There once was a boy with the thought
a girl too meek to have fought
So despite her plea
he just took for free
What a gentleman ought to have bought
There once was a girl with a bowl
Which hadn’t in years felt full
Though less it may weigh
Heavier it lay
In her hands and on her soul
An old man came to rest by their side
Long after his poor dreams had died
For him there were tears
But reverse forty years--
For his dreams, only he cried.
There once was a magical mythical nation
Who felt threatened by half of its population
So they shot them all
And sounded the call
For a goddamn national celebration
And there once was a shield named Cynicism
Who sought strength in criticism
While it suffers each day
It won’t be let down like idealism
it's the seventh inning stretch
and the kiss cam never works properly
but they scrabble like insects across the dirt
and shriek as they scrape their knees
starches and proteins bind
to be crunched under less than pearly whites
shrapnel flying in the wind
tinfoil scarves as a blessing from obesity's lover
they're all just seagulls
swarming to the scraps hit foul
and the notes warble across the speakers
and the sticky plastic meets sticky soda
my Flock, welcome and goodbye, for today we ourselves will taste the forbidden fruit and come to know the gospel eden's serphent yearned to preach. we are a starved people whom hunger for more than the leftovers within our shackle's reach. this is the black sermon that for many sound like heresy, and forgive rhyme and reason, but to its own... you're each. [SIC]kles are the tools of the hungry, but hunger is the tool of a wise man.
but let me be humble.
Let me accept
and let me move past.
Past my ego,
past my desire
to be approved of,
past my desire
to be adored,
past my desire
to be validated,
past my desire
to be perfect.
I am in a safe space
a space of
It is my challenge
not to criticise and
not to become
to recognize myself
It is your challenge
not to feed my ego;
it is so much more loving
just to accept me
and humour me;
to entertain my ideas,
if only for a moment;
and to treat me as family.
The more my ego is fed
the more I must challenge myself
to purge of criticism
There is nothing wrong with a challenge.
each decision must be challenged.
must be tested upon.
Faith rests not upon the absence of
faith rests upon the existence of
decision to move past
Like most do,
I cheered for the heroes when I was younger.
Handsome faces, elaborate costumes, the face paint and masks-
living personifications of true justice.
For the people, by the people.
I still watch as an adult.
Yet, I find myself no longer wanting
that happy ending.
I'll occasionally detest it.
The "heroes" are now a bore.
For the people, buy the people.
I cackle, even respect the "villains"
for cheating to win
or running from danger
to only back stab when opportunity strikes.
The boos from the Chorus
are the punchlines for their saga.
I don't believe this is a problem
of learning to hate your heroes
or living long enough to
Fairness is a farce.
it's just time and people
revealing to you
what's a work
and where you can expect to be
on the card.
© Derek Devereaux Smith 2015 - 2017
Beauty is draining from the world at an alarming rate...
Nothing means anything anymore.
Sex is just a past time and not an expression of anything, trust or otherwise.
Words mean little, often biting and cruel
Society has grown jaded and water is thicker than blood.
Family keep secrets and speak not to each other, but to the masks each has created.
Friends are not true and often hard to find....
Loneliness is an epidemic, and no one cares enough to find the cure.
The clouds were not shaped for us to glaze at,
Nor were the stars made for us to live by -
And that doesn't stop any wise man to ask "What
Is the meaning behind all that
Which will remain for a long, long time after I die."
The one who can deeply dream
Hides behind his third eye and soul
And watches as he'll ever be seen
By the bunch of awe inspired whim
Rebelling against their mind and souls' overhaul
Caused by insipid tyrants who control the norm;
The vexing tyrants who make the whole whole,
Obey their own laws and find themselves torn
Between a soft spot in the body of a worm
And a feral n' crazed tut whose obsessed about the form
Of the tried and failed yelp of a plan,
Which was made to fall for and believe
And no one will know how it all begun,
They'll only scout and live
Until a better time will go justified
Until the belief all find factually
To be more than a lost rectified
Romance, which is more truthfully
Told to the messed witch are mold
And let rotten from the feet
Of those creatures who're bold
And suck everything dry which can be possessed by wit.
Just some kind
Of soul bribery
An angel off his guard
To leave his divide garden
Defenseless, with no warden
To ward off the fiend,
Whose mask is of a bard,
Who'll truly just retard
And hinder the host
Who'll in the end get lost
The age old lust,
Which will be used
To get the warden bruised
And the host sedated
And his guard elevated
And under it the bard will get hold
Of the divine gold,
And all which is most
Important to the benevolent host.
I think there is something wrong with me
for I cannot love as deliciously
or deeply as I used to.
I cannot be swallowed by the hope of
unconfirmed fictions I once called love.
There is a still an inkling of
fierceness that wants to clench someone
so tightly to my body that we become one
wet with the desire of perpetual sexual motions.
I am broken for the shadow kin still sleeps within,
longing to uncover soft warm pale skin underneath
her tight white lacey dress, and thin white sheets.
I still long to let my fingers swirl,
submerged in a wetness of that beautiful girl
gyrating as our tongues vibrate with
the sweet sexiness of her pink part lips.
I am broken because I would let her
harness me, riding to find whatever she needs,
bending my tongue to taste
sweet strawberry juices from below her waist.
But that will never be.
I am broken because I no longer believe
there is anything less then
left for me.
I do not trust a happy day
My mind recalls past patterns
And each time hope has come my way
Peeking past life’s parted veil
Singing songs of sweet tomorrows
The weeks that come are always hell
As are the all the years that follow
I do not trust a lover’s promise
For they can be given so easily
I have seen certain hearts shattered
When loving to carefree and happily
I know one cannot pledge eternity
Anything can be broken even the best family
I do not trust a possessor’s passion
Cause in pursuing owner’s pleasures
I have found all things are only passing
For the taking, to give, in the asking
We all tire of the new toy
Sweet things can rot away
Adding one more item to your pile
Won’t save you from your final fate
There is a far darker day dogging me
The shadows tight on my trail
Night will fall sooner than expected
So even when I smile, I do not trust myself
Moods will change, ebbing and flowing
With the winds that keep my armor
Flapping up and down so my scars are showing
The good is just a phase
Then again I could say the same thing
About the bad days coming
Neither are permanent
Only one thing is inevitable