"founding" poems - Hello Poetry

~for those who will read this and weep~ *the quiet ones, the silent Job ones, who quote not from the Book of Lamentations, but author their own, based on-the-job experience localized versions of cryptic elegiacs accepting the wooden crosses borne, stepping up to the unrequested unforeseen, then buried under, burnt alive, yet never relieved by dying, nailed by words, stronger than iron, promises sworn, promises kept with no ending date relief, promises by and to themselves, but not for themselves!* *the wearers of crystal glass shackles, adorned with decorative locks for which no key did the maker make, nor any divine creator dare conceive an early release, never no escape contemplated, for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable, a decorative useless metaphor gesture, a blunt “life ***** advertisement I compose amidst a bus pond of mismatched city folk, a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god, none would believe that as the bus sways me, it’s in rhythm to holy choral music, hundreds year old, divinity masses and motets worships, where one human can hide temporarily a safe house, to calm his questioning relentless from the horrors of no answers, for when the mind has no solution to the rough and tumbling lives, lived in glass shackled confinement, the poets desperation equals theirs* *summon eagles to transport these imprisoned, but the shackled refuse, I come to them but they wave me off, I go crazy for once I was enslaved, thirty years war that left devastation, from which so many poems created so I speak with heightened regard of one who planned futures for others where his non-existence was a founding father (ha!)* *but the day came and I was released by my own inactions, but means nothing until a way to away found to release the yet bound early* got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars in my pocket and an unrelenting need to save them, a consumption disease, the glass shackled, at ease, won’t rest till all are freed this my creed no one left behind these cyber words do not mock for they are unbounded, set free, when the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh are stronger for they are in heart conceived

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Jun 23, 2018

Jun 23, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC

bus-poet-stop

The Glass Shackles

~for those who will read this and weep~ *the quiet ones, the silent Job ones, who quote not from the Book of Lamentations, but author their own, based on-the-job experience localized versions of cryptic elegiacs accepting the wooden crosses borne, stepping up to the unrequested unforeseen, then buried under, burnt alive, yet never relieved by dying, nailed by words, stronger than iron, promises sworn, promises kept with no ending date relief, promises by and to themselves, but not for themselves!* *the wearers of crystal glass shackles, adorned with decorative locks for which no key did the maker make, nor any divine creator dare conceive an early release, never no escape contemplated, for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable, a decorative useless metaphor gesture, a blunt “life ***** advertisement I compose amidst a bus pond of mismatched city folk, a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god, none would believe that as the bus sways me, it’s in rhythm to holy choral music, hundreds year old, divinity masses and motets worships, where one human can hide temporarily a safe house, to calm his questioning relentless from the horrors of no answers, for when the mind has no solution to the rough and tumbling lives, lived in glass shackled confinement, the poets desperation equals theirs* *summon eagles to transport these imprisoned, but the shackled refuse, I come to them but they wave me off, I go crazy for once I was enslaved, thirty years war that left devastation, from which so many poems created so I speak with heightened regard of one who planned futures for others where his non-existence was a founding father (ha!)* *but the day came and I was released by my own inactions, but means nothing until a way to away found to release the yet bound early* got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars in my pocket and an unrelenting need to save them, a consumption disease, the glass shackled, at ease, won’t rest till all are freed this my creed no one left behind these cyber words do not mock for they are unbounded, set free, when the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh are stronger for they are in heart conceived