"prohibits" poems
when I was a young girl I was raised to believe that a man in the clouds always watched over me
watched over me with all knowing sight as long as I prayed to him every night
as long as I blindly worshiped this being I would be happy and healthy and free
but what is freedom when you are alone in a faith that prohibits the dark unknown?
"I am a jealous God," he said, for I was taught to be meek
having faith in what I see is blasphemy
for a fruitful life on earth, my soul I would sell, if that did not sentence me to eternity in hell
spitting, burning demons aflame
forever tortured in this everlasting game
beaten and bruised and ****** below to a place that no one would choose to go
but He loves me
"you must look well, clean up, wear your dress!"
in order to avoid loneliness
you must follow these ten rules
he ignores the world's strife despite his tools
but He loves me
why do we not thank our doctors and mothers?
we thank God instead of the works of others
what has he done? he sits there and stares
he sits and laughs at what is not fair
but He loves me
he needs time
he needs money
he needs blind faith
he needs me to sacrifice my soul
he needs me to sacrifice who I am
...but He loves me
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 1:50 PM UTC
We had a color you and I.
You were a tantalizing white, vibrant yet subtle. You had the power to magnify everything because of that silent manifestation you comprise when a drop of any other shade was splattered on you, making it incredibly vivid. You were what poets used as muse for there was nothing purer than the flawless white of that glorious spirit yet you were neither dumbfounded nor disappointed by it.
I was a disaster-prone black, ill-fated yet beautiful. I made the light seem brighter, more picturesque; a comparison for better accomplishment. I came out at night to walk the terrors of the hours of darkness, untouched because of this gloomy soul. I was what the holly book prohibits to touch, to indulge all sensations because to drink from me was to imbibe a gallon of sin.
Sadly, beauty and unpleasant have a curious way of finding each other. I don’t remember which of us found the other first; if it was I who saw you shine from miles away or if it was you who found me huddled in a corner.
We were gods you and I. we created a love that transversed worlds. We shamed Orpheus and Eurydice. We disgraced Torin and Keelycael. There was nothing more powerful than the passion we twisted and at the same time nothing was more potent. We came from different places, you from the havens and I from the shallow depths of hell; and everything we made became a freak of nature.
We created the color gray.
We created the color gray from our undefeated essences. We made an unremarkable and unloved color from our insurmountable selves for the reason that we were too prideful to give up each other and at the same time ourselves. We made an abhorred thing because we were never meant for each other.
I realized when I saw you walk away, that last dreadful night, the white in you was somewhat fazed and I looked in the mirror that same night to see the darkness in me leaking. There was a little bit of gray in both of us. That was when I realized we stole pieces of each other.
Yes, my love, we made a color gray.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 8:03 AM UTC
I'm speechless
That's my approach as you approach me
And usually I'm too focused on finding the perfect words
To penetrate the simple space I provide
So when beautiful girls intentionally invade my atmosphere
My need for speech is satisfied
Your beauty speaks sufficiently for two
So while I'm struggling for oxygen, I hope you recognize
Your presence is all I've ever needed to breathe easily
I'm stuck
Between unexpressed elegance
And helplessness
My mouth is screaming out
But frozen completely shut
I'm worried my compliments
May be complications
That my suggestions
Might suppress my objective here
We typically rely on our words
To settle the score
As if you and I are in overtime
Of a tie ballgame
Looking for phrases to frame the scoreboard
With an absolute victor
But I was hoping that you'd be willing to join forces
To break through the proverbial force field
That prohibits rivals from overthrowing obstacles
Because I've always believed the input overpowers the outcome
What if it were possible
To eliminate our speech
So our ears could erase the need to draw conclusions
We don't etch our words in pencil
Our words are enunciated in permanent marker
Brutally beating through our eardrums
Rhythmically reminding us
That silence can be more sweet sounding than any set of syllables
All I know is I'm hell-bent on remaining a straight shooter
My arrows will always be designed for the bulls-eye
But lately I've been questioning my targets
They haven't been painted red and white for all the world to see
They've been camouflaged by constricted communication
Secretly searching for statements that haven't met the airwaves yet
So I'd much rather absorb your definite thoughts
Than accept your remarks as absolute
The truth is
I'm not sure
What needs to be said.
The syllables I've learned to form
Don't apply to situations where
Words remain inherently absent.
And too often we force our hand
To make phrases appear
Where they don't belong.
But something about
Silent speeches is appealing to me.
Because the power in your eyes reduce
The need for any type of sound.
And the shock waves your steps make
As you inch closer to mine
Create the sweetest melodies.
So all I will tell you is this:
Let's leave words out of this.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 6:53 AM UTC
There's a place between society and the wild
Where aimless bodies are piled
We call it the Wastelands
All creatures die of old age
Or hunger inside this cage
The deer are never hit by cars
For they never travel that far
The Wastelands use fear
That's what keeps them here
The Wastelands are a scary place
It's horrifying how nothing happens
It becomes too much to face
So we hide under satin
To provide comfortable resting
And avoid Wastelands testing
The Wastelands are a barren environment
Solitary coyotes learn from the cacti
Who soak up meager moisture
And become prickly to protect it
Never knowing if nourishment was near
They grew prickly because of their fear
We inhabit the Wastelands
We're trapped here
Where the walls of the city
Seem to mirror
The walls of the wilderness
So it's here we build our nest
But surviving is a constant test
Because we have useless hands
Here in the Wastelands
Wastelands
Interaction
Is reaction
Create a faction
And never leave
Even if love cleaves
It lies behind ramparts of containment
And the fear of society's arraignment
Even if peace calls
It stays behind walls
Of trees hiding predators
That keep us embedded here
So we ***** barriers to protect us
From the barriers surrounding us
We find our connections through hatred
And build teams around it
We made foolish deals with Satan
This is what we're amounted
Scavengers from both worlds encroach the Wastelands
Journalists and artists mine our souls
Vultures mine our flesh like gold
Taking what they need and going home
Our rabid mouths begin to show foam
From the frustration of loss
But inactivity is our cross
While we watch carrion feeders
Carry on eating
Our friends
Until we turn and look away
Knowing that'll be us one day
Because in the Wastelands
Friends are just creatures who are near
There are no animals to hold dear
We're afraid to lend an ear
When Wastelands use fear
The Wastelands are hell
Dry river beds tell of a time
When the rain fell
But now we're plagued by drought
You can tell by looking at the trout
They flop on the ground
Wondering where to wander for water
The cacti remain still
It's the Wastelands will
In the Wastelands we wait to die
Although we really want to fly
We're just afraid of heights
Which impedes our sight
Where we can't view over our own barricades
It's fear that prohibits our ability to elevate
And we see that the order is too tall
Back into the Wastelands we fall
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
Tear gas and fear tactics.
Riot gear and semi-automatics.
Our military industrial complex has come home.
The government wire taps your cell phones.
Spies on you with drones.
While bully cops with billy clubs break your bones.
You know the motto:
serve master's interests,
protect master's property.
The crooked politician is today's slave owner.
Officer his overseer.
That sweet war on drug money armed them up.
Homeland Security bought the armored truck.
Nothing left to do but duck and cover up the evidence before it hits the 6 o' clock media dump.
I stand here today in full protest of toy soldiers in bulletproof vests placing American citizens under house arrest
with evening curfews and death threats.
Until those who are sworn to
uphold the law
begin to
abide by the law,
there will never be peace.
There will never be rest.
The Geneva Convention of 1925 prohibits the use of
asphyxiating and poisonous gases, liquids, and bacteriological
methods of warfare.
The United States has spoken out against countless countries
that have use these tactics on their own people
but has stood idly by as the police use it as a tool to disperse
the peaceful protests of American citizens.
This ******** needs to stop.
No one needs to die.
Not a civilian, not a cop.
America's infatuation with arming itself has come with
zero accountability and a severe lack of responsibility.
A scared nation with fingers on triggers have created
a bigger body count and has widened the gap between
police and community.
Hate and bigotry will never disappear from the human psyche.
It is the responsibility of every individual to
bring positivity into the world.
Ignore the intolerant.
Praise the pacifist.
May future generations reject the appalling actions of their forefathers
and usher in a new age of love and peace based on
tolerance and understanding.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
My *** is rare
like a prissy feline riding
a horse with an attitude
that is diamond.
But, oh, when you have it
horizons become golden
Yellow stones Ol' Glory shoots.
The "O" on my mouth is
missing an X.
XO, XO
roughly my own gender prohibits
further exploration.
Sexuality flows like water
crashing and smashing
smooth and rough
refreshing.
Lemonade, **** and nasty
just how I like it.
Puckering, ******* licking
*******
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
little peach colored amphetamine
allows reality
to be a dream
uncertain if it prohibits meaning
or stifles raw creativity
it's hard to decipher when without it
there seems to be no purpose
no motivating factors
are present in its absence
naturalistic existence
e x t i n g u i s h e d
by addictive dependence
lacking attachment to actuality
solely pieces of speed can calm me
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
There is a cup of wine in this barren dessert
But this world prohibits me to take a sip
I am a thirsty man, it gives me pleasure
But in the state of oblivion, I have sinned.
One sip of wine is what draws the line
One sip of wine is what makes this world decide
whether I am a pious person, sliding down the shiny pearls
or a drunken lover, whirling in circles.
There is no name for the union of fire and water
They just create tales about the two poor lovers
And when they unite, evaporation is only witnessed
Instead of the state in which they both enter.
Such is the working of this wonderful Earth
Where seeing is believing, and believing creates Trust
Whatever is veiled, does not exists
Such is love, a long lost art
And this world is lacking artists.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC
The president of the United States is Donald Trump
and under his presidency the country is in a slump.
Could it be because of the way it has been managed
with all of the scandal and divisiveness seen to jump?
The style of politics that a leader in office exhibits
determines the country's fate that enables or prohibits
its people to aspire to their true potential and glory
which is why the current situation is one that inhibits.
It's much better to face the truth than hide behind a mask
of one who doesn't take responsibility for their own task
that's performed in such a way, blaming everyone else
for everything that goes wrong, in deception does bask.
Abuse of power often comes with the way one is elected
if the people themselves have of their leader so detected;
and asked to stand before them to face their suspicions,
when there's any evidence of wrongdoing to be inspected.
One is reminded of the saying that goes something like this
given by Abraham Lincoln perhaps to describe the time of his
own presidency that encountered strong opposition in the past
of the country's history that was so far from being one of bliss:
“You can fool some of the people all of the time,
and all of the people some of the time,
but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.”
― Abraham Lincoln
It must be really hard for anyone to live under constant media scrutiny
with the social unrest sparked by a needless death bordering on mutiny
together with all the media reports about issues, the country's in a mess;
the forthcoming elections will tell which way it'll go to regain stability.
___________________
Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 11:42 PM UTC
A midnight daydream could not match my prolonged slumber,
but the ice cold grin of isolation prohibits my resistance
and such theology burns crisp justifications into my hands.
Golden locks of hair surround the frayed edges of a rug
conversing ideas and mocking the unscripted door I stand on.
So I fabricated a tasteless disposition
to leak through a thousand inconspicuous sermons
that lean against me like a pile of corpses.
Without a single whisper, I abandoned all but a faulty quest
which holds me like a rotting prisoner
between the contrived confessions of a minister
who is required to dress into the eligible axiom,
so he repairs his scattered dependence in the light of day
and polishes the scruffs of his boots with the blessed liquid of God.
But I required none but the shimmer of this crescent
which produced this aberrant midnight daydream.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 4:07 PM UTC
When your youthful command of language
is not enough to convey
what swings its jaws inside you,
when you stand pulling from your shelf
volumes written by the great and inimitable—
names that inspire centuries of admiration,
minds that managed what you cannot,
their icy clarity pummeling you
like a stream of fists,
you of tremble and grief
and writhing weariness—
when your age prohibits you from expressing
your apocalyptic, purgatorial verve the way you want it,
you don’t stop trying,
you don’t stop trying,
you let the sun drop and rise
and then
you launch your body at this wall again,
you bruise yourself willingly and determinedly,
you throw your whole weight into the crash,
you work up a fury of hope, an improbable recklessness,
you keep going and going and going and going
never mind the blood in your mouth or bells in your ears
because you are the whale that beaches itself by choice
and you are right to be this way,
you are brave to keep looking for gold
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
bathtub overflowing, the kitchen sink a-running,
water water everywhere, everybody, getting a wordy
Saturday po-em, ahem, so only, lonely, love poetry,
high pitches, whimpering, like a three year old chillun,
why not me babe? why not me babe?
words uttered somewhere, everywhere, hourly,
maybe even screamed, sung, shouted outed,
with total justification, incredulous incomprehension,
my ticket unpunched, this fate, an indeterminate sentence,
if only I had a penny for every utterance, be a multi-billionaire
and still dissatisfied
*the isolation au courant makes it a thousand times worse,
sometimes, I hold my own hand, remembering what is touch,
just not to forget, like a lazy eye, a missing limb needy for
scratching, a sensating, sustaining pleasure that sorely
disappoints, for the brilliance of it, is in its eclectic electric,
and a solitary spark fizzles, swallowed up, into disappointing reveries
my eyes wet themselves when I see letters airbone, floating, reforming,
why not me babe?
if mine eyes cannot catch another’s, no across-the-room thermometer saturating stare of farenheightened heat, what good this vision?
left with a single despicable desperate cri du to my conurbation,
why not me babe?
my banana bread aroma flies out the open window to meet
and be greeted across the street, with applause and affection,
but our nostrils cannot taste, our lips forbidden, in this hell,
why not me babe?
the quietude so great, I hear the rhythmic breathing of one who
could be my chosen, my one and only, my love poem, exhaling too,
why not me babe?
but the see-through curtain prohibits strangers exchanging ****** fluids, glances of possibility, and enraged, unengaged, smash all my mirrors, cause they don’t answer my question,
why not me babe?
it’s a reverberated echoing, a slap across my face, married to my cryout, a singular sensation of exasperated silence*
pick up my brass decorative magnifying glass, with twisted ivory handle, examine my hands, my lips, my nose, my credit scores, my personal spaces, my declining weight and bank balance, each excuse, belief,
the white spots decorating my sticking out tongue, thinking there’s another sense I’m forgetting, but all I recall is,
why not me babe? why not me babe?
and that is why only love poetry did not get a love poem today...
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 11:00 AM UTC
The life you want
Is not yours to have
The life you want
You believe would make you more glad
The life you want
You covet and try to steal away
The life you want
Is not yours to claim
The life you want
Is all my life is
THIS IS MY LIFE
BUT YOU WANT ME TO GIVE!
The life you want
Would be two of mine
My life is what you want!
You've crossed the line
The life you want
Prohibits me from being special
The life you want
Will only fire missiles
The life you want
I can not understand
When the life you want
Is everything I am...
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 8:41 AM UTC
Do you agree
With me
And my right
Honorable friends
That thinking
Occurs
Without blinking
Absolutely
Thinking
Without blinking,
Prohibits
Smoking and drinking
However,
Connecting and linking
Relates to
Sailing and sinking
Clearly,
Your recommendation
And ongoing
Investigation,
Permitting
The documentation
Be submitted
And approved
By the king
Of nothing
Thus, creating
Avoid
In the process
Of critical thinking
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
I cant read
my hyperactivity prohibits my concentration
it is implied
i am always doing something
whilst feeding my procrastination
if i do not like what i do
if there is no reason at all
why should i be dissarayed?
from my creativity
my passion
my love
they say there is no way out
condemnation is our only reality
I only believe in what I have to say
I say we should all keep fighting
whatever is your present
too gloomy
too bad
too shallow
there is always a spec of hope
a glimpse of light
a reason to shine
There is always a tomorrow
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 2:15 PM UTC
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,
About this
I can already tell you aren’t listening.
“Some days my depression is small, like a firefly in the mouth of a lion.
Other days, it’s the lion.”
You don’t acknowledge me.
“Firefly days aren’t so bad.
Tolerable.
Lion days, however, I call dark days.
It’s not like i fear the dark, and maybe that’s my problem, but I’ve gotten so used to it, it’s like a friend almost.
A toxic friend, slowly consuming me to the point where some days i am held captive in my own bed.
Some days i cannot eat.”
“I thought your problem was laziness.” You say going back to ignoring me.
“If that was the problem I wouldn’t have marks on my wrist that you know don’t come from a cat.
We don’t even have a cat and you know there is something wrong and you refuse to acknowledge it and for what?
Your dignity?
The same dignity that prohibits me from loving who I want because the rest of the world may not agree with it?
The very same dignity that killed your own daughter because you were too proud to get her the help she needed?
Oh, right.
That was my fault.
The same way it is my fault you’re stuck with two kids you didn’t want.
The same way it’s not your fault i tried to take my own life.
Because I was selfish.
Selfish for trying to rid you of burdens that you don't even carry.
I'm sorry I'm not enough for you.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
the inherent harmony of the Arthurian phrase,
always charmed me, and by it, herein employed,
to wrestle/rassle it to the ground, like two preteen boys,
in a do or die, which prohibits ****** harm but releases
the testosterone that helps them moves them to the next,
Once and Future
stage, more a platform, to leg up further, to the next step,
that will be the once and future reforming, for are we not
always wrestling with our Once, this imprecise but prescient
point when we have arrived, knowing intuitively, it is not
a terminus, but just another way station to I-do not-know,
but knowing with genetic certainty that
when you get there,
that you have reached and met the requirements of what it means
to be, to exist as, to be so noted on the continuum of a
Once and Future
existence.
Apr 22, 2024
Apr 22, 2024 at 4:57 PM UTC
She sits there
With flaws on her body
She sits there
Hair on her legs making a little garden of roses
She sits there
Volcanoes on her face
Looking like they are about to erupt
Yet she manages to maintain balance and equality inside
Well sometimes
She sits there
Carelessly
Yet still with care for the world and everyone, everything, in it
She sits there
Still
With a tornado spinning the thoughts in her head
Making her deal with it because clicking ruby red heals doesn't make the problems go away
She sits there
Clutching the cross around her neck
Mumbling prayers
A cloud releasing small raindrops
She sits there
Being an ally,
A friend,
The person that listens when no one else does,
She waits for you to tie your shoe while everyone else walks away.
But she is also the one left behind on the sidewalk
She still sits there
Knowing how others treat her
But not letting that reflect negatively on how she treats others
She sits there
And look at that,
With a smile on her face,
She continues to grow,
Nothing prohibits her from moving forward,
She is unstoppable,
She is beautiful,
She is grace,
She is laughter,
She is sunshine,
She is light,
The light that awakens the dark,
The light that makes the moon shine,
She is everything and more.
She sits there
Being radiant
Being herself
She sits there
Knowing who she wants to be and what it takes to get there
She sits there
Patiently
She sits there
Being me
I am
Sitting there
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 1:58 PM UTC
When the sun yawns its last farewell,
Lonely hearts plot their rendezvous;
Stay on the path that our dreams have blazed,
When darkness falls, I'll come to you
Silently, we'll greet each other,
For we must not disturb the moon;
He'll tell the sun of our escapade --
Dawn's light would end our tryst too soon
In our dreams love is gratified,
Its beauty totally revealed;
Even though distance prohibits touch,
Secret longings shall be unsealed
Though mutely we communicate,
My poet, my love, you know how
To weave your sweet words into a wreath,
Laying it gently upon my brow
And to your heart I'll render proof
Of the faithful love that you seek;
But I'll not disturb the silent night,
To touch your heart, I need not speak
And this night will bear witness to
A simple truth to which we're bound:
Our love transcends silence and distance,
All this confirmed ..... without a sound
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
This is an instruction of a dying man. He signs a form that prohibits the doctor from going to extreme lengths to keep him alive. This is indirectly consented suicide. This is the act of a man who no longer wants to live. This, is the instruction of a dying man.
So, Death is knocking at the door and I have decided to not let Deaths’ knock go unanswered. I’ve lived all the life I was meant to and now my body has run its course because it wasn’t meant to get me passed this point - I am about to die.
Family and friends wrapped closely around me like the love they have for me and I’ve left them no control over my life. I’ve made a decision I don’t have to live with - but they do.
If it’s my time, and I’ve done all I can in this life, do not resuscitate me. Do not bring me back to a life where my purpose is fulfilled, and my destiny has been made manifest. Don’t bring me back to be a dormant body watching the fruits of my work! Do Not Resuscitate me
No one knows their time. The painful truth is, when the time comes, that’s hardly the wrong time. If we had a say on when to go, I have a feeling we’d still wipe ourselves out early. We’re already afraid to live, what more if we had the choice. If we had the choice, that would render the works of Marvel irrelevant! Thanos wouldn’t be so bitter about life, but the rest of us would.
We would end our conversations with “Good nights” and tell them to “sleep tight” and they’d take us literal. It would be a good night for them to sleep tight enough to fit inside a coffin. Death would be proud to not have to scour the earth preying on life.
Do Not Resuscitate me
If time allows, and the Heavens agree, I will embark on my last journey with the last few breathes I have. I will boldly walk into the light, and I’d be anxious to see what’s on the other side. I wouldn’t look back.
To be continued..
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 5:41 PM UTC
Dressed in dreamy eyes
But carrying
A sharp tongue
--
Thru THESE days!
--
Seeing the
NEW BORN CHILD
always
---
We can be FREE
...
--
--
But
Freedom is a very certain thing
One that has no hiding place
One that prohibits
ALL THE GAMES WE PLAY
...
Come
We are all we need
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
-
oh, considerate
counselors~
i fear the scars of your instruction
will never erode, even after i
melt down your mental
tarbabies
with a solution
that i hope will make
them chemically dissolve away,
leaving nothing but your staples.
what was it really ?
hyperactivity, autism,
anomalies of perception,
social detachment,
maybe—
a _Gift_ ?
well, i guess it would not have
made a difference, everybody
knew of this but
___me-___
patching up my gray matter mistakes
with remedies permanently cemented
between impressionable foldings
i feel this cure like masonry damming
where free-flowing thoughts that ride
upon streams into oceans were supposed
to have discharged naturally,
stopping me from causing my
summers to mix with everybody
else's winters (or vise versa).
you see, my natural configuration
would have sated for me what
would —in turn— infuriate others,
thus the picket around me was built
sufficiently lofty so i would never
grow tall enough to oversee it.
these days i often mistaken this perimeter
for bricks that line the inside of a well,
complete with a leaky bucket
swinging overhead,
_beyond my
reach—_
of all things an adult child could ever
want for Christmas, the removal of
what now prohibits true potential
these _things_ they instilled into me
so i could not violate the principals
of conventional wisdom in their day—
but this is
__My Day__
now !
and dead counselors need
not protect their world
from __Me__ anymore !
and this _Gift_ ?
it continues drifting
conspicuously aloft
in my gray ocean—
a Divine Gratuity that remains
—to this day— unsuitable
for redemption...
s jones
© 2020
.
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 7:06 AM UTC
Every thought I have is fueled by you.
I start rolling up in words I'm not controlling.
I lost the trace of time.
I throw myself down and write some poetry, because that is what will keep my emotions alive and well.
That is my remedy, to never give up on myself.
I listen to your voice in my head, but the things you tell me scare me beyond belief.
I do not know why my mind came up with you.
An urge to say a lot, what prohibits, to speak out that which in the heart inhibits?
It's time to open the windows to your soul.
Your eyes no longer see.
Your ears no longer listen.
Your heart no longer beats.
Open the door to your heart.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
I was king, I was great, I was different,
I was everything... now I’m something that doesn’t listen,
“I need a future, I need a purpose,”
To insist on a need means it’s the contrary I’m missing,
What is it that prohibits the spirit?
“A limited truth.”
I traded idealism for imagination, idioms, and moments,
I told my last lie and watched the domino fall; past-life points now obsolete, I’m currently projecting atonement,
There are no opponents,
If you’re fighting to belong you’ll die a communist; homeless:
We’ll build extensions of what we’re neglecting,
Project it as an idea or weapon;
Worthy of investment, detrimental in a second,
We’ll emphasize value, although we’ll never own it,
Twist empathize to divide choice,
We’ll sympathize like it defines voice,
Children/Public victimized;
But, he did send his condolences...
Enloa Gay offspring reflected a direction,
Little boy and Fat boy’s catastrophic erections;
***** with forced seeds, liberty gave birth to perception...
Must we congregate after acknowledging an imperfection, or at the sense of a disconnection?
I.e., is there ever a right time to reflect on?
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC