"looting" poems
Last week, among friends black and white,
among some discussion of protests in Ferguson
and the related looting of stores, I invoked
the word. It was an admission, in a round
of confessions, of something about myself
that I didn't like: that I had perceived Michael Brown
in that way based on his possible participation
in a strong-armed robbery.
When Travon Martin was in the news,
I was inflamed like many others who wanted
George Zimmerman in jail for ******
The outcome of that trial was an injustice,
I was utterly certain. Why does this case
in Missouri feel different? More importantly,
Who is inside me that still wants to rise
in defiance of 48 years of learning how
to be a better person, a person without prejudices,
stereotyping, labeling of others, hurtful language?
Where is the hippie girl now? How does she live
with this other person? Am I Sterling, Gibson,
a hater and spewer of viciousness, a lover
of separation and separateness, that I should
invite damage to my own relationships
with those I love and cherish and respect?
What is a **** but a bully, and what is a bully
but someone who pushes words around like
weapons, spits them out indiscriminately,
so that they land on the already bruised heart
and set it on fire.
Whose heart, besides mine, now sits in smoke
and ash, with that word like a brand
still sore and permanent, having been spoken
aloud?
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Match, match forward and go, you heroic sons of America
Reconnoiter into the strongholds of boko haram,
And restore our captive girls from the foul custody,
Lawlessly held hostage by the connoisseurs of terror,
Go on and recover poor souls from ribald of religion
Impishly created by Moslem from the satanic verses,
Regulating foray of terror on the poor of the poor
****** mahyeming, looting and executing massacres,
Match on and on yee angels of democracy,
Don’t stop in any haste or in any wonder,
To help in the sham flabbergastations,
About the Igbos who fought the Biafra,
And the Yorubas who federally defended,
Under the aegis of Obasanjo the Sandhurst
General, where are they all to save the girls
Of Nigeria from the Islamist terror
Excuted by boko haram the handmaid of evil.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
☺☻╬☻
Finish the crackers --- grab a smoke . . .
of Ferguson my muse will sing.
A call to arms --- God’s fires to stoke;
let Truth and Freedom ring!
Take to the streets; avenge this wrong
and hasten the end of racist rule.
Justice, though it may tarry long
will find its target in the duel.
Young Michael Brown, like all true saints
found himself craving Swisher Sweets.
He robbed a store, whose camera paints
impartial portrait. In the streets
the thief refused to be detained
and so threw off police restraint.
Though sin escaped, the Law remained
and made a martyr of this saint.
The agitators did their thing:
inflaming thugs to smash and loot,
while racists baited hooks, to string
the press. Officials followed suit.
Angels, although not always kind,
do not display this attitude –
aware of how the police mind
responds to such ingratitude.
We ought to thank the police force
for showing mercy under stress.
The culprit chose a foolish course
and made a God-awful mess.
Prince Michael met ignoble fate
(that ghetto-Christ, that righteous youth)
His sacrifice in vain --- though great,
could not impede the march of Truth.
Ferguson, our eyes turn towards you . . .
are you now able to admit
while reality rewards you
that looting and lying ain’t ****
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
Up north
There's this thing called queuing
Down south
It looks more like ******* looting
I can see the trouble brewing
Squeezing on the tube – can't even get my ******* shoe in
Some of these miserable ******** look like they need shooting
Stuck on the northern line back to Tooting
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 6:44 AM UTC
They are so much cunning and cruel
Yet they possess, intelligence and smartness
Yes, they are filled with over confidence
They are absolutely shameless too
Don’t you feel my dear?
They don't have any sort of fear
They are beating us, hitting us
And we are helplessly watching them
They are neither allowing us to weep
Not they are letting us to cry loud
They are snatching our source of livelihood
They are looting our meagre savings too
They are boring bigger holes in our pockets
By their powerful invisible technological drills
Selling all sorts of stuff they use to produce
Drugs, sanitizers, hand washes and what not
They are asking to keep our ugly mouth fully shut
By putting beautiful, colourful and fancier masks
They are not letting us to meet our friends
They are not letting us to share our meals
They are not allowing us to share our views
They are not allowing us to share our thoughts
With any of our friend, relatives and fellow citizens
They are just telling us to follow whatever they say
They are throwing ******* and garbage on us
In the name of science, health and hygiene
There appears to be not much science
In their so call science and modern science
Shamelessly they proclaim to be our saviours
Saving us from the army of an invisible enemy
Although existence of any such army is doubtful
But their intentions are doubtful and doubtful
If any such invisible army of enemy really exists?
It may have been raised and owned by them only
To **** the lives of all the other fellow humans on earth
And to fulfil their greed and lust for power and money
They are planning to inject in our bodies
Some drugs, chemical or any such thing
They will even charge money for that
And try to fill their everlasting greed
I wonder, who they are?
God, Demi Gods or the Devils
Or they are just a band of inhuman
Resembling a band of nasty humans
Do they really have some superpower?
Or they are just a bunch of ugly parasites?
Trying to draw everything from our lives
Just to feed himself and to recreate his own life
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 6:41 AM UTC
Breaking his enthusiasm as my pencil spasm insanely random like a Gatlin cannon my magnum blastin shots taken so I'm shootin then walking off like cam Nuked'm these civil lies causing an evolution I'm killing guys its the only solutions dude blowing smoke too much pollution on the same page until I go rampage and start looting enraged second phase using the bars from my cage to punch lines through these frames I'm battle rappin as quick as they can match'em let it happen captain Hook I'll patch ' em in tandom with passion my fraction got these ******* trashing like DJs scratching I'm thirsty for action these weapons I'm packing get rowdy they start clapping like jacks sons put a cap in your captain capitalize off what happens I'll top 5 of your top 10 you fighting for your life I'm just saying one with a slight of hand I'm disarming this man King of Kings Schooling these Lord of rings on thier aim, I'm top tier they lame I'm **** ' em all with the same ball and chain pen dragging them all to my hall of slain, this a deadly game, and I bringing the major pain.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
They tell me I can do anything.
Looking down the throat of a challenge.
Hanging on to the coat tails of life by the fringe,
above a fire that is trying to singe...
...Who I am
My Identity
Targeted by
a self created entity.
To bring me down...
...Below my potential
to see what is essential
through consequential actions.
I AM A MAN!
no matter my wingspan... I CANNOT FLY!
And those childhood encouragements are a lie.
But through accomplishing what I am capable
I find that my boundaries are escapable.
I'm not shooting for the stars,
or looting and ending up behind bars,
but I am me, myself,
doing what I can so I'm not rotting on a shelf.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
Nelson
gives that wry kind of naval guy smile as he watches them all down along
Whitehall and
I,
the bystander standing still until the last casts another look, wide eyed to see the gay pride
festival,
best of all,
no looting
no stabbing
no shooting just the hooting and the hollering and the crowds of people following
enjoying all the fun
dancing in the sun
on Saturday.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Adrift on her very first voyage
With the sea coursing in through her bow
Lay the cruise ship, the S.S. Lumbago
There was scarcely a chance for her now
But Ahoy! On the western horizon
In a flurry of yellow and green
That ender of blight and a damsel’s delight
And he’s always on cue for his scene
It’s Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar!
It’s got seating for seventy people
And the service is well above par
There’s an adequate medical unit
And a modest but elegant bar
What more could a man ever dream of
In a Luxury Budgerigar?
Well…
The forests of England were burning
So the foxes escaped to the city
The badgers had taken to looting
And the squirrels had formed a committee
But who should arise from a manhole
With a confident gleam in his eye?
That destroyer of woes with a spring in his toes
And he’s quick with a witty reply…
Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar!
With adjustable hose pipe attachment
It’s got wheels like a feathery car
The forests were dowsed and the fauna re-housed
With a three day retreat at a spa
It’s a thing to admire and surely acquire
The Luxury Budgerigar!
But…
Susan was stricken with sorrow
Twas her darkest, most fearful hour
A spider had wrestled her out of her bath
And set up his home in the shower
But who should jump out of the wardrobe
With an innocent look on his face?
That singer of shanties, remover of *******
And first in an obstacle race
Sir Patrick Stewart!
And his Luxury Budgerigar
With a sucker for spiders and beetles
That deposits them into a jar
There’s a tiny wee restaurant to feed them
It was given a Michelin star
A remarkable thing with retractable wings
Is a Luxury Budgerigar
So if you should be in a pet shop
And you see just the critter for you
Please heed this advice: make a note of the price
Then proceed to the back of the queue
When you ask for your preference of creature
Should it whistle, slither or waddle
Do as Sir Patrick Stewart did
And opt for the Luxury model
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Don’t call it a protest
When clearly it’s anybody’s guess
From what I see it’s the anatomy
Of how things can digress
Don’t call it a protest
If it’s an urban insurrection
Although I feel at best
It's a blow to the mid-section
Don’t call it a protest
Or the perpetrators simply thugs
After years of daily oppression
Knowing what oppression does
Don’t call it a protest
Call it anything other than that
When you see the anger boiling over
Because they’ve taken it to the mat
Don’t call it a protest
Or believe the media’s spin
When grievances aren’t addressed
It’s no telling where it will end
Don’t call it a protest
Or even try to dignify
The looting and the burning
Without answering the question why
Don’t call it a protest
Or mention First Amendment rights
When the majority of the people
Have to spend sleepless nights
Don’t call it a protest
Or look for a convenient excuse
For how they expressed their frustration
Through criminal acts of abuse
© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
Dr Manmohan Singh is the most honest Prime Minister
Ms Sonia Gandhi is his dearest sister
India is proud of Her Silvery Himalayas
And her Inestimable super scandals
If She is able to progress with such a large scale corruption
Which is as vibrant and furious as volcanic eruption,
Every foreigner must be jealous of her glorious future
If the politicians become a bit patriotic in nature
G2 spectrum is the greatest scandal in India of incredible magnitude
The politicians and the bureaucrats need to be complimented on their fortitude
Mother India is a benign Goddess of great treasure
She can withstand any arson , looting,robbery or exploitation beyond any measure
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 2:18 AM UTC
I woke up on a ship upon the sea ,
Thinking I had finally found my sailor.
You had maps drawn with lines and X's marking spots of interest,
And I thought I was your favorite treasure.
Romanced me from land to sea, but turns out you are just another pirate looting girls hearts for pleasure.
Capsized, we've been hit, and you abandon ship,
And I abandon my anxious breath.
Drowning in emotions I become swallowed in the waves of tears.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
Take me back to when top hats were like business suits
When the white moths had become black with filth
When the Thames was brown like the rotted teeth of beggars
And not just because of the mud
When the Irish and the Slavic were exotic
When London was Birmingham
When Birmingham was Liverpool
When Liverpool was a country village
When there were millions
And yet they were still so innocently oblivious
Take me to the city clothed in black
For there was always a funeral somewhere
London
The noisy factories
And crowded slums
The fear that the cold brings
The pain that disease brings
The real London
The honest London
The dark, deadly London of my nightmares
Every narrow, dimly-lit alleyway dripping with **** and blood
Full of criminals and drunks
Ominous dark brown bricks
The suffocating stink that follows you wherever you go
Cursing, begging
Lifting, cuffing, gaffing, looting, nicking, pinching, swiping, thieving, pilfering, pillaging
Hundreds of words for stealing
Where the poor are painfully poor
Where every woman that smiles at you is a **********
Corpses lying in the streets
Next to gas lamps
The only beacons of light
People packed into bedrooms like chickens
Sleeping on the string
Highly disturbing
But it's best not to interfere
For someone else will deal with it
Industry and decency will save us all
There is no trace of that now
Except the noble stone buildings
Commissioned by the corrupt
This is my fear and obsession
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
In the swirling zephyr,
The grass dances weakly
I heard an escort,– Awaits my way to the Wolf Hall.
A triumphant sinister;—
My broken pleasure,— How lovely to see thy scraps again..
Such a bounty hunter
What the gods want now?
Doth not turn me around!—
Doth not hang me!
If thou loose my ties,—
Thou wilt be a murderer of all vines!
Spare me!— I am not thy prey;
I am not one of Greek's peccant,
Please, off loathing my purity!
This predator devoured me..
The ****** of his dark matter, stabbed me..
The mob held me captive,— by net traps
The culprit lies next to me—
Acted one alike raw; then I was sacked,
I felt the bethel was mocked,—
But my Lord won't despise me.
A paralyzed arrest screeched me
I was stroke— by a vermin quenched for meat..
Thou art the most cherished
It is still me..
Scattered with mud,
Dressed in a blanket;
Hoping to kiss thee
Bend for belief,— and not forgiveness
Wherefor thy body shivers?
Thy cup is condensing,
Lips ill-looking;
Red flames changing blue—
Am I still the hue?
I sensed—
Thou fell into the pit
My shreds, thy lust
The roots art on the tip of thy nails!
An ancestral plague poisoning whoever sits,—
And bridesmaking is a promiscuous habit—
To grasp a braided hair,— for an accessory
Behold, the lineage of romantic paintings,
Whence the bonds turn to heist
Looting innocence and staying in history...
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 4:13 AM UTC
Sound of a pen clattering
Admonishing beauty of arts rendering
Lines of rhyme rhyming
Mixed with rhythm rhythming
Like a poem life flowing
Like a drama life pushing
Like a prose life rushing
And then comes representing
Unrepentant life projectoring
The literati's lyrical lyricalling
Recalling the gods of writing
With written words calling
Calling calling calling coming
And hence societal ills hiding
Bad leaders, leadership running
Disillusioned souls troubling
Marginalised masses crying
And crime rate like jet flying
Bombs like pure water exploding
Politicians still stealing and looting yet fearing
Fear! phobia! fear embracing
Minimum wage hurting Governors like bee stinging
Unemployment destroying like earthquaking
Half baked graduate graduating
Our education unseriously provoking
Undefined boundaries exposing
Immigrants immigrating
Police, Soldiers, customs, Road safety, etc all corrupting like they feeding...
Inec election in chaos resulting
Nigeria a name of peoples's confusing
NEPA, WATER, ROAD, HOSPITAL unrealistic absurding...
Corruption! corrupting!! corruptioning!!! Are we starting or finishing? Building or destroying?
The lyric of the literati busy deconstructing...
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Faces, shiny faces
in a shiny magazine.
Face of a gypsy girl,
the face of a queen.
Face of a princess
regal and fair.
Face of a rich girl
caught in the glare.
Face of a film star
captured in a dream.
Face of a model with
skin smoothing cream.
Faces on beaches
soaking up the sun.
Face of a beauty with
the potential to stun.
Faces draped with jewellery
and make-up to ****
Alluring expressions
intended to thrill.
Observe ****** glamour,
young fresh and bright.
Drown in the images
reflecting your delight.
Absorb the pretty faces
of perfect colour tone.
Identity assimilation
won't leave you alone.
Forever trapped by faces
in a faceless prison.
Individuality lost in
a nightmare vision.
Faces commanding
the commodities of life.
The looting of pockets
both legal and rife.
Faces of power corrupted
through and through.
Keep checking out the faces
who are checking up on you.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
Khabele is an enemy from the spiritual world
Debacularly rocking peace of people in my village
My Hamlet, or my country, my continent or in my piety,
He starkly hates anything human, especially the family,
His tool box against human family is a composition
Or dark Patchworks of opportunism, ethnicity, poverty,
Fluidly disordered gender, abortion, **** diseases, war,
Crude religion, divorce, self-pride, shallow thought,
Infertility, love for money, laziness, corruption,
Politicization, public indiscipline, self-idolatry,
Shameless thievery, looting and gambling,
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 5:15 AM UTC
There's an apartment filled with drugs
Somewhere in the past
Where I'd roll around on my rug
With a body of little mass
I was malnourished
And felt like a tourist
I protected embarrassing ****** desires
And felt like I couldn't speak
I thought I'd stay silent until I retired
But the pressure got too deep
I was afraid of what they think
And the Kool-Aid they drink
I made mistakes
And tried to act straight
I felt fake
Which engendered hate
My friends stopped seeing me
After I stopped being me
When everything got too cold
I reached out for somewhere to hold
And grasped a syringe
To erase my cringe
I didn't sleep on a pallet
Or get beat by a mallet
My parents loved me
Isn't that lovely?
I felt pain all the same
I felt like I had fame
And everybody was watching
And grenade launching
I tried to foolishly avoid it
Which proved to be ineffective
I thought drugs might destroy it
Which led to countless injections
I've seen interesting things
Like wives selling rings
To be drug dealer bling
And the constant scheming
Of the get-rich-quick dreaming
These events become boring
After you see girls *******
And homeless people looting up
And pregnant women shooting up
And pulverizing police pulling up
The difference becomes starker
Once things get even darker
My life had no worth
Back and forth
Between rehab and relapse
So much time had elapsed
Life became about learning how one thing leads to another
Like a caring mother who gives birth to two brothers
One is of use to society
For he has proper propriety
The other is a poet
But doesn't know it
He can carve out a peaceful existence
That can be his righteous resistance
He needs to be nurtured
By someone he collides with
Somewhere in the future
At a location to be decided
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 5:15 AM UTC
You can tell by a pale shadow of former self
And shape of the scattered pieces
You can tell ,
From the pieces of the once bread basket of Africa
That someone is slowly
And artistically looting the store
I can see,
The trailing blood and the aura of warmth
That there was once,
Electrical pulse of the heart
As povo cry,
For broad-based
and inclusive Dialogue to rescue,
Yes!
I could hear,increasing calls for precipice
And wails to avert further implosion
And the winds of memory floating by
The crescendo in the calls for sound talks
Yes sound dialogue,
In the wake of an increasingly restless citizenry struggles
Still dustbin of a golden history
You can sense from the tremble of the chambers
The undying pulse and the scent of a beloved
That the heart once danced to a dreamers' beats
To them tears are,
The horse pipes they use to water their worth
To multitudes,tears are words the heart can’t express
As the black cloud sheds rays of hope
Still leaves “imminent light” behind
As the mass bank hope
In our eternal message of hope
Ushered by Martin Luther King, Jr.
"One day dawn will come".
I can see traceable traces
Of corrupt foot prints
And traceable track record
Of 'prominent' looting finger prints
As the influential turn aside the needy from justice,
Rob the poor Chimanimani people of their right,
Making widows their spoil,
And willy-nilly making the fatherless their prey!
Dear LORD!
Why your wrath upsets not these moral monsters?
Who are by no means worthy of following
Those that deprive the afflicted
Those who because of their hard and impenitent hearts
Attract your necessary reaction to objective moral ill
Dear Lord why has your wrath not fallen
On rightful time?
How can hell be just?
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 6:07 AM UTC
if the world was ending in 7 days -
nobody else knows it
but there's nothing anyone can do to stop it
how do you want to spend your last week on earth?
*** Who is this?
sorry [sadface emoji]
...
I'd go looting.
break into stores, steal TVs, printers,
whatev I can get my hands on
why?
i mean, what's the point?
The **** of it.
Never been looting before
You?
nope, never been looting.
I meant, what would you do with your last week?
i dunno
that's why i'm taking suggestions
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
once again
this time in Georgia
communities of color
saved democracy
from spiraling into
violent authoritarianism
in spite of armed white mobs
incited by the president's men
breaking into the nation's capitol
looting and destroying
interrupting certification hearings
forcing members of congress
to seek sheltered places
killing a policeman
causing five more deaths
the scenes
shocked the world
and most U. S. citizens
america has become small again
no more a beacon of democracy
just another banana republic
in a real democracy
citizens cast their votes
and then respect
certified election results
Jan 9, 2021
Jan 9, 2021 at 5:25 PM UTC
Blood on the street;
The man who cast the first stone
was discharged and acquainted
While passersby were jailed
Cabal in the chambers;
Making treacherous remarks
Lady Justitia is not only shortsighted
The silence of her treachery is deafening
Customise looting spree;
Men of means are pardon of their sins
While men of straw burn in hell
A cleansing ritual to appease angry gods
Two mad men fighting without cause
One is protected with immunity clause
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
Men with rambling fever
Are born not bred
Their diagnoses are terminal
No cure but to go
And they sell their souls to the devil
For a train to hitch a ride on
And they'll die along the highway
While their women stay home
Remaking beds
That have never been slept in
I slept in this morning
Even though I didn't need to
I stretched my limbs
Out into the ocean
Trying to stay afloat alone in my bed
And through my spyglass
I still couldn't find the edge of it
No body of land to stand solidly on
I concluded that beds must be round
Orbiting microcosms floating through apartments
I got up and didn't tuck the sheets in
I got up and didn't make it
I didn't make it through college
Because as soon as I got settled
Into my air mattress
I un-made it
Everything called my name
I tried to ignore the voices
I tried to avoid them
But the mattress deflated quickly
The sails inflated cleaner than a cloudy day
The maps on my wall needed navigating
I had too much exploring to do
I've read about explorers
Men who made their fortunes
Hunting gold and looting temples
Never returning home
Because the beds they left, they had already met
Men who mapped the oceans
And gave their names to continents
Practically for free
I will freely admit that I'm like them
Unable to stop myself
From risking it all
For a chance at nothing at all
Unable to stay in one place
For long enough
To make my bed and lie in it
I will freely admit that rambling fever
is not ladylike
I will freely admit I'm an
Unsettled woman
I will freely admit
I shed lives and beds with purpose
I shed lives and beds like skin
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC
The ashes of our loved ones are blown in the wind,
The blood of our siblings fill the streets,
Politicians we elected rob us, with impunity,
Working tirelessly to reduce us to bits;
They **** our soldiers- our dearly beloved brothers,
Send them to a war which they themselves create,
They have underarmed the soldiers but arm the enemy,
Their callousness and negligence- we cannot underestimate;
Their is no one to speak for us- no one at all,
They sit in their noble seats lobbying for themselves,
They fill their homes with the resources of our people,
While these people are left with little to fend for themselves;
Our educational system has been brought to ruin,
Medical system is now in a deplorable state,
Fund looting is now the order of the day,
To impoverish my people even further is all they debate;
Our security operatives are those that **** us more,
Our hearts are always filled with fear when they come our way,
They maim and **** even when we protest for justice,
Who then should we run to when killers come our way?
The minority among us are disenfranchised,
Jobs belonging to our youths have been stolen away,
Those who create jobs for themseves earn too little to live by,
The pensions of pensioneers are hijacked day by day;
Our bills are on the increase while salaries remain the same,
The salaries of some are slashed day by day,
In the midst these difficulties is the firing of workers,
As wages become burdensome for companies to pay;
I pray that youths like me will open their eyes and see,
That all we have is ourselves not these enemies,
If this lesson is learnt we will quit fighting eachother,
And tolerate one another- finding ways to sustain peace;
Shall this oppression continue while we stand and watch?
No- we will rise and create a new era of representatives?
A people who will be elected from our very own,
People of our own generation to replace these theives.
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
Blazing and looting and feist's
Screaming "surrender!"
Machetes through a violent haze.
A group of scoundrels rioting,
Crashing and trampling as they
Wildly start howling while
Throwing bottle bombs.
Uncomfortably cramped into a secret crevice;
Violets, soothing for a moment.
Then bodies toppled over and
Singled out
Is such an existence for one to
Be devout to?
A sudden breeze, caress the aftermath of
A loosely worn disease.
Sleepy eyes, seemingly far off and
drooping low; solving puzzles.
Gazing with purpose and intent;
A veneer that's out lost upon a pier.
Swinging to a requiem,
Pacing In a retelling.
My friend, again, speak amends and
Shine a light that transcends my
Fears and my tears that prevail;
So misguided In deed.
So sure so certain that
What's done is right
But now the meanings all disguised and
Out of sight.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC