"classify" poems
Prolog:
Foreplay opens with an aphrodisiac dubbed the mind
caressing private chambers with passion, over time
words stimulating nerve-endings for the ideal tease
like the skin dripping of honey from the nectar of bees
exploiting the fragrances of scented oils and balms
or maybe vib’ing lyrics inducing a seductive calm
compelling forces bombard the intellectual’s sanity
as the proximity of the blackhole distorts humanity
Love’s Play:
Costars entwine heated bodies for love’s embrace
as moments become endless as vectors of subspace
sporadic movements take the form of blissful spasms
while the players combine to mold a single plasm
ringing chimes fulfill the awareness with sensations
too diverse to classify for logical deliberations
yet finally, the mountaintop of cliffs can be reached
where there is no retreat and no return from its breach
Epilog:
Aftermath closes basking from the physical exertion
as two kindred spirits epitomize timeless insertion
gazing deeply into the abyss of the partner’s soul
only to find comfort and compassion ruling the role
can this be the earthly heaven that one truly beholds
written in the historic words as the heavens foretold
feelings ignite once again burning deeply within
opening yet another intriguing act, one must attend.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 10:06 AM UTC
"Look at my beautiful girl."
This title is thrown at me
and I find it hard to
breathe.
You label me a girl,
I know you know no better
but it still wounds me
deeply.
"Look at her, she's so pretty!"
You should know better
than to call me this
pronoun.
I asked kindly that you
use different pronouns
but you throw these
pronouns at me in
a taunting manner.
"You were born a girl so you are one."
I was born a human with
female genitalia.
I do not classify as a
girl or a boy.
I classify more as me,
as an
agender.
Please don't yell or shout
or tell me I'm wrong
because then you're saying
you know me better than
I know myself and
that may be true
but I don't believe
it is so.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
I'm afraid.
I'm a daylight dreamer.
Everything scares me.
Everything is so god **** intense.
I wish i was more like a stone.
I'm always alert
The silence is claustrophobic
I see everything with four eyes
The ones in my face and the ones in my chest
I'm sensitive
But i got to pretend i'm not.
People think i'm the exponent of manly.
Classify me as "cold".
But i cry, alone
I melt the ice
into tears and trade them for my fears.
Just because i'm big
It doesn't mean i'm strong
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
I had someone tell me that you can't really be broken.
I wanted to call them a liar.
I have felt broken, haven't you?
You think and worry and turn into something else. You panic and attack yourself. You hate who you are. By now you have pretended so much that you don't know who you are anymore. Your thoughts change, your personality changes, you change. You will never go back to how you were.. It won't ever be the same.
I don't know about you, but I classify that as broken.
You can be fixed, you just won't ever be the way you were before.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Gold and silver battle *****
torn from swords saddles and crosses
lying beneath a farmer's field
tributes to kings and bellicose gods.
Fierce birds of prey snakes fish and bears
framed in filigree geometry
guarded warriors' savage souls.
No mercy in Mercia.
Archeologists anthropologists
historians librarians
curators and consertvators
collect confer and classify
while I just try to connect.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
Most of us are familiar with
The escapism from pain.
For an easy and cheap solution
Or because of advices of the
Doctors, psychologs;
Most of us get a cheap piece of matter
Triggering the oscillation of dopamine,
Making most of us addicted to them
As well as being harmed
As the result of their side effects.
Even the teens intoxicate things
Causing these things.
Some of call this signalling matter
Nicotine or alcohol.
Others call drugs as well as
Medicines having great side effects on
Our psychology that means
Our minds, feelings and importantly
Our souls.
How these piece of matter
Deletes your pain?
Simply, by affecting your
Biologic structure.
This causes the cage of
Emotions and behaviours
Freezing your actions and thoughts
As well as mostly
The cage itself.
This stabilization of actions therefore,
Decreases the capability of
Varying the actions.
What you can do,
You are capable to do.
Capacity is the power.
Lesser power lesser creativity.
All in all
Nothing more than robotic step
You all do in all.
By lesser creativity,
What you do becomes
Completely addiction.
No good, no bad;
Only the robotic step
You all do.
So subject becomes object of
External distraction.
In the hellish world,
You are distracted to hell.
A piece of addictive matter
Ends with
Painful robotic suffering
Until you fade away.
But the music, music, music
Is the harmonious effective vibes of
Yourself.
This music can do anything,
Instead of freezing you only if an only.
This music can do anything,
By transforming the self by
Twisting you through making you
Its beautiful voice.
We classify the music
In account of its causes.
But material cause is not the music.
Instead, the elegance of meaning
As well as the shining effect
Is the music.
It is the music that will
Create the best in us!
Make the best of us!
Hold the best of us!
Than you may say,
I want music but this is poetry.
Than I say,
Poetry is the music of the words.
It is the music of life
Will the shining ray of creativity.
It is the music of life
Will the kingdom of heaven.
Its the nectar in form of music
Being the music of nectar,
Becoming the nectar of the music!
Music creating music
In seem of poem.
Catch it, follow it!
Better than any drugs.
Music creating music
In seem of poem.
Say it! Sing it!
Better than anything!
It is the best, you desire!
We call it, you are welllllllllll...
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 10:32 PM UTC
I have a lot of them pretty clothes;
Short,long or medium skirts.
Shabby,decent or just mere blouses.
Short,long or medium dresses.
But none can compare to my favorite little black dress.
Its neither too short,nor too long.
And I cannot even classify it to be medium.
Its entire length is knitted in black
As it has stitched in white,
A belt that covers the waist.
Its not a very big belt though,
Too little actually.
But I love my favorite little black dress.
It is not because I can wear it to any occasion that I love it;
I can wear it to dinner,
And yet be comfortable enough to select even my favorite musozya to be my meal.
I can dance for the whole night when in it.
I can meet even the scariest of inlaws in it,
And shake the hands of the most respectable people while having its belt clenching my waist.
My favorite little black dress.
I just love it
And it is not because I got my first kiss in it.
Nor is it because I had just taken it off,
When my lover devoured my flesh and took my innocence with him that night.
Leaving my decency to cling only to my skin,
As if it is on my favorite little black dress.
I kicked a ball in it,
As the boys whaled 'goale! Goale! Goale'
Thinking that since I had a dress for a garment,
Then the goal,I would surely miss.
And yet I didn't.
In my favorite little black dress.
That night when I danced with him,
I wore it.
I could tell my father too,
Appreciated how lovely it made me look on this day,
As he led me to the dance floor,
And yet;
I wasn't even the bride.
My favorite little black dress.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
I often wonder how people write decent love poems
For my attempts I’d classify as
mediocre.
How do write about your eyes?
The way they avert my face
And sparkle in another’s direction
That particular pain is hard to express
But for somebody as rejected as I am,
It should be simple
To moan about hands I will never hold
And if I manage
To ***** those lines out in ink
There will always be someone
To reassure me that love is out there
But how can I believe that
When I have taken myself apart
Brick by boring brick
Just to recreate myself as somebody even worse?
Now tell me,
How does one write about that?
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Nothing intimidates me more,
Than a woman’s inviting smile,
It pierces right down to the core;
Appealing to everything I adore;
This subtle, suggestive, wile:
Whetting the sense of anticipation,
Igniting fires of the imagination.
Nothing possesses more power,
Than a woman’s determined will;
Disguised as a delicate flower,
Sweetness smothering the sour,
Regardless of the pyrrhic thrill;
Bewitchment in everything but name,
Savouring the illicitness of the game.
No ordinary man has a prayer,
When a woman stakes her claim;
She’ll welcome you into her lair,
Reject her desires if you dare,
Her revenge has legendary fame;
Travelling incognito: deadly intentions,
From this wrath, there are no preventions.
Do not ever, ever, underestimate.
That which cannot be understood:
Avoid the temptation to speculate,
Categorize, classify or evaluate,
The secret mysteries of womanhood;
Whenever tempted by an inviting smile;
Nod politely then turn, and run a mile.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
Thoughts race in this jagged mind of mine
head spinning and mind collapsing
what am I?
Am I a man or a woman?
Born male
yet I don't identify
I dress up as a female
yet I don't identify
torn between these two structures
that classify the human gender
yet I don't identify
It's killing me to realize
Maybe I'm both
maybe I'm not neither
so much to figure out
so much to process
the thoughts keep racing
beginning to spiral out of control
Pronouns he, him and his
never really fit
the pronouns she, her and hers
only left scars
at first I thought of transitioning
to clear out my head
but now it's like a stab wound
festering upon my soul
am I a man
or am I a woman
they both seem so permanent
and yet seem doable
so maybe I a both
but that's my choice to find
I like being called he
yet I like being called she
I like being called they
so maybe I'm both and neither in a whole
so call me crazy
say that I'm broken
say that I'm not right in my head
but at least I have the courage to be me
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 10:49 AM UTC
Daisies in a garden full of weeds
Have you ever seen such an ugly thing?
Daisies may look like flowers
But look how they steal our sunlight
Look how they steal our soil
They are not flowers
They are infiltrators
This is a garden full of weeds
This land belongs to us
Now look at those selfish Daisies
Showing off their ugliness beneath our sunlight
Wasting the nutrients in our soil
Look at how they taint our community
Look at how they defile our home
We are incompatible
Their crimes are intolerable
Are you with us or against us?
Hesitation is treason
This is a garden infested with Daisies
Take them all away
And set them ablaze
They can never steal our sun again
Classify
Symbolize
Dehumanize
Organize
Polarize
And
Prepare
One to six
It can be fixed
Seven to eight
It is too late
Exterminate
And
Deny
Deny
Deny
You could have stopped it if you tried
It was all advertised
For just a limited time
Before it was taken off the shelves
A limited-edition opportunity
To step in and intervene
But the event has already passed
Daisy? What the hell is that?
It was all advertised
For just a limited time
You could have intervened
A limited-edition opportunity
That never happened
It never happened
But it will happen again
And you'll see a product you recognize
In limited-edition
But no, you won't buy
Not until it's taken off the shelves
Then you'll finally miss what's gone
If you have the luxury of a memory
But even then
Will you be believed?
One to six
It can be fixed
Seven to eight
It is too late
Now all you can say
Is
Never Again
Until Next Time
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 7:59 PM UTC
Blocked
I've tried everything to break through
You think I'm lost
Confused
That I don't know who I am
I know exactly who I am
Warrior
Lover
Shaman
In that order I classify myself
Time has shaped me
Has it shaped you?
I can't get a read on your soul
Have you found it yet?
The sword
The bow
The mouth
All are deadly when wielded by one who knows
Waking nightmares
Memories of lives past
Blood, and glory
I know who I am
Stop calling me broken
I'm not
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
the one drop rule
invisible blackness
black versus white
different categories of race
created by man for evil purposes
such as caucasoid negroid and mongoloid
this is a bunch of hooey
these words are just terms for
marginalising whole groups of people
by some smarty pant with a so-called degree
in anthropology and sociology
who gives people the right to classify other racial groups
I pondered it - anyway just blue smoke and mirror stuff
created by some racist people organizations and institutions
by creating racial and class division plus religion creating wars
thus
God created man - singular form
thus
God created man from the earth (black mud)
and no accident that we are made from one blood
oh yeah - Adam's blood
mankind is just a very large extended family - based on DNA
Europeans are not 100% white
they became white because of environmental adaptations
and they are no better that the rest of God's creations on earth
skin color does not make one racial group superior than another
this is just a head and mind game for social and political advantages
however everyone is a Heinz 57 mixture
White People are mixed with so much stuff - too
oh yeah baby and who is your daddy now
race mixing has been around
throughout the history of mankind and still
it will continue to mix races in the future
just remember this
the neanderthal mated on a regular basis with the homosapien
no race is 100% pure of anything
according to one drop rule - White are neanderthals too
this one drop rule is a silly and hidden taboo that is just plain ludicrous
God is a good God
God is neither Black nor White but He is a Being of Existence of every dimension
God is the all of everything - seen and unseen
God exist in every creation
God is a part of you and me
the will of God lives in every place
God is justice and equality
God don't speech hate and racism
God is love and peace toward all mankind
God does not make men slaves
God gives man the right to be free
God wants man to be inherit the earth and be good stewards
Well ain't God good no matter how you look at it
yes He is good - all the time my brother
yes god is good and everlasting
amen amen amen
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
Tapping relentlessly on the warm metal table-top
I wait. I watch my watch to time the waitress.
I hate this. No more to do
than to classify humans; ''advanced'' mammal zoo.
Specimen one: Green-Eyed Duckling.
Looking up at her mother goose you can see
she doesn't seem to be finding a mirror.
If you were to ask me; no difference. Imperfect reflection.
Best not tell her though.
Specimen two: Naive Kitten.
Instantly smitten, with just a little heavy petting
never second guessing a seemingly simple relationship.
Take. Fake. Take some more.
Once it gets real, its too close to home.
Specimens three and four: Sympathy for the Mantis.
There's simply no way he can escape. It's not in his nature
raised to obey. She, can't see herself in the mother-in-law
it would shatter her control complex. Her whole context.
Destined to be consumed, he bows his head.
Specimen five: The Lioness.
She lays like an aggressive doormat
don't get too close, she might bite. Or worse
she might claw the ''not'' off the welcome mat
let you in and then play victim.
Specimen six: The Dreaming Sloth.
Floating on a magic carpet; going with the breeze
distinct aroma. Extinct diplomas.
Wasted. Talents wasted in two relaxed limbs
halfway through life, waiting for it to begin.
"Your coffee sir" she smiles.
A new profile; specimen seven
classified unknown.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
You know that moment that most classify as your heart "dropping"?
When someone tells you something or you start thinking too hard
And suddenly you can feel your chest just stop?
Someone's holding your heartstrings so tight that they stop vibrating.
They stop making the music you've grown comfortable with
And make it start throbbing and makes your knees weak.
For me, and many people, it gets really bad sometimes.
Sometimes it gets so bad that you can't breathe quite right.
Like when your fiance tells you how worthless you are when you thought things were just looking up.
Like when your mother tells you the news that he left you with nothing but your anxiety attacks in the middle of the night.
sometimes you can't help but wonder why.
I know I wasn't perfect but I did everything I possibly could.
So when you hear the news he's going to be a father your world stopped and your heartstrings try to sing but
They can't
Because as he walked out he dragged them behind him
As if holding you there forever is such a possibility.
As if you'd follow him forever.
With your back breaking and knees clanking and palms sweating
You'd stay there just for him.
You'd deal with your anxiety attacks.
Youd try to no avail to silence the voices that have done nothing but break you down bit by bit.
You know that moment when your heart drops and you can feel your heartbeat in your toes?
As if that's where your heart has lived your whole life?
As if stepping on the veins that circulate every blood plaitlet in your body didn't hurt as everyone stepped on it.
As you stepped on
Because darling one of these days you're gonna take a wrong step and crush your own ******* heart.
So pick it up.
Pick your heart up from the soles of your feet.
Place it back inside that cage you call a chest and just keep trucking like you always
Because time does in fact heal all wounds but
God you wouldn't know that because you don't stop dwelling on the subject to let Father Time do his work.
Pick up your sharp edges and twisted senses.
Pick up the pieces of your broken mirrors and safety nets.
Baby it's time you learned how to fly and stop loving your life underneath the surface.
Pick it up.
Spread your wings.
Fly on the songs of your heartstrings
And never let
Your nightmares turn to reality
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 2:01 AM UTC
We say that times have changed
Yet the issues in the news
Remain the same
Three Muslims shot
Over a "parking dispute"
Yet the media news
Can't get to the root
Of the hateful crime
Committed by a brute
Too busy reviewing
Fifty Shades of Grey
While unjust crimes
Are carried out everyday
And why do we let ISIS
Receive so much fame?
And why is it that every
Muslim is to blame?
Associating a belief
With violence and terror
But it is among us
Where you'll find the true error
Using religious excuses
To **** off God's creations
Manufactured missiles
Sweeping entire nations
Thousands dead
With nothing left to gain
And those who survive
Are left with terminal pain
Seeing tears in the eyes of a mother
Her son buried deep
By the prejudice of another
How far will we go
Until we see the wrongdoings?
Cuz once a life is gone...
There is no undoing
Segregating humans
By religion, *** and race
My beliefs may be different
But I am no disgrace
We classify ourselves
With things like melanin
As if our destiny
Is determined by our skin
Ignorance causing our vision to be impaired
Can't accept the unusual
Cuz we're too scared
Too scared of the truth
So we hide behind lies
Too scared of being left out
So we wear a disguise
Morphing ourselves
Into what is accepted
Turning into clones
Fear of being rejected
But it's time to wake up
Time to accept
The difference in our land
Time to end
The suffrage that is at hand
Time to unite ourselves as one
Time to put down the weapons
And put away your gun
So join me now
To spread the love
And to silence the hate
Our world may not be perfect
But it's never too late.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Observation. the act. a frenetic rat
turning the cheese around.
Twisted little turning fingers.
a scientist looks at two peas
in a pod, and deigns to his ******* child.
His spectacles reflect the world
and classify to a faulty eye.
As fingers manipulate the strings;
connected to divinity
or the prison-within-ity?
A man long flown towards freedom...
hanging high from the telephone line...
Triumphant introspection;
chains inwardly strewn;
a thrall to the matterless dark.
A slave to the unreal Master;
now free to plot against his enemies,
he curses the baker’s wife.
Turning the cheese around
the rat sniffs and inspects
with an eye for ratio,
a life applied ambitiously,
to the Holy cheese and gold trophies.
A ticket to the image of love
But how will he trust her fidelity?
The mail-order bride, she cries.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Hi,
I am a *****
Well,
Not in a literal way
I mean,
According to the dictionary a ***** is a **********
And according to the dictionary a ********** is a **woman who sells their self in ****** ways for money**
I am a *****
And not because *it means **********
but because if someone acts a certain way
or someone thinks in a certain way
then society sees a perfectly acceptable insult as *****
I am a *****
not because I consider myself as such
but because
people seem to classify me based on what they hear
I am a *****
not because I have ever sold myself in a ****** manner for money
but because my best friend's ex seem messages between me and a guy that weren't "Pg-13" enough for him
I am a *****
Although I have never done anything to even remotely fit the definition
Although I enjoy dressing more conservative
Although I wouldn't let someone touch me in a ****** manner unless I really knew and trusted them
Hi,
I am a *****
because it seems as though most of society is completely uneducated on what a ***** actually is.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 12:54 PM UTC
How could you Think,
Believe,
Dream,
That you do not
Matter?
It is
All
You are made of.
Reversion of Nature
Causing
Pluralities
Where none of us are
'Enough'.
Where do these stipulations come from?
What 'is' Enough?
What is Ethnicity?
What about the Asian woman with a
Jamaican Accent?
Born and Raised.
How is she Stereotyped?
Why this need to Classify?
Sort?
De-fine.
STOP.
You.
Were born.
Enough.
Choose what your
Ears are Privy too.
It is Known.
Who you Are.
Why Hide?
Why Change?
Do Not
Blindly Follow.
Turn Around.
Give your
Soul
F L I G H T.
A beaming
Shadow.
Not soon
Forgotten.
Matter is
Nothing
Until Observed.
Observe Self First.
Decide the Definition of
'You Matter'.
Do not
Cower.
Express...
All have
Reasons.
You.
Were Not.
An
Accident.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Uneasiness
And insecurity
Because maybe he won't like
The way I move my mouth
But when my lips
Officially greet his
For the first time
I forget why I was anxious
Or why I popped 16 mints
Or put on an extra coat of Chapstick
Because I can taste him
I can taste another human being
But it isn't classified as cannibalism
Because I'm not eating them
Simply tasting
A delicious mixture
Of love and lust
But really
What's the difference?
There's a tongue between my lips
Not mine
******* my mouth
Choking me
… In that **** kinda way
Part of someone else
Is inside me
Interlocking body parts
Exchanging saliva
A cringe worthy thought
Simultaneously turning me on
Maybe I'm a good kisser
But how am I to tell?
I know he's a good kisser
I know
Because he makes me moan
He makes me hungry for more
Or maybe
I'm just easy like that
Our teeth clash
But I don't bite
Although
Sometimes
I chew on his lower lip
It still
Doesn't classify as cannibalism.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 10:18 AM UTC
When I see humans of abnormal disproportions
I automatically want to classify them as ******
As guide myself onto the metro, repetition daily
I choose my seat accordingly
only to discover that the B.O stench of the sad
non-hygienic human before me has left their putrid for me to taste
I call this death of my Cilia
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:48 PM UTC
My love of poetry is too great
for Philosophy, physics to glue the skin under my toes
to the floor.
A waif, only dandelion fluff,
I tease the turbid puddles
of wearying intellect.
Life is too beautiful
to compartmentalize,
to classify,
to set unsurmountable borders
on the pleasure that only poets and hopeless romantics comprehend.
Disoriented sight/smell/taste/touch/hearing-
backwards rainbows and the upside-down
scent of oatmeal cookies,
the melancholy of a forever-stilled honey bee,
are more golden than yellow metal,
and certain
more knowledge than a heaping pile
of doctors/lawyers/senators/scientists.
reality's only denizens
are Dreamers.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
I’m doing fine.
I hugged an actor I like, and for some reason that stirred an emotion that I would classify as Foreign to me, happiness.
I am a passing fan and I know he forgot all about me by now, and yet meeting him made me feel like I could accomplish anything I’ve ever wanted. It’s silly, I know.
My cycle of self loathing is breaking and mending itself, and I’m stuck dealing with the shards and broken pieces that I pick up after myself, after my own destructive mind manages to break me.
I am scared- no, terrified, of the future. I’m scared of becoming a failure and I’m scared of becoming something I’ll end up hating. I’m scared of a stable life and a nine to five job. I’m scared of leaving my dreams behind in a desk drawer and continuing to live as a copy of everyone else.
Safe, in my comfort zone. Locking away my passions and dreams as phases of youth.
I’m doing fine.
I keep doubting every single decision I ever made. And I keep trying to cry out my fear and confusion to no avail. I keep drawing lines upon lines on a blank paper, somehow trying to see a meaning, or a sign, in between for me to keep going. To keep living.
I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine. I’m doing fine.
There’s a roof above my head and food on my table, there’s a bed for me to sleep on and I’m financially stable. So what is it? Why am I up at night feeling sorry for myself? Why am i complicating simple things?
I wish my brain would stop working. I wish I could play silence as a song. Loud and deafening. I wish I could stop my own mind.
I’m doing fine.
My friend is miserable and I am of no help, everything I try to mend ends up breaking. I’ve never felt so helpless. I love her to death. I love her more than I could fathom.
I’m doing fine,
But
My soul is decaying.
I’m rotting away.
I need help.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 5:18 AM UTC
Rolling skin shifts from side to side
This beating hit mashes
The backs of my knees so they are kissing spirits
The low beds here make you feel like a salmon
Caught in some fisherman’s net
Its obstructs your vision of the world
All you can classify from the passers by
Is the smell of their voyage
And the sand falling from their scalp muscles
The heat confuses your senses
Your insurrection causes you to plead for a truce
A plea not to be hearing German overtones in your own head
Where am I now in this weary plane crash?
Even the monsters make noises of bliss
The streets are filled with Technicolor tropics
2 joints for 8 dollars from homeless Anthony
A land of unbearable strangeness
Reality left us when the water fell
Completing an oasis of vibrancy and nutrition
The earth cracks beneath the roaming
Of infinite stray dogs and feral humans
Everything here has a tale
But you may not know it until it is wrapped around your inner thigh
A sixth sense of blasphemy
Forms a pit of fear in your stomach for whatever you left behind
Such creatures never meant to be seen caged between your very eyes
They grasp as if you were some ancient tree
Equally deserving of their devotion
I am just an eroded soldier
And this armor is really starting to eat away at the cause
One can not find zen in this confusion
But we will all float down that path eventually
Zen can wait for I would rather wade with the sinners in the pool of exoneration
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC