"felony" poems
I've lived a suicidal lifestyle, never worried about the consequence. I've been in this mental for a while, just teetering on the fence. On a positive note, I've already fallen off, so we may not be in the same boat and for that you may scoff. I'll shoot you a lil info, I don't give a **** a fair one, ***** you dunno what you in for, gonna end up with your jaw wired shut. You don't wanna wit me, I don't wanna waste my time, you will flee, I'll catch another felony, at the expense of not two cents but a ****** dime.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,
I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!
Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,
I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!
For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,
Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!
Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,
A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!
Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,
Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,
Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!
Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;
I finagle in my filigree!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
People are disgusting,
They'll hurt you in
meanest possible ways.
They'll misunderstand you,
judge you!
People are disgusting,
Don't talk to them much,
Just keep it in optimum touch.
They'll treat you like a ****
If they make a mistake it's no Biggie,
If you commit then it's a major felony.
I choose Netflix instead,
It does Judge my interest,
Shows me the best watchable result,
Better are the characters and stories
Than fake people and their hollow lies,
I choose Netflix
for my 'Me' time,
To avoid fake friends and their self centered
conversation,
Except these characters and stories ain't real like people,
To wipe my tears and hug me when em alone,
But
They ain't gonna hurt me either.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 4:59 PM UTC
"Boy toy
or girl
toy! Don't
make me tell
you again, Pedro!"
I have committed a felony
within the land of the Golden Arches.
I have gone through
another patient's order
and forgotten which gender
to assign to the child
standing right next to them,
as if in need of another
fresh new coat in
traditional roleplay,
as if these little ones
were the cattle of tradition.
How foolish of me to assume
that the tiny calf in pigtails
would enjoy the strong-willed,
goal-setting, leadership-evoking
action figure instead of the sanitized,
goal-admonishing, vapidity-provoking
fashion doll.
I wouldn't want to lose
another valuable customer.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC
Shattered glass upon the ground I walk
With Shards in my bare feet
And skin dry and brittle like chalk
Bathing in my own field of wheat
I am the bread basket of my own produce
The life of my own breath
And the electrician to my own fuse
That cuts the energy from the world's ****
So my dear friend won't you look
And see that I am I
I write my own bound book
With letters of my soul's cry
You are the upholder to your own home
The columns to a distinct bridge
Don't take me from my kingdom
To lead me to the devil's ledge
I ask of you to sing your song not mine
And allow me to write my melody
Of the oceans whispers upon the pine
That speaks my spirit not this felony
Oh how I wish I believed these words
But they tell the lie of a longing heart
That's pierced by frozen swords
I want to help you love, hold your part
I want to be your eternal pillar
And live as one in unison
Resonating the music of our laughter
Please take me as your woman
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and **** and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?
They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.
If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,
It's like I left the car running.
It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.
Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”
What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,
Sure-
But you left the car running.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
I feel like a ****
I feel that Bae is furious
I feel all I do to her is irk
Yet, it still remain curious
Bae says she is far from livid
She says that she never is mad
At points in time I feel timid
I feel like I've done something bad
But still, I remember the blithe times
Although I get worried, she's cute
And although I feel I commit crimes
I know it's just sarcastic, endearing dispute
And so no one is melancholy
I have no reason to be glum
Because there is no felony
Oh, Bae, why am I so dumb? ;P
Bae, you make me so very joyful
I won't forget you till the end of time
I feel utterly greatful
And I'm sorry I have run out of rhymes
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
She may be our metronome mother
But when was rhythm first discovered?
Did ancient nomads hear it in the sounds of walking?
Did they like how it sounded over them talking?
Did they view the melody
As a felony?
And start to sway their hips
To the crack of whips?
Maybe that wasn't good enough
Maybe we needed more stuff
So we started crossing swords
To create more violent chords
That interested us more
Violence has a catchy hook
That can't be found in a book
But started with a ***** look
Until our brain begins to cook
And we learn to love the beat
As the harmony depletes
We take concert seats
At a darkness feast
There's an iambic pentameter
In the middle eastern theater
That sounds all too familiar
The troubling treble
Of mothers screaming
While superpowers meddle
And innocence is leaving
The reaper is reaping
To a situation heating
Empathy fleeting
Fascist seating
Rhythm beating
Our soundproof homes
Create acoustic cones
That our cries can't escape
Taking the container's shape
Filling our mind
Until we're blind
And only see political teams
Instead of childhood dreams
We fall into a rhythm
Based on deadly decisions
With lethal precision
Like surgical incisions
That don't make us healthy
But support the wealthy
Who whistle a different tune
That will **** us all soon
And as the world crumbles
Their bellies still rumble
Creating a disruptive bass
Their music we must face
With an impossible grace
Or else we'll be replaced
I hear instruments of percussion
Causing concussions
Deflecting discussions
Making us harmfully dance
So we'll have a fair chance
Which seems wrong at first glance
But it's actually a pragmatic trance
Provided by Mister Rhythm
Who carries misery with him
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
i am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams
i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run
learned nothing in victory
learned nothing in simplicity
complacently
snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs
just relax
mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.
mistakes make us
deliberate chaos
tossed
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings
hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
Yesterday was a rotten one
For Donald Trump. What a shame!
In desperation Trump has jumped
Out of the frying pan into the flame.
His friend and former campaign manager,
Paul Manafort, was convicted
On eight felony counts, although
More convictions had been predicted.
Then his lawyer, Michael Cohen,
Pleaded guilty on eight counts
And implicated the president
In a felony, as the tension mounts.
Trump is an unindicted co-
Conspirator in a federal crime,
According to Cohen--something that many
Have suspected all the time.
Also, an early supporter in Congress,
Hunter Duncan, was indicted
For the misuse of campaign funds.
Do all who touch Trump become blighted?
Meanwhile, Omarosa says
She has many more tapes to play.
It almost seems as though the president's
Teflon coating is wearing away.
As Trump's Republican defenders
In Congress flat out refuse to condemn
Trump's actions, people wonder,
"What does Putin have on THEM?"
"I always hire the best people,"
Donald Trump would frequently boast.
Stay away from Donald Trump
Or you, too, are going to be toast.
-by Bob B (8-22-18)
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
And again my heart pounced
over skin cold; that pleaded singleness,
with hypocritical beats I bowed to,
to her highness; to her petite shrill,
a debut in partial denial; unpleasant,
as i withdrew with foul felony,
thoughts raced through judging ethics,
while simplicity ****** away the soul,
into a contagious six holed drain...
And I locked myself behind blue bars,
losing the wall I built with sweated palms,
danced did I over viscous black waters,
embracing the world's false desires,
smashed them pretty birds withing their cage,
lost all sense of peace, I go hidden,
in awe of that ever pleasant voice;
I bow again; in silence I ask me
to plant me in her backyard,
water me with her sour scents,
sing me her sweet lilting lullaby,
and embrace me into our little concord!!
Where did the wisdom lay that moment?
that moment when I tasted drops of sweat...
Why would I **** that clown in me?
that played tunes from a gleeful cassette...
When will I lose my two shadows?
that followed me even while I'd regret...
(a puff o' smoke and some silence)
And again my heart, it pounced!!
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
Foster, what family? Lower class, dream of vacation
******** what trickles down, affecting a life situation
White to Blue Collar; a rebuild or invasion?
Millions inside the boxes of convention
Justified superficial, backhanded salutations
Refute Love, proposed as mankind’s invention
Pulled by a string of instant gratification
Finding freedom’s temporary
If ever, long term locations
Constricted, system of classifications
The socially admissible connections,
Not to mention gangs of corrections
Flowing through the previous, my own generation
For the infinite hours
One after the other
Trade integrity for the illusion of power
Not all those with a gun should be considered a coward
Face the souls sold on Wall Street,
Remember those from Twin Towers
Ground zero, abandoned. Now bare, desolate
The idea of terrorism denied, while some wrestle it
Rationales dislocate, post hairline fracture
Frontal lobe imposter, posing in rapture
As if talent, love, or hate could ever be captured
Held at gun point, then forgotten years after
My children will one day look to me for the answer
What’s society, this twisted maze we live in?
I will gaze in their eyes with the same exact question
And don’t ever allow me again not to mention
Real criminals can’t learn from minute or life-long detentions
Some incapable of that level of retention
As our battered soldiers forever sleep at attention
Politically correct, tongues in consistent hesitation
Kiss police *** only to go to the station
Before the thought of who signed the citation
Treated as if it were a felony violation
Our basic rights according to our nation
Arizona & Co for minority elimination
Die fighting the statute of poverty’s limitations
vi.i.xi
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:22 AM UTC
Holding me firm, I can feel it incarcerating me.
With my ankles bruised from carrying the same heavy chains, day by day.
Chains, that will keep hurting my ankles with every step I take.
I can hear them squeak, tearing my tympanum with every drag.
Reminding me remorselessness that I am one more slave.
Working under its rules, shaping my life with my every breath.
Punishing me with all my memories and rewarding me with an unknown future.
At night it laughs spitefully seeing that it has caught me in its timeless web of an insomniac hex.
And in the morning it plays the same joke seeing that it has caught me in an eternal doze.
I wake up , following the ritual it has for me, slapping me in the back with its whip declaring its power over me, as my owner.
At 7:00 am I wake up indoctrinated by a false faith" Thank You 'God' for this new day ( I thank a 'God' I do not know a 'God' I do not follow)" I suddenly feel confuse.
7:30 am; I shower.
7:40am; I choose my outfit, one in particular that will disguise my insecurities.
7:50am; I have breakfast. My palate already knows the taste, and it protests intensely for a new tang.
8:00am; I walk out of my house, feeling the wind through my body silencing the cacophony of the chains and the beeping of the time clock they hold.
With every beep, I realize I can be late. I rush.
9:00am; I start my ritual, managing papers in an office full of sick people, just like me. Moored by their own chains to their own sorrows, with different time clocks and slaved by the same owner.
4:00pm; I plead it to go faster, to show me mercy. It laughs.
7:00pm; It frees me from my work routine, I thank it before it slaps me in the back again.
8:00 pm; I'm home the chains feel looser now, and I have a break.
9:00pm; I eat dinner same flavor, my palate prepares to taste the same.
10;00pm; It orders me to go to bed, to laugh again about by insomnia and wake me up with no pity.
It doesn't care about what I need, I go under its rules.
It threatens me everyday with my memories and it frightens me with an unknown tomorrow.
And, I only have 24 hours each day,60 minutes in each hour and 60 seconds in each minute to do what the calendar of life has for me .
I was convicted with a human felony, and I am currently serving a life sentence in this time machine.
I am cursed by time and my challenge is to defeat procrastination and monotony.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to safe life
Deadline to take food
Deadline to drink water
Deadline to breathe air!
Now dead line entrapped!
Deadline to recharge vitality
Deadline to recharge vanity
Deadline to recharge - cover-up felony!
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to makeover
Deadline to sprawl
Deadline to crawl
Deadline to growl
Deadline to haul!
Now deadline entrapped!
Deadline to behold toxicity
Deadline to amuse atrocity
Deadline to submit buoyancy
Deadline to ****** and welcome grief I
It is the deadline for post modern reformation!
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
doh re mi fa so la ti doh,now that's a sweet melody
but when love turns sour,the chords get broken,melody becomes a felony
my mama said "son,be careful when anybody comes to say,'i love you' "
my heart bleeds from all sides,a result of the expression "i love you"
the taste of sour love is worse than vinegar
it feels like ur locked up during the winter in a prison in Siberia
i never wanted it this way but this love became like a subway
it cant be repaired oh no! even if the parts are on lay away
when love turns sour,everything goes down the drain
i gave much,too much but don't know what ill get
cold nights,slow music,thoughts of what should have been in my brain
they told me love doesn't last,i shouldn't have made that bet
when love turns sour,you get a heavy heart on a skinny chest
its 50/50 fighting for love is like playing with the dead man's chest
still yet i'll take my chances in this Russian roulette
i tried so hard,but still my forehead got the bullet
this is what i get,mending the holes in my heart
i cant fight this alone,i tried,i tried :(
broken hearts,thoughtful heads,solitary lives,fear to commit,insecurities are all you get
WHEN LOVE TURNS SOUR
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
I thought I was everything
and nothing all at once.
This world all spinning
To the direction of my blazing trails.
But I was a fool
I was always a fool to think so.
I let my blood run cold into the depths
of every body of water I could drown in.
And I thought it would be enough
I ran this world clutched under my fingertips
I believed I was above it all
And above every felony I could commit most of all.
But I believed in things
When I couldn't believe in myself
"The ends justify the means."
As I thought myself worthy of giving judgement.
But everything that goes around comes around
For who was I to call upon judgement
No mercy and no worth
All under the guise of a wrathful and unforgiving God.
But I stand here before you now
Before the court, the jury, and the Gods
To sentence me now, a false prophet
For I once believed I was everything and nothing all at once.
I confess all my sins
And admit that I was a fool
I was a fool to think I could change something
That there was a meaning to everything I've done.
So lock me away
From everything I have ever hold dear
For nothing will be enough
To erase all my faults.
But isn't it punishment enough
That I've lost all I had?
Watched good men fall to dust.
And saw empires of what I've built collapse and rot?
I suppose it never ends
After all we carry all our atrocities
Even in death and rebirth
Forgiveness was never an option.
So maybe I'll just raise hell on this ********* earth every chance you allow me to.
-Kore
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 4:40 PM UTC
a liar once told me that i write good poetry
i laughed and continued drinking,
the sudden rush of despair, the wicked beast, the dry pages
the man had no credentials
but he persisted, declaring me an inspiration
like seeing a strand of hair attract a magnet
or amber jewels lolling in a dimly lit case
imagination is a felony, i wagered as i poured another
a combustion i know like the back of my hands
i told him i dreamt of a morgue where everyone i ever loved
sat upright as sunflowers, declaring their love for the sun
and of a newspaper rife with disease and the passion of a janitor
there is a raccoon near a river somewhere cleaning an apple
with a heart as big as an artist in drunken euphoria
taking better care of it than me when i sit down at a typewriter
it's wearing a cape just like edgar allen poe
and having better conversation with an oak tree than i've ever had at a party
about the sunday crossword puzzle he completed
yesterday i drank myself into a masquerade ball
arriving in a limousine being driven by a bearded mickey mantle
i was the guest of honor, sword fighting on table tops
and lecturing the guests about shakespeare through a garbage disposal
while a horse played backgammon with my father's brother
and there was a girl there behind the facade of an owl
who danced like the wind and everlasting light
and no one could stop her or look her in the eye
i am the only connection between my mind and the paper
merely a vessel, a john boat clearly breaching it's depth
either drowning like a fish in a sand dune or
being bounced like a baby on the knee of god
slavery, i call it, and hand him a glass of warm bourbon
as the splashing of my journal pages slap my crushed trachea
the typewriter is padlocked and painted over with cement
the metamorphosis trapped inside a bullet, boiling with sheer fury
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
Now, “When it shower leads to torrent
And when it glow leads to draught “
They call it Climate Change!
But for us, it is result of felony of our works!
Stop to devour mother’s resources!
Let her go in her own pace!
Cope with it, akin to our forefather and tag along the same path!
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
Has not enough been said
About Cecil, the Lion?
This has brought me to tears.
For those who don't know
Cecil lived in a Wild Life park
In Zimbabwe.
There was no hunting allowed
So, some sick *******
Who is a big game hunter
Dragged a antelope carcass
So that Cecil would
Come out of the park.
He, then, shot Cecil
With an arrow
And Cecil was tortured
Over forty hours.
Cecil was tracked down,
He was shot with a gun,
He was decapitated,
He was skinned.
How is it that
What is so magnificent
As a Lion
Is seen as nothing
But a head and skin
To decorate your living room?
I've been to Kenya
And Tanzania.
They are glorious creatures
In the wild.
Why not just take a photo?
Or just enjoy their magnificence
And then leave
With your enhanced soul?
They say psychopaths
Practice on animals first
This sick pathology
Has to end, not only for
Animals but humans well.
This man had a felony conviction
For baiting black bears.
He belongs in prison
Although many think
He should be decapitated
As well.
People are angry.
And Cecil's Cubs?
I used to watch a show
Called:
"Big Cat Diaries"
And their fate is sealed
As well.
Lions practice infanticide
And when a new male
Comes to Cecil's pride
He will **** all of Cecil's offspring
To make their mothers
Go into estrus
So they can breed.
One cub has been killed
And not much hope for
The other eight.
Our neighbors bait
Black bears, **** them,
Skin them, stuff them
And put them in their house.
They seem to just enjoy
Killing things for no reason
They find great joy
In killing things.
They seem like
Nice enough people
But when you have
So little respect for Life
Can't it haunt
Your human ties?
I honestly feel
Like someone
Has shot my dog.
And it makes me weep,
Though the story
Is now old.
This man should
Go to prison,
And in Zimbabwe.
Send the world
A huge message
That we are not Neanderthals
We don't have to
To **** things
Out of sheer joy.
We should not reduce
Living things to
Heads and hides.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 2:04 PM UTC
A piano I was born to be. But not just black and white because my fingernails are blue except for three of them. I feel safer in fresh white sheets and 8 foot deep water than I do by your side. You are a dangerous convict who has never committed a felony but you are also the vulnerable grandmother who has a mean right hook.
One time I sat and watched a tree fall and **** the ground almost, shot it right in the center and left a crater for critters to crawl. Adult hood should be a lot more scarier than my childhood. But it isn't. Fear of the Inevitable is irrational because God is inevitable and so is Buddha and Jesus and any other deities. Speaking of diets, my mother went on one and lost a lot of money (weight, too) because I could have told her for free but parents are a weird thing because they always say they're looking out for you but instead all they do is look down (or up depending on how tall you are). I'm 5'3" but I like to think I'm 5'2" but I act like I'm 6'4" but I feel like I'm 4'3".
And every day is a struggle when you aren't the same height as you feel.
The gas in my car goes quick and so does my temper and my friends. When waterfalls crash another boat is built to break. Whoever created the car also created the car crash and that deserves a round of applause because it is beautiful and destructive and just the way i like it. I'm a ********* so when people tell me to cheer up I take it to offense, but a fence gouged my stomach once and I told all my friends it was my appendix which is an appendage you don't need like your heart when it turns cold because no one can thaw ice without melting it to a puddle.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Staying alone means talking with the self
Staying alone means reviewing the past
Staying alone means scanning the identity
Staying alone means recounting the plummet of felony
Staying alone means recovering the stolen glee
Staying alone means invigorating yesterday
Staying alone means get ready for tomorrow!
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 10:32 AM UTC
Sometime it flyaway to the sky
Passing through enclosure of cloud!
Sometime it climbs through the ladder of hope with wind
Reach in the peak of dream for eloquence of love....
Love for self.....life.... people....land and soil..........!
Sometime it swims in the ocean of felony and transgression
Searching gone astray generosity and candour!
Consistently it is vivacious and brings new notion to ponder!
Sometime it coverts contemplation to allure
Allure to aspiration
Aspiration to act upon
Then to poignant feat with great ecstasy!
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
Put on your glasses,
and look at the masses:
sick boy, sick girl,
stock market crashes.
Put on your clothes,
'cause no one has to know
what is underneath --
you'll never have to show.
Do something for yourself.
Put a trophy on your shelf.
Shoot down the law,
and all opposers, as well.
Do not be fatal,
but live in a fable;
go for the moment;
avoid broken cradles.
Go and be peaceful,
'cause we are all people.
Everyone is different,
but we are all fetal.
Make something large;
let your energy charge.
Float out to the vast sea,
then back to the barge.
Stay focused for longer;
there's so much to conquer.
Play by your own rules;
they will make you stronger.
Who is your mother?
You thrive as she smothers
unrequited symphonies,
lucid, as they hover.
Who is your daddy?
Is it not saddening?;
telling you what to do --
government chattings.
Take off your shoes,
and stop being used.
Put mine on now...
Here's the new you!
Give up on jealousy;
flow with the melody.
Do what you want;
end up with a felony.
Say yes to heretics;
put some fare in it;
fill up your lungs,
and watch the clock tick.
Grow like a flower,
and ignore other powers;
Love one and Love all --
happiness-tears shower...
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC