"prowling" poems
1058
Bloom—is Result—to meet a Flower
And casually glance
Would scarcely cause one to suspect
The minor Circumstance
Assisting in the Bright Affair
So intricately done
Then offered as a Butterfly
To the Meridian—
To pack the Bud—oppose the Worm—
Obtain its right of Dew—
Adjust the Heat—elude the Wind—
Escape the prowling Bee
Great Nature not to disappoint
Awaiting Her that Day—
To be a Flower, is profound
Responsibility—
46.9k
Advice from Freuchen , the explorer
When Arctic blizzards blow
in Northern Greenland
and your supplies are low
and dwindling
the best advice is build an igloo
and wait out the storm.
And when you hear the wolves
howling with hunger
and prowling on your igloo roof
it’s best to go outside
and sing - only occasionally
though you will fight to be heard
above the judder of the wind.
Inside the igloo will be problematic
the walls seem to close in
as claustrophobic days proceed
it’s not an illusion
but a fact
each breath freezes moisture in the walls
and breath by breath they thicken
spaces close around your body
breathing yourself in a coffin of ice.
There’s no instrument of death
devised by man to so terrify
as being locked in space and time
each breath reminding you
of that closeness to that final loss
of breath and an icy Arctic death.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
There is a body floating in the water of Lake Michigan again, but no one is willing to fish it out. There is a body floating in the pond near my subdivision again, but everyone already knew that anyway.
I am sitting eighty miles away, overlooking a city that is not mine, thinking about how the moon outside my window is the same moon that you can see from down below in your partially frozen-over dirt bed. I am thinking about the vampire that sits in his apartment, chugging two-to-three bottles of blood a week, and wondering if he is haunted by the same ghosts as I am.
It’s taken me eighteen years to realize that I was infected with a different variation of his curse all along—I am less human and more lycanthrope than I would like to admit. I am not like you, I am not like him, I am my own breed and that terrifies me. (There are black cats prowling in my heart and fragments of mirrors in my liver and salt that bleeds from my heels when I walk.)
No matter how many rabbits’ feet I tie to my keys, how many dreamcatchers I put above my bed, how many cloves of garlic I hang over my door, I am never able to rid myself of the chill that goes hand in hand with the phantom you left here.
Mother, I think I killed a man two full moons ago and I haven’t been the same since. I threw his body into the lake and watched him drift out into the unknown, watched the kraken drag him down, watched the water spew him back up like a cork. And now I need you to make your way back to the land of the living to sit by my side. I want you to cut off my head and make me a trophy animal. Create a rug from my fur. Eat my organs and freeze the rest for winter. Use me for your own survival. I just want to be helpful.
I want to be everything the vampire was not but my fingers are breaking from holding on too tight.
I should let go.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
.
Aimlessly wandering
with a feeling of agitation,
caught somewhere between
browsing with interest
and prowling with intent.
Distressed and unsettled
like anticipating trauma,
mooching with an emotion
that something is imminent
yet its nature remains veiled.
The horizontal line defines a stability and yet,
it has started to list off to one side.
Tiny perforations promise fragmented logic
by osmosis revealing the storm implied.
The tap of excitable energy is dripping slow
threatening balance with a flood rip tide.
Empathy walks with the expectant father pacing
and coils of despair knot so deep inside.
A nervous anxiety
grips psychology and waits,
caught somewhere between
bleak submissive acceptance
and stark naked panic.
© Pagan Paul (22/05/18)
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
# *I hadn’t meant to spy
just an evening’s walk along the beach
knowing that things are sometimes strewn there after storms
between a gust of wind—a break in clouds
Coming upon moonlight
gleaming on wet teenage backs
Two—
by a leaning erosion fence
fondling the last discoveries of childhood
fumbling with the barriers of her bikini
behind the erosion fence
out of sight and forbidding
Breeding like sea grass by rhizomes
prowling that neck, those *******
Gasping! Warring!
for the land of white warmth below their tans
His hands grip, lift, position, insist
By such undertow
mouths and hips pinioned in disbelief...
where they cannot be seen
two half-rounds in rhythm – struggle in the surge of being
as the surf binds them in refrains
about the ankles* #
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 9:48 PM UTC
EVERY LITTLE FISH CAN SWIM
1893
saw the beginning of me.
I was born
in a railway carriage
between somewhere
and somewhere else
in an Europe that
would change with the map
the lines redrawn
by War
some unpronouncable
European nowhere.
A barrel *****
was playing a tune that
would soon be forgotten
on the station platform
when Mamma and I
arrived
at our final destination
the train breathing like a dragon.
Its whistle
cutting through time.
Later I would remember
a little wooden acorn
at the end of a string on the blind
tapping against the window
as if it were admonishing
the dawn demanding
entrance to
the room when I was three and
pulling the blind up and then
pulling the blind down.
"Shadow people"
thrown against the wall
would not survive
a morning.
All night they chattered
amongst themselves
prowling the room
that was holding me.
Debating whether to
eat me now or later.
"Beings" merely made from
the edge of a wardrobe or
a chest of drawers
the brass **** at the end of
my bed where clothes
thrown over a chair
made them come alive
I believe
in them until
I was nearly seven.
Too scared to ***
in the porcelain ***
wetting the bed
to the anger of Mama.
And now 1963
will more than likely see
the end of me
as I am
and the mind
that created who I was
offers me these
fragments of insignificance
that amount
to being a life.
I laugh as Noël
Coward warbles
in his shellac'd world
forever singing
"But I can't do anything at all
but just love you!"
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 5:57 AM UTC
Prowling through the undergrowth
In our barging juggernaut,
Ploughing the rolling hills of water,
Which crease as the narrowboat sluggishly gliding past,
Brushes the bulrushes like a tiger in the reeds.
For four intrepid days
Our film and photographs are empty to show,
No sign, only missed whispers,
Of the hummingbird blue blur.
A darting flash cresting the morning chill,
Regal turquoise stealthily steals
Our attention, our focus, and our tiller
Noses toward the bank hugger.
And we have him.
Small amber-royal fisherman,
Eclipsing his heron heralds
And the swans silent vigil
In majestic lapis lazuli.
Swift and sure he graces the water,
Fisher King,
Which bends beneath his dive.
Resurfacing, his golden breast
Mottled with silver minnow.
There recluse in his exclusive spot,
Fish foundering still in the ******
The kingfisher's poise frames his catch
Aperture, shutter, captured shot.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
Words tattooed her thighs.
Chocolate hair fell in her eyes.
Muscle queen stomped
gymnastick,
round silver poles.
She was no stripper,
but an athlete
for tips
and hand shakes
and bills in her
cracking her face,
*her face must be
cracking* to
ass-grabbing lions,
prowling LA's
city sierra bored.
I couldn't imagine
Queen Courtney crying.
But upside down,
floating disco lights
exposed pursed face shows.
She girated
sex-lined hips
for tips, not ego.
Splits and tricks
choking chuckling girls
saluting her routine,
tossing one's,
wishing they were ten 0's.
She looked magnificant.
I asked her if she was a gymnast.
She said something like that,
eyes fixed on the sleek floor,
strong arms chilled by the cold —
men with thick wallets and no home.
So I gave her my coat.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:44 PM UTC
365Nectar #60 Devour Me
Fri. November 22, 2013 9:18 P.M.
Devour me...
A provocative passionate pouring
of pillaging and plundering...
A pleasing prowling
of a piercing plunderer...
A lovely, limp nymph
laid upon a sizzling alter...
Smoldering...
Awakening all the senses
a choking of lust
unleashes exhilarating
and
envelops you...
Effortlessly evoking ethereal...
a sinister seduction
seductively seduces
and hungry hips
breakdance with hysterical
Stimulating a surreal surge of a sweet seeping...
waiting...
impatiently...
For you to chisel
an unimaginable devouring...
S slow steady climb to the summit
of the ultimate ******
Time-
Time-
Time... a tool to employ flamboyantly...
immediately...
eargerly...
Expose my conquered heart
that leaks
of streams
of cream
of succulent sensation...
Expose my tamed moistness
that whispery whines
as you build a legacy
of torturous licking....
Seductively...
Slithering in spicy spirals
of stirring screams
from stormy shivers
of steamy anticipation
of your redefining touch...
Suddenly...
drowning in the sticky sensation
of all that is us...
A tender luscious love liquefying flesh
and penetrating souls...
We blend in blazing bliss
tapping taboo for titillating thrills
you rock a rowdy ravishing
inside me...
I whisper wet whimpers
and beg for bitten breast...
Our wrestling hips
hug, ***** and groan a hungry growling...
Pounded into saturated submission
I linger in lubricating dreams
for you-
to...
devour me.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
It's not a habit with this i have no control
This is something I cant get up the nerve to tell no
I need it as i rub my legs 2gether wanting a fix
All im needing is one hit
Then for a while my mind will be free
It will float in the air passing through the trees
Without it in my body there is a friction
What i have is an addiction
Cant stop moving without it i have no ease
The thought of my addiction buckles my knees
It gives me shattering teeth and goose bumps
Knowing the addiction is too much
Wanting to have control but it wont let me
Never wanting this addiction to leave
It solves problems that i don't want to understand
Time consuming addiction needing a helping hand
Sleep never comes when i have not fed my craving
For it i go begging,pleading,prowling,and slaving
A habit no; much more complex
Wondering how im gonna come up with the next
A hard ******** from me rise when i see it
Knowing i want it **** i need it
My addiction
Soft complexion smile is light
usually go on the prowl for it early mornings and late at night
I cook it up with my own hands as i mold it to my liking
And when i get it just right i slice it
knowing that i want it but i have to make it want me too
knowing that my addiction is you
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 1:32 PM UTC
Prowling,
like a wolf
on the periphery of the unknown
betwixt knowledge and dread
I saw the dark truth
I felt the gulf
the waste
the expanse
the difference in power
the taste of defeat
the vice grip of the inevitable
the long, slow bleed of my dignity
flowing out
with the gold of my entrails
eviscerated by my pride
how I dared to topple the monolithic,
undeniable truth
that there is always
a better you
a better me
a better us, out there
stronger
bigger
faster
smarter
more hung
more fashionable
more handsome, more beautiful, more androgynous
more capable
more accomplished
more patient
more... loving
more empathetic
they know more random facts
they've been more places
they've known more people
they've seen more sunrises
they've counted every moon
their worst is better than your best day
he cares for her more deeply than you did
she loves that
she's forgotten you
he tells her what he never told you
and she loves him for that
you were always afraid to find out
they never invite you because you're not fun
what a downer
what a bore
there's always that one person
upon whom your envy is never sated
they lope in moonlight
flowing locks of grace
teeth bared in a frightful grin
they know all your cards
they can play you like a fiddle
they're out there
where you fear to go
the apex predator
the person you'll never be
but dream you could
and dreams are all you'll have...
Oct 31, 2022
Oct 31, 2022 at 6:37 PM UTC
Fractured Fairytales, Part Two,
A sordid little tale for you.......
Stranger Danger!
Stranger Danger!
Lil' Red Riding Hood,
Alone in the woods,
Stranger Danger!
Stranger Danger!
Who is this stranger?
It's the Park Ranger!
Is he up to no good?
Prowling around in the woods?
Stranger Danger!
Stranger Danger!
Lil' Red Riding Hood,
Alone in the woods,
He's thrown away her phone,
Now Lil' Hood is not alone,
Now he's up to good,
Bad news for Lil' Red Riding Hood,
Stranger Danger!
Stranger Danger!
Bad Park Ranger!
Stranger Danger!
He's turned her into a ****
Now he's got her up the duff,
Stranger Danger!
Bad Park Ranger!
Now she's a single mother,
Should have had a better mother,
Letting her walk alone in the woods,
Bad handsome Park Ranger,
Stranger Danger!
Stranger Danger!
A sordid little verse for you,
That was Fractured Fairytales, Part Two.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
Oh! The poet in me,
a werewolf is he!
He likes to come out
when the looming moon,
shines it's brightest beams,
down.
Awoooooo!
Down,
to disturb my daytime dreams.
Coaxing howls,
and whines,
injected with subjective lines;
predatory metaphor,
tapping at my chamber door!
Only hollow howls, to those
who don't hear the instinct growl
to this canine condition;
those who don't spend their days,
thinking, or wishing.
Predator of poetry,
prowling over prose.
A beast of the blue moon syndrome,
after the curtains close.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
Trees bare, night falling,
Cat prowling, distant owl calling,
Cold air, frosted with flakes,
Of Snow.
Spotting the cat, owl awakes.
Owl and the Pussycat's strange
partnership plays out on the wild range.
One a trophy bearer,
The other wisely to accept.
The owl dropped down, talons filled with rat,
He accepted this **** the black and white patch cat,
Looking at the other so close and so near,
There was no weakness, no fear.
***** cat took the rat mouth full of rodent,
The owl stood, feathers whiter than the moonlit snow,
Stopping and dropping the rat,to say,"My turn next
time, I know," then picking up the gift once again.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC
California Kids
I’ll call you up on Saturday
And invite you over.
Take the 101, 110 and 1;
(Sounds like an equation!)
And you’re there.
Just use your GPS..
There’ll be a party at my house,
Daft Punk playing on the Echo.
It’ll be epic, Echoic!
With some vintage’ tunes,
Crankin’ the Beach Boys,
Watching surfers
Shredding out-the-back,
Past prowling sharks in the shallows.
Lets go to the dunes and maybe kiss.
I know that you miss me,
So don’t ask me why
And when you come,
I won’t ask
“What are you doing here?”
We’ll eat fish tacos,
Guacamole, Pico de Gallo
And drink margaritas
While we debate French new wave,
I’ll praise Truffaut while you
Tell me that Scorsese is the man.
When we get drunk enough
I will suggest a walk
Along the iridescent surf.
You should say yes because
I’m safe now that I drive electric,
That I turned vegan
(sorry about the fish)
and wear cruelty-free clothes.
I don’t grill snapper anymore
And take my shoes off inside the door.
Maybe we’ll make it to Tower 28,
Lay down and watch the full moon
Like Jim Morrison did to write.
I’ll tell you I’m glad you’re alive—
I’m no poet, but you know that.
Jun 19, 2023
Jun 19, 2023 at 3:52 PM UTC
Every single
mistake of mine,
even the recurring ones,
patiently you edit within
and read as if it's fine,
nothing has ever gone wrong.
see!
what your love
incomparable
has to me done,
my poor, darling!
in my writing, they see
the grammar fully muddled,
so many words I spell wrong.
I see this, only when
others, bitterly, loudly complain
gentle soul, your'e forgiving,
but the world isn't,vengeful it seems,
don't you see the predators, prowling?
Why don't you consider the truth,
I am imperfect, want to be corrected
why not help me change,
tell me where I go wrong, urge
I'll certainly adore you more for that.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
I effortless pass through water
like gliding through a silky air.
And as you all sail through life
you all sparkle with the idea
of being near.
As I am ultimate wisdom that
comes in the form of joy and play.
As the decks are silent splashes of
water all over your faces.
Then suddenly you all cry,
" THE DOLPHINS ARE HEAR"
A tingly excitement every where
as though walking on a bubbly
carpet.
Everyone congregating at the
side of the boat hoping to catch
a bit of magic.
Gasps and shrills as bounce and
burst out of the water along side
your boat.
People stretching reaching as I offer
a new hope the light of GOD.
And when they return to the shore the
story of the Dolphins like church bells
ringing travels through the town.
As everyone longs for Holy spirit they
are eager to hear the story.
As they learn about the Dolphin
that came to there town they want to
know who actually touched it.
I am the spirit that visits the holy as
I love those who are full but also
empty.
I come to those brought to the edge
who stared down the cliff
but did not jump, as they chose life.
And to those who's world said no with
all doors closed because only they can
listen.
I come to those who have lost all will because
only those let me carry them.
I come to those who are broken
as only they can be molded
I bring you many colours and inspiration
sometimes I will make you dance and
sometimes sing.
I am the Pentacost, holy Ghost and your
Jesus Christs holy spirit.
Sometimes when you swim softly through
sweet watery emotion you will hear us talking.
When you think all is lost
you find yourself praying
even though you think no one is there
I will be listening.
Feel like you are drowning grab my
dorsal fin and I will give you a lift
even make you laugh, make it fun
even exciting.
Lost at sea sharks prowling I will circle you
as I will even fend of death for as I can
also heal you.
Some will pen me in keep me in a
small tank tech me a childish trick
and manipulate.
But only those bigger than pools
more like the sea will know I have
greater tricks to teach.
As only those without plan and expectation
can ever swim with me.
As I will guide you on your hearts
adventure into the free.
We will always love and seek to guide
you as we look for you in the sea and
gather around you in the bay.
We will teach you how to channel to
have an open mind to breath spirit
through your head.
And I will teach you how to be both
the radio and the wave.
How to be father Christmas, the chimney
and the presents underneath the tree.
So if you are needing help please
look over hear we are listening.
let yourself be empty and we will guide you.
There is so much to learn from communicating
and swimming with the Gods spirit, the Dolphin.
So let us connect with God heaven and the Dolphin
And be grateful for all her LOVE.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 7:36 PM UTC
I'm In Survival mode
Survival mode,
Trying to thrive in a world
Where many men struggle to live
The Coldness is unforgiven,
Fridgit and Focused
I'm in survival mode
Sometimes your only option is to be strong look around if there's no cavalry for you in your current perdicliment it's time to tap into survival mode, to Muster up strength to take the blows of life Wicked hands, durability in many circumstance here I stand a man on mission, this can't beat me This can't be how I end, I have too much dignity to be broken down so easily,
Built from material of life lessons not a weaken man my mindframe beefeed up, swallow my blood before let go my pride I'm unfraid to die I'm in the grind for mine I'll be fine, beliefs embodied by courage of path pavements trails of effort I'm a hungry beast prowling for Legacy to feast
Entering into my Predator mode a state where easy success chances are slim no room to pity in defeat, no matter how disappointed, frustrated, exhausted, I may be if I'm still able to breath and hold my own I Gotta keep fighting I have to tough through it ignore the fact I'm Hurting what I want out of life is worth it, my faith in GOD even when things ain't perfect patient for a victory that's well desrevant, that if I shall fail then I parish on my own terms facing these harsh conditions
I'm In Survival mode
Survival mode,
Trying to thrive in a world
Where many men struggle to live
The Coldness is unforgiven,
Fridgit and Focused
I'm in survival mode
© Copyright Reserved 2019 by ED RJ.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 3:56 AM UTC
If you drive down route 235,
the lonely parallel line of route 5,
running through St. Mary's County, Maryland,
between the intersection of Old Three Notch road
and St. Andrew's Church road,
and the liquor store at the corner of Mattapany--
you must do so with a fat wallet,
and a growling stomach,
who barks at the flashing signs
of the sparkling chain restaurants--
wafting their familiar scents out the windows
and onto the busy street.
Utterly beleaguered every which way by these olfactory factories,
your mouth waters and your wallet lightens
as the tantalizing sensations
permeate your vehicle.
So you cave;
another lost soul vacates the street at Restaurant Alley,
under the prowling searchlights
and the intoxicating smells lingering like a dense fog;
You linger in your purgatory with glee.
You exit satisfied, patting your abdominous belly
and lifting your smiling face to the sky
in thanks to the gluttonous gods
who rain down these chain restaurants
from the heavens.
A satisfied sigh seeps out of loose lips,
barely hanging on to your fleshy face,
so ruddy and fat.
You act like your stop was something novel,
like it wasn't routine to acquiesce to these temptations;
you return to your car to continue your roamings
down restaurant alley.
Sadly, a full stomach won't stifle a querying nose,
and your senses are soon at it again;
just as the waiters and waitresses,
cooks and busboys--
are back at the window, leaning outside
with their clamorings and bustlings and cookings--
You pretend to entertain willpower as your copilot,
but even if that were so,
your senses would still be at the wheel,
with your mind bound and gagged in the trunk.
Restaurant Alley goes on for miles and miles and miles,
seemingly endless in the permeating fog of
burgers and pancakes and pasta and chicken and fries and burgers and soda and ice cream and beer and pasta and wine and America and pancakes and steak and appetizers and desserts and entrees and specials and kids menus and burgers and chicken and pasta and fries and burgers and ice cream and salad and burgers and soda and eat and eat and eat and eat and eat!
There's nothing to eat;
there's nothing to do but eat in Restaurant Alley,
on route 235 in St. Mary's County, Maryland.
So fasten your seat belt,
and loosen your waist belt,
and take a doomed trip down the endless roadway--
where you are dragged, shackled to food chains
that haul you from the perdition that is the lobby's waiting room
to be seated with loved ones at the mercy seat of Ambrosia.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
I'm the Afrocentric Gift
you been waiting and dying to open ..,
Christmas came Early just for you this year,
I'm the Thoughts in ya head,
Mind blowing the
Essences of Sexuality,
Wisdom,
Knowledge
and a
multitude of Feminine Power,
Prowling and
Roaring for your affection,
I'm every Women,
Just not to night
I don't want to share,
Be my one & only..,
I am the
Architects building
the bridges back to ya heart,
My Prominent Black African King,
Mr.Sexy as ya wanna be..,
I Dreamed of this many times at night & also for some weeks,
Thoughts of you Thought of us become " We"
Teaming up and Doing
What lovers do,
But
I want more,
I want your heart too,
I see it in you,
the artist ;Your words caressing me,
Like painting and drawing,I'm just one of your sculptures..,
But
I'm the centerpiece of this mental non-nocturnal dream,
Your the
Author writing a great masterpiece only I'm the Main character...,
Chapter one we began slowly as our bodies
mesh&entwined...;,
Can you distinguishes between Fantasy,
I'm here and these feelings are real.
Lust so passionate you'd think you
conjured me up from your imagination.,
I'm un reasonable when it comes to you,
I want to give you unquestionable pleasure.
Be the Concubine you desire & you shouldn't have to wait,
Not tonight anyways.,
Come here and let me show you,
Be mines....,
Sacrifice yourself,
Be my love salve and come away with me..,
I want to give you this
Delicious yet delicate sweet
Afrocentric Gift!
Speak into me poetically,
Mentally blowing my mind ,
touching with words as you hurt me gently
Yet pleasing my body..
take me
cuz
right now
I'm for the taking,
I'm ready and waiting,
open me,
for
tonight I'll be your
Latin mist
You Puerto Rican *** ,
Come get drunk off my love,
Let me sooth you
and
caress you into submission.
Take what's been given.
This Mix, and blend it with you ,
dance to my song
as
I open for you.
I'm ready and willing
to be what you want me to be.
Give
me pleasure
release the yearning
deep with in me...
I'm yours ya Afrocentric Gift!
Always me Ayeshah
Copyrights © 1977-2010 Ayeshah(A.K.K.C.L.N)
All rights reserved.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 10:28 PM UTC
I'm In Survival mode
Survival mode,
Trying to thrive in a world
Where many men struggle to live
The Coldness is unforgiven,
Fridgit and Focused
I'm in survival mode
Sometimes your only option is to be strong look around if there's no calvery for you in your current perdicliment it's time to tape into survival mode, to Muster up strength to take the blows of life Wicked hands, durability in many circumstance here I stand a man on mission, this can't beat me This can't be how I end, I have too much dignity to be broken down so easily,
Built from material of life lessons not a weaken man my mindframe beefeed up, swallow my blood before let go my pride I'm unfraid to die I'm in the grind for mine I'll be fine, beliefs embodied by courage of path pavements trails of effort I'm a hungry beast prowling for Legacy to feast
Entering into my Predator mode a state where easy success chances are slim no room to pity in defeat, no matter how disappointed, frustrated, exhausted, I may be if I'm still able to breath and hold my own I Gotta keep fighting I have to tough through it ignore the fact I'm Hurting what I want out of life is worth it, my faith in GOD even when things ain't perfect patient for a victory that's well desrevant, that if I shall fail then I parish on my own terms facing these harsh conditions
I'm In Survival mode
Survival mode,
Trying to thrive in a world
Where many men struggle to live
The Coldness is unforgiven,
Fridgit and Focused
I'm in survival mode
© Copyright Reserved 2019 by ED RJ.
Sep 25, 2019
Sep 25, 2019 at 3:56 AM UTC
We fight and we fight and we fight
For what our communal conscious believes is right
We scratch and we scratch and we scratch
At the surface of our supposed human needs
We wave and we wave and we wave
These banners that state a truthful name
How hard we work to prove that we are human
How hard we try to not to be dissproven
The grave does not care who you are
The scythe strikes fast strikes clean but strikes fair
It doth not judge for we beings think far too much
At night when the prowling pride stalks its prey
Where the stars shine heavy on the hides of the unlucky
Does the lion question whether to eat the man or the woman?
The gay or the straight?
The gimp or the man stumbling due to too many sips?
The lion only wants his meat
His catch
Much like our friend the grave
We fight and we fight and we shout and we shout
And we wave and we wave because we think that is how freedom behaves
How lost we are, we children of mother earth
How stunned we become at our own plain insignificance
That a drifting leaf in a Fall breeze has even more elegance
Twisting spitting crying masses of flesh and bone
Drones upon drones stand upon stones upon stones
An eternal cycle of nature's evolution
A plan that is known and unknown
Seen and said but not ever shared
We fight and we fight and we fight and we fight
We say the cause is the hand of an almighty God
That the cause of liberation comes from the impulse of our sanitation
The wolf howls to be free and is
But we
We human beings
We just
Fight and we fight and we fight
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 11:09 PM UTC