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Ike Jan 2019
The sun hit my eyes as I walked out the door
And life became more than four walls and a floor
Or an ideal that is sold when loved by the masses
That cry and complain and talk out their *****

Because we can't see the truth in front of our face
They've convinced us our sadness is a fantasy place
And forced their prescription on the whole human race
With a spoon made of greed to a malnourished face

Can you hear it? She's calling our name while she screams
Mother earth slumbers in nightmarish dreams
Wreathed in smoke and industrial gasses
The rage has been building as the millennium passes

The time has come the ground is shaking
Stars are falling and flesh is baking
The rich and the poor are gasping for air
This wrath of the of the ages cannot be compared
The oceans are boiling and touching the sky
What once was immortal is now begging to die

As a hush falls down in the ashes of lives
There will be no more sons, no daughters no wives
Just a mournful epitaph on the grave of our kind
"Here lies humanity and its self centered mind"
Ike Jan 2019
Sometimes in life all we need is the proof
A faceless name we all know as truth
Releasing the pain that we hold deep inside
A comforting shoulder when you don't want to hide
Reckless and wanton the feelings we bare
Trusting in something you can't help but share
Our loved ones see beauty when we make it all rhyme
But few understand this thin paper dime
Holding the wishes and scars from the past
In hopes they transform into love that will last
We cannot we will not succumb to these screams
One day they will die like so many dreams
Ralph Akintan Jun 2019
Nurse! Nurse!!
Call me the physician
Adjust my bed
Place me on drip-feed
Call me the doctor.

Sentinel! Sentinel!!
Call me the cops
Arrest the reckless chauffeur
Hold him in custody
Call me the cops.

Attorney! Attorney!!
Call me the lay-judge
Issue out assize
Charge him before the assizes
Call me the magistrate.

Fractured bone posted pangs of pain
Fiery flaming fire from the base of an
      impaired anvil of marrow
Across the abyssus of a bruising
      incidence of life,
Discharging fitful fiendish fire of
      pains like a flue of a chimney.
Crutches snobbishly granted no
      audience.
Call me the doctor.

Claws of cramps configured anthills
      of uneasiness.
Plaster of Paris laying siege of
      muteness over prescient of
      innocent protege.
Blockage of accessible membrane
      defied osmotic exit.

Physiotherapist!
Disengage this staring cast.

— The End —