.

Free will is an illusion for many,
It's a social necessity to walk in a herd;
Society accepts you on its own conditions--
Which if not fulfilled, you remain unheard...

There's a monarchy of tradition,
That feeds a monopoly of disappointment;
It's your charity to their egos,
That secures your appointment!

Go, find where you belong,
Amidst this raging tide;
Swim through the mailstorm,
Pull at the chains that keep you tied.

Break free of those psych bonds,
Move out into the light;
Rid yourself of that ancient poison,
And proclaim your own path as right.
It takes strength of character,
And a lot of effort on your part;
To sail smooth through this life,
And still listen to your heart...
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
as soon as these blue speckled
socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit
runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up
a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon
body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little
cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still.
Just these blue socks are left.
Written Sitting against an Oak tree outside of a family friend's farm in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

— The End —