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Shame May 2018
Words are unstoppable
Words may be spoken
Words may be written
Words may be thought

Night falls over the day
Night falls over the block
Night falls over the hood
Night falls over us

First as the dusk
Then as the stars

We can see nothing
Street corners light
Streetlight too bright
We can see nothing

Too bright but never enough.

We can see nothing of hope in the cosmos
We carry our blinded eyes in our hands

Buy me a knife.
Buy me a gun.
Find me behind the barrel,
I'd rather be first in line,
I will secure first place.

Buy me a knife.
Buy me a gun.
Find me shaking the iron sights,
I'd rather be running away from the system,
I will do what I must.

Take our education, expect us to grow.
Take our nutrition, expect we maintain.
The gatekeeper looks less like St. Peter
Than it looks like a bank.

Make it for money,
Expect we be happy
For the physical.

Make it vanity,
Expect our diminished state
Be aspiration and dream enough.

Words are unstoppable,
I know this to be true.
Where are the words
We need the most?

We cry for each other in night,
Each broken compatriot
Each potential confidant

Convinced we're abandoned
Convinced we're at war with the poor
Then at war with ourselves

Expending bullets for the clout on the shelf.
I am in here just as you so put that down.

I am in you, and I need your words to tell,
To touch, to show,

Those with nothing know what more there is than this.
Poetic T Dec 2017
I was a mosaic collected
in scratched nails
                  imbedded, bleeding
like I was meant to be touched
but can you really grasp a reflection..

How could you identify what
          I see, within the fallen feathers
of a crows smiles.
                               I'm hidden within,
a pile of dead bones wishing to fly again.

I could walk within the footsteps of those
in front of me on calm sands.
                               But I choose to run on
a beach of shattered shells, this is life!
broken dreams never really washing away.

I see smiles kept aloft by matchsticks,
                                       ready to ignite.
Within there embers embracing the true
               reflection of how I see others.
Parched realties of never really loving you
or another for the failures of there integrity.

I could love,
             in blindness.
But what is seen is nothingness..
I could love,
             in thought.
But memories will always lie to oneself.
I could have love,
             in myself.
But nothing ever comes from that..

Until I realize that I'm not in control
of this collage of moments.
                    I'm a Paper-Mache,
randomly collecting on a frame work
           of contemplation, that I will only
see on the completion of my life.

I'm but a part that I thought was
                                 irrelevant, immaterial.
But I'm just a piece of life collecting on
the shattered shells slowly reforming to
realize there is more to life than sandy shores.
Peter Watkins Dec 2014
In the end it makes no difference.
So take, your stance in life, your preference.
When we die, we're nothing but corpses.
You were great, but now you're pushing daises.
That human body so full of promise became too old
and now it's only good for fertiliser; allowing the future to unfold.

Doesn't matter if you're a king, you can't avoid it.
There's never enough power to avoid life's edits.
The part where you're snipped out because you have to be.
This is the way and it doesn't matter how
you hide from death's rotten, maggot infused touch.
Besides, after death your life doesn't mean much.

You'll lie in the ground like everybody else.
Or in a jar, composed of ash, lacking conscious health.
Whether prince or pauper you won't be there to know.
It's at this stage every last one of us is anchored to an all time low.
But of course it doesn't matter the tiniest bit for you, the real you.
Your body, clumsy and weak compared to what your soul can do.

For you are you and your body's your body, there's a difference.
Your body filled with imperfections and mechanisms of defence.
Once you ditch it you'll see everything for what it really is, we will.
Your inferior self will stay on Earth to fuel the future which is never still.
Your corpse is a vessel and the difference is always on the inside.
Once the inside leaves for home, then all that's left is flesh and bone.

Don't fear death, simply embrace it.
I only ask that you don't force it.
You'll die when you're meant to, and when you do.
Do so with a smile and maybe an explanation too.
Explain why you're so ready and happy to move on.
Why you're so utterly sick of this world and want to go home...
I hope this didn't come across as too depressing. But it's a message I'd like to share anyway.

— The End —