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Wasn't so much afterthoughts
but rather the act itself;
that myoclonic movement
An involuntary reflex of sorts.

Prisoner to human conditions
conserving oneself with
The illusion of individualism

A Perceived idea of what is natural
An erroneous concept of right and wrong.
Blaming the sky for rain and storm
Instead of hiding under shelter.

Punishing clueless planet earth
Our thoughtless pollution of her the seas
Man and man at war
Setting off bombs just for kicks.

The errs was much more than just
you could taste its bitter like venom;
Blisters from a flame or the sting of a slap.
Tangibly intangible were the sins we did.

Sometimes we knew what
We couldn't be held accountable for
Being not the kind frowned upon,
We did it in such abundance.

But it wasn't their fault,



.
.
.
or was it...
Myoclonus    /ˌmʌɪə(ʊ)ˈkləʊnəs/ noun MEDICINE
A muscle spasm triggered by various external events, including noise, movement, and light. The movement is involuntary and can't be stopped or controlled.
Robert Ippaso Nov 2022
I will very very probably do it again
Anyone who knows me and has a brain
Can see that Biden's old and lame
Now's the time to reignite my reign.

MAGA folks love me and want me back
They need our country set on track
For what I have all others lack
Of running stuff they know sweet jack.

As to DeSantimonius, Short Pants Pence and Chippy Cheney
That they'll burn out I'll wage you money
I'm the one that's smart and funny
My golden touch makes all things sunny.

So once these midterms are sown up
I'll squeeze lame Joe just like a bug
Show the world that he's a dud
For I’m the man, I know it in my gut.
Eslam Dabank Oct 2022
Nobility divine fills gaps of transcendence,
    Soars to and from the throne heavenly,
Exalts morals near the king of ascendance,
    Patrolling the good, and sons of the seventy.

A duty forgotten, replaced with dependence,
    On prayers rarely heard, and logic of a herd -
Divinity is far in absence; man in attendance,
    The book is a third, and teachings are blurred.

Andeliviuan corruption supposedly erased:
    The creation rotten of Sariel, wanders gaily.
The holy and fallen angel’s doing embraced,
    By the clay beings caressing evil like a frailly.

By God not, who from heaven him displaced.
    Yet, the legacy of the wrong stands humanly,
In Thailand, America, Palestine, and all graced -
     A grace of sinfulness celestial and worldly.  

Religion is the poor’s only ultimate truth,
     the rich’s side hustle, and the rulers’ tool;
It is the loss of power that defiles the sooth,
    The one the poor has not, but does the fool.

Robbers’ servants, bread crumbs consumers,
    Toothless **** dogs, emaciated lost tramps,
Little blind pawns, vultures’ puppets, tumours,
    And wrenches they are, the upper hand’s lambs.

If only Raguel’s judgements fall upon man,
    Raphael’s punishment beautifies this existence,
Gabriel’s wrath makes not all humans ane,
    And Michael saves us, the Sarahs, in assistance.

In the heart deepened with old repression,
   That mounts with plenitude of filtered feels,
Resides a universe yearning for expression,
    In a meat clay who feeds on calories of meals.

Man, in the genesis, in the light, in the dark,
    In prosperity, in turmoil, triumphed with vices;
vileness, abuse, wreckage is our sole mark,
    On this planet whose population is in slices.
Kevin Sep 2022
It’s gonna get better,
Are the words I hear every day!

The worlds in a rage,
Families in complete dismay,
Yet, They continue to say,
“It’s gonna get better.”

Better for whom is the answer I seek,
As everyone suffers except the rich and elite.

Children are crying as they sleep in their graves,
Families moan in woe and rage;
Out of work and on the streets,
Homes stole by legislative greed;
People starve with not a morsel to eat
As they watch their lives stripped away, shipped overseas.
Yet, They continue to say every single day,
“It’s gonna get better.”

Who are They that speak these words of depict?
These words of emptiness filled with intentions of grief.

“They,” are the ones that control the industries
The ones that create laws and false realities,
The ones that create and destroy societies,
The ones we fought and died for with our dignity!

“They,” are the ones that live off our blood, sweat, and tears,
Taking at will with no consequences to bear,
Stripping away our wealth and dignity,
Stealing the land away from our families,
Giving to those of foreign nationalities,
With no regard to the society that entrusted, “They!”

Yet behind their smoke filled lies,
While people die,
They continue to say,
“It’s gonna get better.”
Francie Lynch Sep 2022
We've been cautioned to surrender
Before jack-boots hit our streets;
It was an open warning
With podium bleats like sheep.

They side-stepped all discretion,
They pivoted 'round masked stealth;
They aired their anonymity
On the media's lips of wealth.

And there, behind the curtain skirts,
Lurking in the wings,
In shadows and back street doors,
They listened,
Pulling strings.
William A Poppen Sep 2022
Each day they invade
Headlines against my small mind
Stories of pure hate
Kevin Sep 2022
It is the thing we create from within.
From the depth of our soul
Where our passion does live.
The place we seek to find the unseen,
Those things that are seen
Within our minds and our dreams,
The things that others have not yet seen.

A vision where those can gaze and be free,
By a master at play while capturing his dreams
Upon the canvas where the art lives and breathes
Away from other influence, that he may have seen.

The art does not copy the others of known.
Instead, each piece is the artist's very own.
By bracing his feet upon the ground where he stands,
The art comes from within, from the master’s own hands.
Before the onslaught of digital and its mediocre output, art was considered a treasure. Not anymore. It’s become a world of anything goes. The way of the masters lost to a sea of 0’s and 1’s: no more perfection, no more beauty with the stroke of a brush. We entered the creative world of the mundane.

To view more of my work, visit me at https://wordswithatwist.substack.com
Robert Ippaso Aug 2022
I'm senile, demented, a has been, a dud,
At least that's the story, the Republican fad,
Yet little they know in their haste to throw dirt,
That they're helping my cause with their views so absurd.

Each arrow they fly with anger and speed
Is akin to a child that as yet doesn't read,
It has no direction it lands off its mark,
Its aim misaligned, a shot in the dark.

But let them continue, this path suits me fine,
For while they're distracted I follow my line
Of making great changes, passing new laws,
Pushing them through despite the known flaws.

My ace up the sleeve I've yet to pull out,
The one that will make my enemies shout,
Trump’s just my ticket to another 4 years
Flooding Republicans in a torrent of tears.

So let him continue to posture and shout,
Instilling in voters that lingering doubt,
The choice never clearer between him and me
And just like the last time I’ll win out you'll see.
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