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Franklyn niño Jul 2019
I'll make a hymn,
A hymn to my sadness,
Prose is my laziest instrument,
To outsource loneliness,
To let melancholy,
That in some point it had its nest on me,
I'll leave my inconformity,
My frustation,
My deepest feeling of denial,
Against all the injustice around me,
Neither by spitting it,
Cursing it,
Or changing it,
Becomes fair.

Where every man or woman has no value,
Where every object becomes value,
Welcome everyone,
To reality,
Where neither being a human could have more value than trash,
Where every objection is opposed by economic power,
Where every opportunity is shorn of those who do not have power,
Low self-esteem,
Constant comparison,
Self-destruction,
Our most solid principles in society,
Where suicidal instinct is a viable way,
While confrontation is brave and impossible,
Where all are dwarfed by those who take opportunities,
Beacuse most of them have opportunities at hand,
Freezing loneliness,
Takes over this city,
Where who gets laid more times,
Is the one who lives better.

Welcome to our society,
Where everything is declining,
Where the future is in the East and even in the north,
Where hope dwells expectation,
Which brings us to want what belongs to others,
To destroy ourselves only for not being enough,
Depend on the covers of social acceptance,
Just to be someone,
Where death,
It is a privilege and a prize at the same time,
For those who know that today,
Our society is the most perfect one,
For the generation born with it,
But not for our future or past.

Souls intertwine and become a new life,
They return to this soiety so different,
But they do not feel the change so sudden and incoherent,
Since the beginning of such children will feel,
But growing they will know,
That society will reject them,
They become marginalized at the same cycle,
Where mad people,
Dreamers,
Gentlemen,
Free thinkers,
The differents,
Will be placed on the corner table,
Where they are to fill leftovers,
Society just give them.
...
Nigdaw Jun 2019
Your poetry is like
Liquorice
Or
Pernod
Or
Absinthe
Believe me, I want it to be sweet
Get me drunk
Hallucinate
But that ****** bitter taste
Keeps coming up
All I can feel is nauseous
So, I put you back on the shelf
Waiting for the next
Charity shop run.
Martin D Angelus Mar 2019
Colorful bubbles dissolve
into dreary mist.
Feral dragons soar,
rise from the bottomless pit.
Gargoyles and vultures
shroud the sepulchral sites.
As I yearn for memories
of lucid times.
Aluminum toy soldiers
stumble upon fractured moors.
The white lady's bellow
I rue once more.
Echoes of sirens
fade in a deserted valley.
Blank stares of yesteryear
perish at stardust alley.

©Martin D Angelus [2019]
Juana Díaz, Puerto Rico
Martin D Angelus Mar 2019
That bore stare
at my condemned existence,
such vain entity, ghoulish puppet,
pathetic mannequin I have become.
No words can adequately describe
the vague sentiment,
the desolate nights,
the adulation that corrupts
my distraught soul.
There I seek comfort, such pity,
in my own infatuation.
What cruel lies have I told myself?
Where are those vanquished dreams
I had as a child?
The good samaritan has vanished,
left astray by vanity and pompous affairs.
A ghoul of an opening scene,
impeccably dressed for one last act.

©Martin D Angelus [2019]
Juana Díaz, Puerto Rico
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