Hungry under the surface
Stepping stones with teeth
A metaphor for life-avoid snappy rocks!
What's there in a prayer?
Just to fall prey to His will
When you fail to use your skills
The Limitless limits your strength
Your deeds make you repent
You wish to escape punishment
Pray for Truth
n Prey on Lies,
what is a prayer if not worry's disguise?
and then what of said worry, now so clear in our eyes?
Pray that fate wont fail me now-
preying on doubts which always allow,
In worries disdain, the unwavering Tao,
to this critical prayer's
undone what-ifs and what-nows?
worry unto fearsome prayers
****** Most Fowl!
by Michael R. Burch
“****** most foul!”
cried the mouse to the owl.
“Friend, I’m no sinner;
you’re merely my dinner!”
the wise owl replied
as the tasty snack died.
Published by Lighten Up Online and Potcake Chapbooks
NOTE: In an attempt to demonstrate that not all couplets are heroic, I have created a series of poems called “Less Heroic Couplets.” I believe even poets should abide by truth-in-advertising laws! This poem also questions who the "original sinner" was. How was it not the Creator, if such a being exists, since owls are forced by nature to ****** innocent mice and other prey animals? Is it possible that the Creator is not so heroic either? Keywords/Tags: Death, Nature, Rhyme, Pain, Creator, Predator, Prey, Mouse, Owl
I may be young
But I believe 16 years of experience is worth 16 stepping stones
To reach the expectations of society
And spit in the face of it
We are prey to the predators
Involved in a war of existence
Where we bleed tears
And cry blood
Because we are told we are never right
Validation we rarely receive is sweet they say
But how do we know when they
Sliced our tongues to hide our screams
Trouble is lurking from the parents that gift the children with what they want
In contrast to what the children need
My pen doubles as a society cleanser
Writing all the wrongs in all colored inks
Inspired by the beautiful equal people
And I take that sliced, beaten down wood
So I can shove it down their ******* throats
And I find peace under their tears
I craft it into a blanket
Yes, its cold
However, my body is warm from the scars of bullet shells, death stares, and unwanted opinions
A shameful balance
Written 2 years ago
This is the face of god
Craven and loud, pay him his due.
He loves gold.
He smiles in silver. Shiny and metal.
Dig it up and serve it to him,
He put it there for you to find.
He does love hide and seek.
Taa – daa, surprise,
You owe him more money.
Poison reliquary to dammed Cardboard hearts
Seeing in black walk to the shade
Crimson hands cake an obsidian bible
But if you need me I’ll be there
The priest protests
Less fire more drowning
Can you smell the **** of god?
Accept his unnatural communion.
Eat the paper skin
And drink the cheap corner shop wine
What a life. What a god.
Why do the pillars of faith despise each other?
Why do they make skin a colour?
Why does everyone pray to ignorant deities?
Why does the book of holy peace preach wars of holy hatred?
Gold, replied religion.