Low-born, lowly,
lumbered, plebian
mushrooms, steal and
take, their final gasp.
 Before, a fastly approaching,
 Babylonian Avalanche. Where, lined up, thinly, ivoried-blue, are petulant
       pigs. That, usually; sniff out, lick, arr-
             est and lock up; black, brown and
               white truffles. The unguilty

              are apprehended. For false,
             treasonous reasons. So, who
            can blame the fungis, for wanting
       to seize, the cult of vulturous swines?
     By; the scruff of the system, and br-
   eak their snouts, until, their peccaried
      feathers are ruffled? The champignon,
     were; hewed and chewed, aplenty. By;

    hoggish, gnarled teeth, curled trotters
    and lavish appetites. But, those that  
   fell, to the Babylonian Avalanche, will,
  eventually, become a Mushroom Cloud.
 They'll float over, the 50, fuzzy, boarish
 corpses, to stellar, toadstool plateaus. When, their; final, pixie dust; they bite.

© poormansdreams

Are we free anymore? I’ve asked myself lately,
Sure, it seems so, but a few things are shady,
Well, more than a few; in fact most of our lives
Are controlled and well-governed like dogs kept on lines.

Last week my own neighbor was caught and arrested
For owning plants curing her cancer, depression,
Science speaks truth but the Law doesn’t mind
Their care is your sentence, not the healing inside.

We’re ruled by fear, I’ve come to conclude
It’s limiting consciousness, limiting mood
Forced to pay off all those bills in the mail
Or they’ll haul you away to community jail.

It’s not always this way—look at it like this,
We do have a large sum of freedom as kids,
We can eat, speak, dress, and play how we please
Before the real world arrives, subjugating this ease.

“Get good grades in school, be quiet, and listen,
Better cut the tomfoolery or end up in prison,
Repent all your sins or you can’t go to Heaven”
...Are drilled in our heads by the time we reach seven.

Yes, it is fear; now much clearer to me,
Yet sadly too subtle for the masses to see,
Some of us hope that things will get better,
So we dogs may finally stray from our tether.

Four centuries pass, yet echoes remain,
A woman’s cry met with silence again.
Laws were written, inked with good grace,
Yet bruises still bloom in the same hidden place.

The chains are less visible, but still they confine,
A whisper, a threat—unwritten lines.
Justice pretends to be blind and fair,
But turns away when she’s gasping for air.

She flees, she pleads, but where can she go?
The system still asks what she should have known.
“Why did you stay?” they say with a sigh,
As if love was her crime, as if she chose to die.

Four hundred years, yet history repeats—
A woman still fights to stand on her feet.

I could never be a lawyer,
Not because I couldn't lie.
I can lie plenty,
Whether or not it's right.

But I couldn't stand to see,
When an innocent victim.
Gets blamed,
And there was nothing I could do,
Because the judge can't see.

I'll be just fine
I'll just hide my face
if, i am about to cry

pour me a drink
maybe one or two
and let me
sulk
here a little wail

no, need to
ask about me

No!
i be just fine
just let me be
to scream and yell
until i pass out

I'm just
kick-en and scream-en
beggin the Lord
to take me from hell

but it seem my
body and soul
is in everlasting Perpetual hell

don;t waste your time
don't even ask
i'm just laying here
until the pain pass

no, do don't you take the
time
no, I said
I'll be alright

I'm just waiting until
i see some God saving light

no, I'll be aright
just give me a sign


aka: lyricvixen
by: Verlecia f.

When I was a child,
I was always told
I must colour inside the lines.

It was told to me
With such conviction
I was fearful to stray
Beyond those lines on the page.

I became quite okay with it then
As I had my colours
And thought little about
What it really meant.

But when I grew up,
I began to question the real purpose
Of those lines that constrained me.

Who put the lines there?
What is the reason for them?
Why shouldn’t I stray beyond them?

The answers came gradually
And two themes prevailed:
You must be compliant!
You must conform!

Like those lines on the page
That I mustn’t stray beyond,
Society draws the lines
To mark the norm.

It is safe inside the lines;
Society is pleased
Because you don’t break their rules.

Are you happy to comply?