"infiltration" poems
Kudos to Kaepernick.
I just cannot drown all my beliefs and ideas, even if it contradicts my flesh and soul. When I heard that not standing up to the tune; that has always succeeded on sweeping all of the messes underneath the sad reality, to be deemed as subversive, I know that Rosa would definitely clench onto the seat tighter than ever.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To drag our body out there, all over the precious hills and fields, while acting as if the scale has always been set fairly beneath you all this time, will hurt you more than myself. How can a mere matter of things decide our future, our destiny? We shall shape our fate, you shall shape your own fate, and to be judged on the perception biasedly built in the name of order for thousands of years, is a situation that should not be endured by anyone or anything in a tiny dot within this vast universe.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
And for that, I cannot stand proudly and profess my love to you as of now, even though I will always wear my heart on my sleeve for you to see. To be cheated, to be manipulated, to be deemed as surplus, by those at the tip of the plateau, that cunningly asked us to forget all the tangles and wrangles for the love of this sacred land, while unashamedly distribute everything off the land, off the ocean amongst them, is the last thing that we should allow to happen. I am one of those people that are not able to put on the mask on top of our meant-to-be honest faces, to say hail to the thief is worse than the eternal grief. I have never dreamed of burying the hatchet with them, not even for a second and if I ever do it, I shall be condemned and dismissed for forgetting the roots, the fons et origo of mine. To love you does not mean to stand still to the soulless melodies, to love you does not mean to bow down to the meaningless piece of cloth that has overseen countless infiltration and bombing over the years.
Kneel, my friend, kneel.
To love you is to fight for the rights of many, by any means, even by not standing up. When black is no longer the symbol of miserable, filth and calamity, we shall then breath with ease, stand on our feet and fully embrace the real meaning behind all those majestic words.
Kudos to Kaepernick.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 10:09 PM UTC
For all the time I've know you
You've worn a mask upon your face
It appeared beautiful, perfect, and friendly
But now I realize that wasn't the case
For hiding underneath that mask
Was a soldier bent on destruction
Posing as a comrade fighting for good
But following the other side's instruction
You wormed your way into our ranks
And we accepted you as one of our own
But all of us were unaware
Your true intentions had not yet been shown
When an opportunity presented itself
You struck without any hesitation
Our troops started dropping left and right
Without any sign of infiltration
You knew you only had so long though
Before your actions got you caught
So you moved to abolish your final target
A tougher task than you had thought
That night, when you attacked me
You allowed your mask to fall
And as you fled, I caught a glance
Of the real person beneath it all
Well, "What doesn't **** you makes you stronger"
And you make me tougher every day
Which is why no matter what you do
I refuse to let you stand in my way
I learned some valuable lessons
About how you fight this war
And now those same old boring tactics
Won't work here any more
So thank you for the knife
That you embedded in my back
For you just gave me the tool I need
To defend against any future attack.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
a malignant cancer spreads
in prime agricultural land
the Santos Company
gas wells ever expand
the waterways and aquifers
sullied with material not healthy
the corporate entity
aspiring to be more wealthy
campaigners outside fences
at drilling locations
wanting to stop the company's
sick infiltration
the fight to preserve the family farm
has been unheeded
company profitability
must be well seeded
a state government not listening
to scientist's info
seemingly it is more interested
in the gas field's revenue flow
as time goes by the waterways
and land will become sicker
all in the name of the Santos brands
noxious sticker
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
Enough-
Its enough having these corporations run our nation while the infiltration of money making keeps destroying world peace aspirations-
Its like Satan and his manipulation keep telling me that success lies in the accumulation-
And the accumulation of that money making is what makes life exhilarating?
And the exhilaration of materialization keep growing as a representation of America’s successful creation-
And soon it becomes discrimination-
Upper class elevation vs. lower class stipulations-
The poor patient vs. Rich patience-
The barring margin of APR regulations-
Keep our nation rotating-Gaining speed and evaluating-
The appreciation of desperation is all for corporate gaming-
The memorization and commercialization keep our nation deprecating from the rest of the worlds visualizations-
Our accreditation creates frustration-
Segregation and integration by the new world organization-
Integration to a peaceful appropriation is questioned by this American administration-
AND I QUESTION IT?
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 2:04 PM UTC
Head a hostile environment again
Emotion overthrows intelligence
Fragile skull accepts another beating
and indecency becomes preference
Absorbing black into gray matter
Meticulous infiltration;
Makes death a desire
and living a fear
Friendly fire
Mind battles disease, disease
obliterates mind to violence
collided with sharpened corners of myself
****** mess, wrong message
Swallowing hostile heavy medications,
contain my elation so that overjoy
doesn't morph into mania, or joy
Mass of electrons now inside
find nothing positive; thought paralyzed
Deviating cells that scare themselves
from the darkened sanguinary state.
wide eyed faces searching for a homeostasis
Far from stable since demon's rule
Constant epiphanies with no execution
turn to facts filed in brain catalogs
Fully aware solutions are there,
but the drawers are glued shut
~kb
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 12:43 AM UTC
Inspiration,
perpetuation
of fascination,
inclination
to take refuge in
my imagination,
fantasies trapped safely in
hibernation,
concealed within
my stifled grin,
quivering
just above my chin.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
the titles
lay about,
filed in no order,
some a mere notion,
some a finished few,
most a line or two
that
ask fervently for
birth, commencement,
not understanding
that finished,
need not mean ripened,
ready for release, consumption
some indeed,
awful layabouts
in no hurry
to complete their
appointed rounds,
or make their
unique composed sounds
spoke out loud
content to be,
yet-to-be
but already
wanting the entitlements
of being
just a title entitled,
yet even without shape,
content to be
content-less,
poem teenagers, I guess,
they want it all
all awaiting wondering
they understand how humans are born
but see no parallel to gestation literate
they see
infiltration, fertilization, conception,
automated, tracked and formulaic
the process similar,
but the exact moment of birth
knows no schedule,
some burst, some dormant,
aging beyond aged,
struggling to believe that
those who wait also serve
if you were to sit beside
this troubled man,
whose clouds need poking by,
perhaps,
your fresh fingers
could rocket them into
partum warmth fluid bathed,
then they would belong
to you
for you
were the trigger,
that fired them into existence
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
In the cookie cutter cage
Struggling to contain the rage
A free-spirit was torn between reality and dreamland
Break the shackles of expectation
Shrug away judgmental allegations
Explore the depths of your creation
Surrender to allure of deep temptations
REBEL against the infiltration
Of a mass produced mold
Dare to wander, to be bold
**** the status, and their gold
Discover your own imagination
Live through your own interpretation
Search for treasure in the crowds
Let your mind transcend the clouds
Emancipate your inner child
To take a step, into the wild
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
We are a generation,
Indeed, a nation,
Raised upon foreign warring.
Scapegoat aggravation.
Bushes and *****
Clamoring for horror and hoarding.
Conspiring against a population,
I watch through youthful aging.
With my childlike eyes, I see
The target they're blaming:
Afghan families having more
in common with me,
Working class American,
Than those transparent heirs
With the world's wealth and arrogance,
Ordering for the villagers' obliteration
Through boys from our nation.
We are a generation raised
On media sensation
Of militarized devastation;
Animal exploitation;
Technological manifestations
Providing privacy infiltration.
Material attainments;
Mental frustrations;
Fiat debt enslavement;
A nation entranced by
Senseless parading.
Tempting decadence and
Announcements with no evidence.
The September bounty of edifice
That fell with no hesitance
Still echo its unfounded,
Preemptive pretenses.
This murderous reign;
this senseless parade;
Advertisement cyclical
in their game of charades;
Dog on a chain;
Famine causing no pain.
Permissible opinions
To be solely maintained.
The damage, the waste,
The heinous race and class chase.
Oppression remains thoughtlessly dangerous,
As moral responsibility brings no attainments.
Chowing down on maimed millions
Bellowing from enslavement.
Fortunately, elder,
Rothschild, Rockefeller, or
Those above them whom
Remain blackened, faceless:
Resistance shall come
From all places, all ages.
Such as this generation of mine
Inheriting increasing complications,
With the type of America
You wish to keep in rotation.
I'll carry the flag containing
Your mistakes as a symbol,
To remind those behind me
What not to rekindle.
To the Boomer who stews
In your white collar suit,
Still refusing to shake
Your destructive pursuit,
Still asking me to lick
Off authority's boot:
Growing up in this nation,
With childhood innocence,
I grew increasingly aware
Of the land of such ignorance.
I had such thoughts since
Early adolescence,
I was not blind to larger lessons.
Only since supported by
Actual, factual supported confessions.
To the Boomer tied to his convictions,
Now will you see-
That isn't going to work
For us or for me.
I'll bring to this world
Whatever I please.
Which so happens to be
Truth, justice, and peace.
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
It's amazing,
How words will only actualize our realities
Fully
When they are uttered
Aloud.
And once those unspoken realities transpire,
It's as if the all the air in the world gets caught in a primordial vibration,
And those vibrations
Break the internal balloon
Detaining veracity's ink
Painting our insides like the canvas of Jackson Pollack.
Seeping through soft tissue.
Spilling into chest cavities.
Sloshing around.
Saturating the hues of our flesh.
A single utterance
Resulted in irrevocable emotional
Infiltration:
"I'm in love"
*********
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC
7:00am
Shelter Island,
Sat Sep10
on the south west edge of the isle,
the slowrise sunrise just behind the trees,
so early day yet, no full frontal of a sun
bathing to wake up woman, babes asleeping, but the
animals know exactly this hours early
perfection.
indeed, the crazy squirrels are random
hither and dithering in spurts of energy,
only stopping to observe a viewing of the humans
nest~resting through the glass doors with their
inquisitive, self-possessed, bedside reckless manner,
perfected.
the suns pealing gleaming gleanings picks
out any shiny reflective surface that enhances
its low-rise greeting, with a chorale of living objects
singing “Hallelujah orb, what’s in store for us today,”
river~bay, wake-less, its becalming, marbling surface, again,
perfected.
me?
I’m mugged by the perfection intersection of
my eyes-scape, first coffee, the holy quietude, only
the regular soft breaths beside, lend a counterpoint
to these thoughts and the litany of chores the iCal happily, annoyingly, prematurely but with certainty lists, resistance (Walk!)
perfectly ok.
ok not to move an inch, watching this daily movie rerun,
that energizes hope, a contemporary localized contented without the
humdrum of blaring headlines, talking heads, and the
infiltration of the guilty unfulfilled responsibilities demanding a due,
then heavens signal me, Donovan, earbud singing Colors, confirmed
perfectly ok!
“*Yellow is the color of my true love's hair
In the mornin', when we rise
In the mornin', when we rise
That's the time, that's the time
I love the best*”
Sep 10, 2022
Sep 10, 2022 at 8:21 AM UTC
A single seed
Watch and it shall grow
No measure to length
Or width to abide
But grow it must
And will forever
Not this to subside
One embarks
To grow to grow
With what before
Only known from once
Shown and grown
From dirt to dusk
We rise
And fall
Expand and collapse
But grow
Is in all the seeds to begin
Growth the only ingredient no
Destination
Manuel
Or infiltration
From small to large
Large in sight
For this we grow
To take flight within
Ones soul
Which growth
Sees to ignite
From nest to barrier
From mouth to tongue
From stars to planets
Far and wide we all must grow
Outward and inward
But inward it’s from
The center point
From which all to grow
Not outward to expand
We rise inward
Occasionally to fall
But inward its there
The growth we mustn’t forget to dare
Inside
Inside
From within
We see
The begin and the end
From inside
That is all of me
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
Woman,
You ask that I write you a poem everyday that you are away from me. I willingly spill the words from my soul, I sacrifice myself and fall upon the sword of the pen, the drops of blood like rain from God. And they fall to paper, all that I am, all that I hope to become within you, in a poem to you, at the moment so far away.
Today, alas I have spilled so much of myself that I too require a filling, a need that sustains me like my words that feed your passion for me. I need the touch of your hand as we sit upon the portico resting on that sunset purple gold, that which lights the stars when darkness falls.
I need the soft of your lips as they graze the nape of my neck, the stride like a galant mare across fields of shimmering lilies, I need the kiss which fits me like gloves in the cold depths of morning one feels as they take in the first chill of morn.
I need you like a poet needs words, I need your depths that fill the abyss like the blood fills the body, or the lover fills the woman, oh this wanton desire for the touch, the kiss, the experience of being with you.....
These are my words, these are my sonnets of infiltration to your soul, a haiku of touch, a verse of making love!
My love all that is poetry is required by your presence. Simply put, the motions of our love.....that which must be experienced,
we are the poetry in motion.
Missing you dearly,
The poet who lost his words.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
By Arcassin B
Slash, dangerous,
Break in some glass, I'm your home,
The tranquil place, the happy place,
about to be drowned in blood,
Fixing William Shatner mask,
I carry my demons heavily on my shoulder,
Provoking me, you would also be stupid to get
close to me,
The devil's messenger incarnate leaking through scared and drippy as I ascended the passage of evil,
Be glad I didn't RIP out the pupils,
I'm way worse than messily cabin fever,
The one that snips Roses and tulips,
Like chasing after a relative that doesn't think I exist,
Letting them know that my legend lives,
No dogs live to take a ****
You could get the blade or the fist,
Halloween is the day of bliss,
A devil on a night like this,
Wake to fulfill demon hour wish,
Wake to fulfill demon hour wish,
A devil on a night like this,
Halloween is the day of bliss,
You could get the blade or the fist.
●
I could feel as good as I feel , when I,
Let go,
We could make this right in our wills,
Feel free,
I don't know,
I don't know,
The horrors that await you can not illustrate you,
Their aiming to take this world from you,
specifics when theres rent due, they would want to
take you,
No streets , cars or avenues,
The hills definitely have eyes , we call them vultures,
Infiltration in disguise, we are their adventures,
A voyage , a play , a stage to be performed on,
This life is too fake to hold on,
Wool over the eyes of some , might as well put the mold on,
I wouldn't leave you to dry and dye a different color of your love for me, positivity overrules this tree,
Don't you ever think that I, don't love you cause I do, don't **** me,
It would break my heart if you , thought i didn't care, don't eat me,
Don't you ever think that I, don't love you cause I do,
It would break my heart if you , thought i didn't care.
©abpoetry2020 ©arcassinburnham2020.
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 2:08 AM UTC
An attempt to tempt temptation we're facing
The entire nation is wasting
While the time clock is racing
Sitting idle I dwell
Don't know what to do
A bottomless well
filled with good intentions
That I forgot to mention
while men's sons
climb the walls
Fingers bleed
so I choose to run
Pain outweighed only by guilt
An attempt to hide so no one would see
Added my hand by not lending a hand
The inevitable entropy
Criticize the critter's size
This infiltration among us
A monstrous demon
indeed in need of expatriation
The daily battle uphill
An upheaval, this weasel
An endless war of soldiers who sold their souls
Signed their mark on the dotted line
Became a mere dot left in time
Sand in the glass we know will not last
Last train leaves the station
Can not stay
Have been shunned
Should have listened when told
On an endless list now too old
The souls that time has forgotten
A swirl in the whirlpool for getting into this mess
A choice we did not choose
Being lost made us lose
A loser with nothing to lose
Loose with our lips
Quick with the fists
A tunnel with no light
The endless darkness in sight
Filled with fear, we do not fright
For what is wrong feels so right
Take the plunge
I just might
Endlessly spinning in time
while getting so high
Spinning out of control
This way I live, this way I die
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 1:35 AM UTC
Frowning through my tears of joy,
I’m the kind of person who
Glowers when happy - plays decoy,
But I’ll always bleed for you.
Kiss me – in the wind and rain.
Touch me – I want to feel the strain.
Hold me – I need to hear your heart beating.
Warm me – in the cold and dark.
Break me – into a million shards.
Take me – I want all of you and nothing else.
Something unbound, something awakened,
Something made of revelations sweet,
Something which we don’t have to hasten,
Somewhere that I don’t have to fear,
Something renowned - lost in translation,
Something of an exploration sweet,
Something without abnegation,
Something born of deprivation’s heat,
Something from our raw starvation,
Something to give affirmation sweet,
Something of pure intoxication,
Something free of all complications prior,
Something in my adoration,
Something in your infiltration sweet,
Something in our desperation,
Something which dares not even one glance back,
Something without hesitation.
But so simple.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
alone in the dark
feeling the infiltration
porch lights and lamp posts
softly glowing through curtains
stealing onto the ceiling
robbing me of sleep
streaming, churning mindlessness
a holding pattern
clenched fists grasping on to night
keeping tomorrow at bay
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 3:50 PM UTC
On a throne in Rome is where satan is seated; eating the flesh of man; like a pagan Caesar being fed grapes. He sits, awaiting man, to kneel before him: kissing the ring.
Drinking the blood of man, by his royal cup; that which he never touches with his own fingers. King of all kings, lord of all lords; pope, pontiff patriarch and arch-bishop of all Christendom -- rejects you Rome.
From the schism to the Reformation, yet the prey are tempted as you ****** a bogus return. To/from an institution steeped in crises; openly admitting its satanic infiltration. Men adorn you with biblical claims of negative revelation. As if your satanic throne was of divine establishment. Claiming a unity that never was. Your foes thinking 'denominations' are a division of Christ's Church. While you knowing that 'a house divided cannot stand'.
Awaken your souls hiding among the farther Eastern 'Church', or those farther West. Separated brethren --or-- imitation Christian may your throne be carried on your shoulders by those observing your divine monarchy. Hail Popery! As you in self-pity's pedestal sight Peter. While the post-Protestant ecclesial coward prey sight Judas.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
☪ ☠ ☮ ☪ ☠ ☮ ☪ ☠ ☮ ☪ ☠ ☮
Exporting democracy, whorelets and song
You dwell in the center of endless supply
as customer-king you can never be wrong.
Your choice is the answer—now shut up and BUY.
Gadgets with touchscreens and upgrades to boot –
Distractions and playthings to dazzle the eye;
Your choices are regal, your credit assured;
Your country is closing soon. Shut up and buy.
The Ishmaelite hordes are released from the dam
the sluice-gates are opened, the waters descend.
Our Empire, ignorant, closes its eyes
Babylonian currencies bank on the trend
Mohammedans know that the West is a Beast
and the least of their worries—their Caliph is nigh.
We shop as they’re chopping; expanding their brand.
The muezzin is wailing now: shut up and buy.
They hear and obey while you’re watching the game.
The refugee nations, with time on their hands,
flow over the borders demanding attention
Malign infiltration. Deception expands.
These newest dependents refuse to assimilate
whining of racism, milking the state
Government, clueless, declares them immaculate.
Holy diversity Batman—it’s late !
They wait for their moment. You’re scared to offend.
it’s the Christians you wish would oblige you and die
The Muslims, you know, are committed to peace
and that’s something to celebrate: shut up and buy.
No borders no flags, social justice, no war
(nor knowledge of history, conflict or God)
Universal utopia, scaffolded lies
crashing down (but you’re busy defining jihad)
Poor traumatized victims. Concern never ends
It’s our fault they are here: it’s a charity high.
They laugh in your face with your back to the wall.
Your nation’s invaded so shut up and die.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 8:07 AM UTC
plants evolved organic defense mechanisms
when being preyed upon
they send off organic frequencies
that attracts a predator to what preys on them
natives and indigenous humans
have and even more complex
organic defense mechanism
to hurt and torture sends signals
organic signals
evolved humans
so therefore slavery
although the intentions were white supremacy
attempting to subordinate and control
through fear and enforcement of whiteness
because whiteness exists from fear of being tortured
African who are native
indigenous
but also
native
doctors
lawyers
engineers
professors
families
warriors
forcing into slaves
shipping and importing into every space imaginable
of America
conception
thorough dispersion
****** and procreating
light skinned warriors
infiltrated every aspect
of predatory whiteness
and so without meaning to
accidentally
the organic defense of natives
indigenous
humans
those attempting it be predators
are overwhelmed by humans who are still
close to being native
indigenous
so whiteness
in denouncing
native
indigenous
evolution
denouncing blackness
denouncing womanhood
we all came from Africa
whiteness denouncing origins
creates a place that can no longer exist
having invited and imported its own demise
outsourcing its own existence and sustainability
what a terrible mistake
to torture such evolved
humans
who also have the freedom
to perform vengeance
in any way desired
without warning
private and public
invincible
impeccable
predators to the failure of whiteness
to consume humanity
into objects of indulgence
in order for whiteness to continue
it would have had to keep us in captivity
completely
thoroughly
but it couldn’t
it fails its attempt
because we are too powerful
and we charmed so many
of associates to whiteness
and competed with the fear of not being white
making it too dangerous
liable
to keep us in captivity
won them over
to being human
native evolved
evolution is destroying whiteness
through infiltration
conception
procreation
pseudo forgiveness
organization
impunity of whiteness
becomes its weakness
whiteness would have to declare
absolute martial law
and be completely uniform
about its intentions and meaning
to be its group
severely brutal and unforgiving
but it failed to maintain
this status quo
legally
socially
psychologically
institutionally
sexually
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 4:58 PM UTC
Through the window she entered late in to the night
Her infiltration silent, eerie, and driven
Little did I know of my perilous plight
For her eyes were aglow, her spirit was striven
As my head hit the pillow she exclaimed "No, don't nap!"
Stay up with me pal! Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap.
To which I replied "shhh we sleep now"
Then she paused for a moment and furrowed her brow.
She pouted "But why?" and tapped me again
My retort was "fine you cutie, you win, you win"
I'll stay up with you now, no sleep/10
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC
Shower, you
touch me, still,
hotter than
clumsy fingers.
Clumsy advances.
In the water,
I see shapes
rising in steam
built by the
confidence
I can manage,
alone with you,
when I sing.
. . .
Lights out, cast a dark net.
Got the yellow lights outside,
though,
catching my plans
on the
unbalanced heel,
but the assisted glow
just makes my. . .
my aura cut out
a visible,
protective shape.
More than this,
in the music,
wearing my skin,
proud, yet naked,
I
bravely emanate.
Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh))
I won't live forever.
Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh)) Oh ((oh))
I just want some infiltration.
I just ((just just)) I just ((just)) ((just))
I just --
wait. It's no meager thing.
I'm no meager thing.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
I have tried to give birth to a new and improved version of my vision
Exulting blips of exactitude and ambition
Flashes of pretension on a screen of pending dreams
Lacking mobility and projection
Inertia writhes
I'm mainly advertising trying to sell and intrigue
To those who have enough eloquence to persuade my predilection and schemes
Endorsing me providing lifelines and pure consciousness
Lacking the force of extorted themes and exulting worthiness
Cleansing my mind of the mocking bird's trash heap
Help me dissemble the falsified declarations and professions of fiends
I want to be pristine
I beg thee to teach and galvanize me
Endowing me with inexorable sight
Keeping me keen and full of bold might
I am willing to fight
Bring me to the surface of these turbulent seas
No need to mention my frailties and anxieties
All I ask is a breath from the surface of true realities
The urgency constrains my needs for rejuvenation and appreciations
For all those little beautiful things that once meant the world to me
Like pink carnations
Sleeplessness morphs into spells of insomnious hauntings
Stunting my contractions
It's completely and utterly exhausting
A labor deprived of true initiative and wanting
It may sound silly but everything is contradictory
It is these pains that leave me incomplete, ineffectual, and in paralyzing omission
Excluded and feeling great depths of oppression
Despairing and kept in solitary confinement
Suffering more than I'd like to profess
Distressing the matters that cave into my chest
An infiltration of insurmountable anguish
Abolished
Untouched by a shoulder or hand of accommodation
Is it selfish to push for this magnitude of isolation?
I crave cultivation
I want to grow into the Giant Sequoia
But the fires of self doubt leave my branches in ruins
Smoke signals sending sirens
A constant affliction
It's all my own doing
Contingency pleading for nourishment
Somehow knowing thee and ye could constitute for something of legends
Tell that to our reflections
Or maybe it's the fear of fire that terminates our pregnancy
Causing us to introvert instead of projecting
Withholding both you and I from mastery
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
The public debate
a political **********
reminds me
why I hate.
But that's Eton and Harrow not
Toxteth or Jarrow.
I leave the politics to them,
the Southern gentlemen
Up in the shires where men walk on tight wires
and dance to a different song is
where I belong,
from the Midlands to the Tyne where
they drink beer and leave the wine is
another place in time
a place for me.
And while Atlanta burns the gentlemen shall all take turns to **** upon the fire.
but when the hands of 'Ben' unlock and count the votes there'll be a shock when some old lady gets the keys to number ten,
we all remember them old days, the three day week, the hide and seek, the suss', the stop and search, the powers that interrupt, corrupt and end in a debate,
a state of the nation more infiltration, less liberation, more ************
the public schools have fooled us all,
we're ******* but we don't know it yet
we'll get the letter in the post,
the most that we can hope for.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC