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Mosh Microbiomes Feb 2017
If I sleep, breathe, feed
One thing & one thing only
Is that called dedication
Or just a bad possessed need

Either way isn't it a sheer blessing  
To serve a purpose, a deed
Finally you get a seat at the table
But the hunger is now just greed

Greed is pure, greed makes you win
Don't be fooled otherwise by the sheep
Frolicking away is the real true sin
Anyhow, galaxy will drown you deep

That's when you must hold onto the deed
Jaw deep into the gutter, now you see
Even when you spend your life in pure greed
It won't be enough until you learn to let it be
On an Erie night high in the lands
there was an old homeless man who scoured for cans,
thrown out by the rich, sought out by the poor
for one mans trash could be another mans gold.

Food brought out by the wicked as they crept out of bed
only to throw their food down on the streets of Balarstead
where the old man once a young boy had grew
as his society failed to teach him while he was still new

Needless to say while he lie on the streets
waiting for townsfolk to throw food at his feet
enraged by jealousy he knocks and crys out on one mans door
whom he said he wouldnt be willing to help out the poor.

Crying on a stepstone that cold winter night
the old man waited for time to creep out of sight,
another night he'd grow hungry again
until the first mans neighbor took out his trash again.

The olden man went to reclaim his feast
as one mans trash became his golden ticket, the only one he could reach
It seemed that the old man was in a town he once called home
now to find the one mans trash is what he wants the most.

He fights to survive every night
as the snowy mountain town blinds his sight
he builds a fire made of one mans trash
so that he may wake up to make a new day last.

One day the man grew tired of eating all the townspeople's trash
because in the end the satisfying putrid taste would never last
so in the middle of the cold snowy night he fled
and he escaped the town of ol' Balarstead

He wanted more to feed his desires
so once again one mans trash conspires
and in the concrete jungle the old man could feel more at pace
as there was food strung all throughout the place.

As usual the man had always sifted through townspeople's garbage
in hopes to find something quite scrumptious
but on this night the man had found something new
something only in his dreams did he ever knew

on this cold winter night as the townspeople lay in bed
he sifted through the trash cans of Calimastev
where when he opened the trash bags near the rich local homes
to find many finely cut diamonds made from that perfect stone
it seemed that the old man had finally struck a massive treasure
so in the back of his mind he will always remember
that in one mans trash may be another mans treasure.
I wrote this poem out of inspiration from our towns only visible homeless man and recreated what he really wishes what would happen. I wish the best for him as he really is a good man.
Kewayne Wadley Jan 2017
Her heart was but a loaf of bread,
Rather than cut herself in pieces.
She'd give the entirety of her loaf.
Each grain saturated in nothing but generosity.
The pride of giving your all without want for return.
It was this reason that butter knives and knives alike longed for her most.
To ease themselves inside her and melt away into the tenderness that only she knew as whole.
She harvested herself, knowing only the delight of what it's like to give.
Never knowing the emptiness of greed,
Not knowing the pain she'd soon receive
SøułSurvivør Jan 2017
WAR
Chaos of the trolls of Mars
Havoc wrought by fallen stars
Terror flailing, caught by night
Pawns move one space, born to fight
Women make a frightful pact
Carry babes into the act
The stench of bodies as they pile
Questions not for rank and file
Bouncing Betty's horror, aye
Shrapnel flung to meet an eye
Bullets dodged, and bullets met

The Bomb's the best idea yet... !

Men sit desks behind the scenes
Living on the blood of spleens
Generals spew their jingo kant
Presidential "patriots" shpeel their rants
All the King's horses, all the King's men
Do things WAY beyond OUR ken
Mother's sons get GI Joes
Daddy dies... and on it goes

A testament to heartless greed

A bride's trousseau is widow's weeds.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/26/2017
Blood making mud of foreign sod
War's a stench in the nose of GOD!
Arcassin B Jan 2017
By Arcassin Burnham

Power of greed could consume and
Bring out the worst in you,
Putting down the hopes of people around you,
Terrifying the youngsters from their destinies
And destinations , mixed with fantasies and
Lust and occupation,
No law,
No code of conduct,
Just free spirits wandering in trees and places filled
With so much vegetation bringing forth communication
To nature and what it gave to us humans to survive
And let go all of the false information that we hear on
T.v,
Or is that just me?
I take my hat off to the -people that brought us into
This life,
To live and learn and love to be precise.

/

The sight,
The smell,
The sound,
The thought of you,
I put together pieces of this virtue,
Darkness follows and your head is so cold,
Love I swear to you is not a fluke,
And my love for you has finally grew,
In search of color ,
we just brightened up the hue,
Evil lives here,  
it's just something you never knew,
Finding ways to please it,
Only in a muse,
no matter what happens we have to maintain our
Youth.
©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/01/black-hat-evil-lives-here.html
Alan S Bailey Jan 2017
Like the ring of a bell in the distance
some trance which in an instance
can seem like it lasts an eternity,
I embrace the natural wild just as much as I can,
I know it's not a normal thing
but life is short and I am happiest free.
Lost in the moonlight halo or entrenched
in active chaotic madness, it's all the
same to me. A vagabond, a fool,
I earned this by word of mouth alone,
never again truly kissed, scarred and yet my poor
living is sacred, there is no place I can call my own,
this all I am thinking as I drift off to sleep
for the very last time, as you hold my shaky hand,*
there is little I'd have left for my journey while
they take all they can that is left
of my world all for the sake of greed,
of nothing but selfish sentimentality,
I am already guilty, instantly proven guilty,
so for once let me be.
Samantha Jan 2017
you’re always buzzing like a bee
that’s why you do not see
the care done by me

no, you tied me down
as I grow, you locked me out
can you give back my crown?
and just shut your mouth?

you’re the fool in the sea
the fool who consumed the honey
the fool who is so greedy
now please open your eyes, bee



*(samber)
1/17/17
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