the words have lost their meaning, put down and forgotten
the ink is old and hitting refresh, flesh is rotten
the love of doves is for the birds, love of forgotten
words, buried deep unearth on Earth, what has brought this on...
short tempered phrases
Viennese masked faces
road rage that displaces
where words that disgraced
the root that spawned their meaning
and thinkers were able to be gleaning
to drink the rich and full in leaving
pride at the door and no deceiving
what we are all here for
not a geo-politico hidden agenda
not a plan within a plan within a plan
like some Shogun in a Clavell novel,
not to be a notch whelped on Evils' belt
size 365 days a year,
equal spaced holes like stepping stones
tighten around a neck stuck out too far
risk taking and all in isn't a sin, groan,
who am I to judge, I am so marred
am I poeticizing how to live,
no, how write poetry and be so alive,
I have so many words they
roll like boulders, in my head
and off my shoulder across the floor
the neighbours complain of the
noise and I lie, say-
ing it is my dog with her toys,
so go write your poetry,
no one else can, please
may it cure you as mine
cures me of my disease
so you can do what you were born to do,
what are you waiting for ** I can't tell you!
