Three burly sheriffs showed
up at my neighbors
house yesterday.
Scowls on scarred faces.
Tattered lives, tarnished
brains.
Five minutes later,
they were walking my
friend out in handcuffs.
He shuffled, head down.
Autumn frowned and the
leaves scuttled away in
disgust.

Today, the vultures swooped
in, picked the bones of all
his earthly possessions that
littered what was once his
front lawn.
Jackals, and hideous
hyena faced men and
women took the last of
his things.  

Even though he was
arrested, he still
grows.
and although they are
free, they die more
daily in their own
private evictions.
I've seen more
humanity at a
hanging.

King!
My coronation was a trial by fire.
A heavy orchestration of pain casted upon me was my test of ascension
mechanisms of a divine imagining
that which has stretched me beyond thresholds of innocent humanity presented me another edge to my identity
sharper
Cutting deeply into my flesh, that divides like the most tender choice
yet
teaching me equally valuable lessons  
furthering my progression, in life.

The throne is uncomfortable to me.
They lament to me, constantly, that I will “grow into it”
this, abominable seat of my dubious existence here
it’s vast backrest, comprised of a fallible love
petrified skeletal appendages – arms
and various metacarpal complete with long, gnarled, and bony fingers.
It does, whenever I should take a seat, reach into my back, to give a malicious massage to my soul, yet, it does become a shield, of sorts, protecting me from the multitude of tormented souls that fall behind me.
My back
it becomes stressed
all the while I am approached by the denizen of our lower realm.

In such
I am a mastermind to the humbled classes
the discarded region of society’s social classes,
wherein the poor persists, without fruition, in attempting to escape a den of poverty,
akin to the various ways that obstreperous children may try to exit a room secured by vigilant adults
just to reach a room filled with never-ending sugar.
This realm, it is where I am directed to guide.

My crown
oh
it is cumbersome and burdensome upon my crest
heavy is this appointed ornament
to me it is a compliment to the curse
to them – it is a highly important adornment.
Unbeknownst, however, to the masses that wander under moonlight shows,
it slows my pace
akin to stepping double-time through moonlit painted snow
cold.
At times, it causes me to perceive that I am entertaining them,
a frost king
it penetrates my flesh and bones
corrupting my other sanities
now, no doubting or second guessing
hands, that gripped my head many moons prior delivering me from my greatest vessel, were immediately replaced
Excruciating!
I can recall
the unfathomable pain that saturated my newly emerged head
crowning into light that glared proudly from high above - divine!
My departure from a blessed, blood and sweat drenched ***** concluded with them crowning me.

I stand triumphant still
Moses would smile feverishly upon beholding the liars I have killed
Souls that I have saved.

She graduated the highest of class
remove my concern and the drugs would have taken her away
he could have walked away
a worker with no employer
his jobless gains
were too weak to sustain.
The child was a storm between he and the weary lover
filthy, she always thought
lack of maintenance and how the sheets wore their stains
though, he never gave up
his loyalty to his firm – begotten her diamond rings
six mouths that, gleefully, devour his sufficient gains.
lo
remove my torment!
That he could behold my struggle
lo, if I had failed to set an example he would have walked away

Oh!
My throne and crown are brutal to me
agonizing
acknowledged
appreciated
in life I will persist to possess my position gracefully
children now grow as men of learned minds
therein those gloomy alleys of sordid squalor
I serve with, merely, the shards of a broken, yet, celestial knowledge
and, I pray, the most high father will accept my offerings, from my most meagerly harvests.

Lo
most high father
my coronation was a trial defined by struggles
of survival
of the most furious fires!
I am ready!
I think.

Jonah Singleton 2024 ©️

Empty pocket and empty plates;
safely locked it away still it dissipates,
a climber of corpses climbs high to something great,
and the rest of us are buried standing within this fate.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

The people’s scale is forever weighing
basic human rights against complete anarchy.
The right choice seems obvious to me, obviously,
but the indecision’s crazy with the lack of priorities.
A climber of corpses climbs high to heights we’ll never see,
I’d rather be a stone than those doing the stoning.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
I think that I’ve had it with their vinegar disguised as honey.
I won’t make another stitch in their golden wool,
it’s time to eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

A bullet in the street shot from behind;
validated and woke up millions.
No retreat and not changing their minds;
vilified for targeting their billions.

If they really cared they’d ask if you could buy morality,
though typically they’d see if they could find it on sale.
The funniest part is that they could acquire it for free
but it’d be just like giving an atheist the Holy Grail.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
it seems to lose a lot of magic when you lose alot of money.
Life’s a ***** but isn’t she powerful?
It’s time to eat the rich because we weren’t born full.

Life wouldn’t be tragic if it wasn’t also funny,
more bills; they stack it and the weather stays sunny.
Rock bottom in a ditch, dazed and in a lull
now it’s time eat the rich ‘cause we weren’t born full.

The cracked and umber, cyan, lichened bark,
its wintry deprivation echoes stark
impoverishment: the denizens live their
neglected, leafless lives, in Highgate Park.

The winter icy earth’s, anaemic fare,
enough for hungry birds and squirrels, there
is insufficient food for bigger beasts,
who huddle, famished, in the frosty air.

A grassland’s faded, green, uncut, now greets
all walkers down its dwindled concrete streets,
replacement for old honeyed flags: new flaws
displacing golden pathways, lined with seats.

The squirrel, hungry in the cold still gnaws
her nuts: she holds the winter food in claws,
and quickly looks for danger, then a pause,
and runs, avoiding snapping canine jaws