"tumours" poems
Since you've been away
I've trailed the wake of the clouds
Just crumbling clay...
That lay in the shade that enshrouds
Depending on the ifs and mays.
Wake up, my love...
Since you haven't been here
The sky did nothing but only sang
Ambient translations of mocks and jeers
As the green blades of earth bared their fangs
Mischievous songs that I've held dear.
Wake up, my love...
Since you've been gone
I've realised that I'm not moving
And you too, haven't moved since last dawn
A reality all too disheartening
Bits of me all cut up and sawn.
Wake up my love...
Since you've been missing
I am never whole, and never will
A lifetime of endless chasing
Bottomless jar without a seal
Void clustered emptiness in need of filling.
Wake up, my love...
Since you've been absent
I could only hope for this lungful
To lead me to subsequent
Ones that taste like bitter pills encapsuled.
Mind full of drugs running rampant.
Wake up, my love...
Since you wouldn't have known
What these days are like...
Time induced tumours have grown
The hours impale with temporal spikes...
Inseminating malignant thoughts soon to be sown.
Wake up, my love...
Since you've been away
I'm a player hoping for a fair game
Nonetheless still crumbling clay...
That lay in the dark just the same
Choking on the what ifs and what mays.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:16 PM UTC
Nobility divine fills gaps of transcendence,
Soars to and from the throne heavenly,
Exalts morals near the king of ascendance,
Patrolling the good, and sons of the seventy.
A duty forgotten, replaced with dependence,
On prayers rarely heard, and logic of a herd -
Divinity is far in absence; man in attendance,
The book is a third, and teachings are blurred.
Andeliviuan corruption supposedly erased:
The creation rotten of Sariel, wanders gaily.
The holy and fallen angel’s doing embraced,
By the clay beings caressing evil like a frailly.
By God not, who from heaven him displaced.
Yet, the legacy of the wrong stands humanly,
In Thailand, America, Palestine, and all graced -
A grace of sinfulness celestial and worldly.
Religion is the poor’s only ultimate truth,
the rich’s side hustle, and the rulers’ tool;
It is the loss of power that defiles the sooth,
The one the poor has not, but does the fool.
Robbers’ servants, bread crumbs consumers,
Toothless **** dogs, emaciated lost tramps,
Little blind pawns, vultures’ puppets, tumours,
And wrenches they are, the upper hand’s lambs.
If only Raguel’s judgements fall upon man,
Raphael’s punishment beautifies this existence,
Gabriel’s wrath makes not all humans ane,
And Michael saves us, the Sarahs, in assistance.
In the heart deepened with old repression,
That mounts with plenitude of filtered feels,
Resides a universe yearning for expression,
In a meat clay who feeds on calories of meals.
Man, in the genesis, in the light, in the dark,
In prosperity, in turmoil, triumphed with vices;
vileness, abuse, wreckage is our sole mark,
On this planet whose population is in slices.
Oct 21, 2022
Oct 21, 2022 at 5:18 AM UTC
Newspapers are only covered in ***** print;
of despair and distress and danger playing master of our moves.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
Paintings are for love songs left unsung;
they are the inner kept journals of unrequited dreams,
scrawls of abuse or lumps of hurt, growing like tumours.
You wouldn’t understand.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
Music is only for the sunlit realm of lovers found;
of certainty and confidence and devotion above the sordid,
tangled affairs of wayward souls.
Living in a fantasy to escape the loneliness aching in soft spots inside.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
Letters are lost in nostalgia;
a celebration to be had, words unspoken for decades,
births and deaths, reserved for life events detailed in the past.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
Movies are just reenactments of dreams;
stunning heroes, masters of skill, justice seekers,
adventures of awe, loves broken but patched together with stronger yarn.
A world of little lies to helps better cope with heartache and grief.
We can’t immortalise ourselves in something
when it runs the risk of breaking.
So I can’t talk to you through that.
But I can do something much harder
then writing or filming or singing or painting…
I can give it all up, over to you.
I can trace patterns across your shoulders as you wake,
our special language which tells you I love you, I’m trying to trust you.
I can write you little notes, decadent words and sultry ideas,
and make a trail for you to follow to me.
I can be vulnerable in your arms, more than skin and internals
and a framework of bones.
I can be more real with you than I have never known to be possible.
It’s not just me showing how much I need you by the length I hold your kiss,
or how long it takes for us to disentangle ourselves from sleep, how often
we see each other naked.
It’s more the heart I dare draw on your skin with my lips.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
I pull up to the stop
Sign and side-blow a little smoke
Out of the window.
Wait for the last burn
Of the cigarette
Then turn to green.
One glance in the mirror
And there’s a young woman
In a Tesla with long brown
Curly hair and bright red lips.
Singing like A Walmart movie star.
**** me now sighs.
We pretend to not play mirror lick.
2 minutes trinkets.
Though I sit up a little straighter
Suddenly self wrongsciouss
And then notice
That my hair is sticking
Up just like a who from whoreville
Ah **** it.
And she lets a smile out on bail
Though I think it’s probably
At the old man waiting to cross
With way too many Christmas bags
of shopping.
And we drive on this endless
Highway of hooks and tumours, one night stands
And one life stands
And pretty moments and heartbreaks and rebounds.
And winning lottery tickets.
And Cuban cigars.
And our hearts call room service
In dive motels.
And then we find someone to laugh with.
and my car is ****
And my hair is going silver
And I hit 40 like an uppercut.
And all of us patch up the cracks
And take the pins out of other peoples voodoo dolls
And dance with what we have.
And do our best to punch above
And throw a trick still.
Like everything was beautiful once
And now even if we fade just into accolades.
We wear a A lucky shirt
A new pair of shoes hung up on the telephone wires
A revenge dress to help undress
The bitterness
A little blue that changes colours
Sometimes
As we drive away
No more a stranger
Than we ever were before.
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 8:01 AM UTC
I could have come Goose stepping through that door on eggshells
With an anchor in the old ways, and the wind of change in my sails.
the crux is; decide what you want foul demon,
I can shield you from the fire or burn bright to show you the way,
but I will never burn out and I will never blow away.
So go snare some other paradox boxer
or lay in the brier patch of tangle choice
you once forced into my sides.
I do not permit you to handcuff your heart to my wrists,
and the baggage? Can stay at indoors.
The persistent demand of my presence pushes me into the love affair with the lies I tell myself that make you bearable.
I make no apologies for my vacant smile,
you bought my body not my soul.
And the clocks and deadlines made me to fix a do not disturb sign on my mind.
With the ultimatums delivered to me ear-trumpeting the feelings that already echo in my diminishing proud walk,
The spine slump didn't take long to take hold.
These are not poses.
This is who I am,
or at least who I used to be,
Or at least who I should have been,
But for the game of Chinese whispers Played with champions of the rumour mill and the ghosts they've created.
Removed from the hiding places are the scars and the tumours, I've been curing them in the sun.
If you came to me looking for a hero stance and a place to live at the foot of a mountain called meekness, then I will let you down.
I was bowled over by the crud slides long ago,
And now like all great insects,
I've wriggled free of the muck,
Striving out from under
more like Frankenstein's Monster
thriving in the thunder.
And making an exit,
whether you like it or not.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:58 PM UTC
Bah!
Getting older *****
with all the aches and pains
and worries about growths
and tumours,
cancers and heart failure
my prostrate is fine,
thank you very much,
but can you check this mole?
this pain, this ache?
this over impending sense
of mortality knocking at the door?
the late night harrowing
discoveries guaranteeing
no sleep
until a call to the doctor,
the cutting back on everything
while increasing vitamin intake
exercise, stress free times
for self reflection
and discovery of ailments
and illnesses, inducing stress
increasing heart rate,
needing a drink to calm down
but not too much, as the liver
has already suffered enough
the days advance into night
and the night advances to day
and before you know it
it the sun sets one last time
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 12:45 AM UTC
Liquorice fellows,
Hooded
Execution -
A glossy black
Etonian intrusion,
Settling walnuts
Cracked apart and clever,
Snap crack
Snap, crack,
and
black
forever
Caterwauling rats
All brown and nasty
Sprouting tumours
Buck teeth
Rhinoplasty,
Stealing eggs and dragged on backs
of tumours,
Hissing soft through yellow teeth
'consumers'
Rabbits silver
Lands of plenty green,
All green and plenty
Land of ours, unseen,
Rats and crows
Pick our country bare,
God help the rabbit,
God
God help the hare.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Joel is a doorkeeper
for a rusty warehouse
and has a wife
a very angry spouse
and a son
one day his hip was out
two bodies going
on different directions
his blue uniform T shirt
floating in the powdered air
barely walking up and down
he fell
while cleaning the murky water
that flooded the region
of cement factories and grey hills
two weeks without his employers
to even pay for the pain killers
or severance pay and no off time
his face had the expression of a struggling
red snapper
together
we would watch a gossip show
on the TV
while he ate spiced dry beef
boiled eggs and rice
the stories on the TV were mostly about
spouses, children, abandonment and
violence and
girls sleeping with their step dad
a psychologist and the skinny loud mouthed
blond moderator
who acted as the defender of society
completed the act
Joel could not stand up to open the door
a doorkeeper who couldn’t open the door
finally, after two weeks of silent pain
they gave him an assistant
we packed the last China bound container
bellied up with modems
to be refurbished and resold
to a billion internet hungry
Chinese beings
My job was done
two weeks past and I came back
he was not there anymore
but I found him
200 yards away under his shack
a crammed cardboard cluster of homes
he was in bed
lost 40 pounds and was
piped up, draining blood
from the chest
and a bag of ***** attached to the waist
someone was laying next to him
sleeping the afternoon
he smiled at me
missing two front teeth
skinny as a mummy
had three tumours
one trapped between the kidney
and the spine
one more in the stomach and the last one
next to the liver
he was to be taken to the hospital
with a danger of loosing
the kidney and his life
I gave him a kiss on the forehead
and left
It was the same pink sunny day
the same old trick of a life
but something was not right
it never usually is
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
With Witnessess as our God's,
Our love was meant to be forever.
But we spent to long, straining,
heart shrapnel, from lukewarm coffee.
Celestial fire due to write super novellas
in the spaces we shared,
instead blinded us,
with bright lights,and stardust.
I'm still burning the fire that started when we met.
I feed that fire, like I fought the depression, when you left.
But I tell you now, as much as it scared me.
God **** It was warming.
I never meant for us to be the spark
that died before the flint.
Two damp squibs
choking as the air left the room.
Leaving projectors to play monochrome fantasies
in the smokescreen of your absence,
as the acrid plastic nasal tumours,
grew inside of our silent movie.
The coughing had lost it's soul.
Revealing a struggle for air.
All the dance routines had died
life saving became life,
I am so sorry, I spent my time,
kissing gifthorses on the mouth,
while looking for Trojans
instead of just enjoying your presence.
They say if you love something, set it free,
but bluebirds sing in cages
better than any canary
when fed on tidbits and tall stories.
So forgive me my dramas
Let me soap up in my failures
my ritual clean begins at the home
we built from borrowed time
I hope heaven loves you as hard as have.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC
rumour tumours
feed and flourish
mushrooms need
**** for nourish
purposeless people
with nothing to do
scorn the progressors
vision to view
optimist swims
jelly fish float
thro sea of life
live or gloat
Mar 7, 2010
Mar 7, 2010 at 12:49 PM UTC
They cut the cake and gave a smile
that would last longer than the marriage.
He held her hand whilst she closed her eyes
and thought of tumours and the Orient Express.
The DJ crooned his cat-calls to the
bridesmaids. The grandmothers wept and
bid farewell to their function now lived out.
Children played in the revolving rainbow lights
and chased their shirt-tails in circles,
grazing their knees over the varnished floor.
The bride and groom danced in their sweat
as two-hundred eyes opened their jewellery box
of devotion, causing them to revolve
forever, together, in the same old direction.
For a moment they caught eyes and told each
other without a word, that this was a mistake.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
there are two types of cancer.
there's the kind that's caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells; we call them malignant tumours.
and there's the kind that's boys born on july 9th - 5'11'', with expressionless brown eyes, and in desperate need of a haircut;
we call them malignant ********
i can't shave my head in preparation for everything he will ruin, and requesting time off to cope with the fact that i loved this person is not a valid option.
MRI scans won't show you what happened to my brain after he told me i made it hard to hate the world or what happened after he told me i was the worst person he met in it. they won't tell you what it looks like to be told you're loved, hated, and then not cared about at all.
side effects include:
mood swings, triggered by those who are as infuriating as they are infatuating
loss of sleep because he wants to rant to you about socioeconomic structures until 3 in the ******* morning
dissociation of time because it doesn't exist when you can make someone laugh and tell you about his favourite jewish children's book and why he doesn't like big dogs and that even though his family is full of jerks and idiots, he'd still do what was needed to support them.
more severe side effects include:
writing about him months after he's made it harder to breathe, but willing yourself to talk about it to a room full of strangers
being crippled by the fear he might stumble lost in manhattan again and find the cafe you are complaining about him onstage in
i want this to be a survival story and tell you that i do not have business cards for being a tragic event organizer who throws the best pity parties in town. i want to tell you that i had enough self respect not to call him when i got re-diagnosed, despite the fact that he once told me diseases like cancer exist to **** out little pests like me and because he was the only person who told me i was going to be fine, live longer than him maybe, and to stop talking like it was the end.
but that was really hard because there's two types of cancer, and he's the one that did a significantly much better job at making me feel like i was dying.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
Sober thoughts crowd my mind
Happiness I cannot find
Gloomy weather, gloomy mind
Black bile, one of the archaic humours
Rhyming aptly with tumours
Cancerous thoughts within my mind
Pensively I look for salvation
Maybe a cheery salutation
But my melancholic mind keeps me as a brooder
I vent my spleen, searching for the vaccine
Annoyance acting as a screen for the truth
That all I want to do is scream and scream and scream.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
I am an Ego
whose heart is revolting,
who with the poetry is flirting,
who knew in this life the pain,
but never lost the power of her brain.
I am an Ego
like anyone else who has complexes,
who dreams at perfect morning's reflexes,
who breaths deeply and tries to sing dearly,
but knows both sides of her life's story, clearly.
I am an Ego
who likes the good evenings in two,
who no longer wants rain, that's true,
who left on life's trip with a single backpack,
but has not allowed her soul to become insomniac.
I am an Ego
waiting on the platform for destiny's train,
who no longer wants illusions in vain,
who does not live listening to the rumours,
but wants, by poetry, to get rid of life's tumours.
I am an Ego
who thinks that still has a chance to complete,
who, after falling, is getting back on her feet,
who is the observer of the world's fuss and art,
but still hopes for the calm of her restless heart.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 3:10 PM UTC
The words
lay upon the ears
- so light and unassuming.
Like fluff and feathers,
snowflakes and foam.
But who knows
what tumours roil
beneath such welcoming
countenances.
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 7:08 AM UTC
A flight away,
oceans apart,
video calls everyday,
pumping my heart,
but
trust & issues,
are similar to tumours,
countless tissues,
shunning rumours,
however
you did not cause this pain,
i did this to myself,
the idea of you with someone else is grain,
you’re not good for my health
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 1:56 AM UTC
Fingers worked to the bone
drip blood onto the work they are crafting.
He slaves here alone,
but to the rest of the world is acting;
painting his life as one of absurd peaks
and bottomless, dark troughs;
he makes tumours out of modern migraines;
emphysema out of ordinary coughs.
"Play the part or it will play you."
The life of the private celebrity.
Do not wish for attention, I pray you,
for it holds within it no tortured sincerity.
Instead, it holds a hollow hatred
for everything you never did become;
And then your parade fades
and becomes your kingdom come.
There is no sweet swan song
to they who have fallen from the light.
No cry, no gasp, no bell, no gong.
Just like the day, they are consumed by the night.
It’s silent creeping, or it’s sudden fall
all but chokes them dead.
Then it ***** them where they lay.
Mouth gagged, legs willingly spread.
Private People Should Not Seek Her Attention.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
It's everlasting tumours
And overburdened-
Corridor cells
Tormenting me with
Lexicon sorrows--
I keep kissing entrails
Searching -searching
Demons for microphone heat.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
"I was once alive!'
a dead man cries at the heavens;
raising fist with impatient gestures.
The clutching of the fingers,
the breaking of the bones.
The heavens open up
to the evil we do.
Bloodshed from wars,
bloodshed from illnesses.
The Blood of Christ given
and
yet
disregarded
"I know only living!",
the solitary man demands.
But the circle of life
has been drawn.
The fate of certainty
proclaimed and published.
Alleluias and amens
flock like napkins
folded into place.
Winds scour the sky for axioms
as weeping Mary floats her prayers
through vibrant songs of heavenly protection
Be still hurting flesh.
The pain shall pass,
the misery will vanish.
"I once was alive!"
he moans as his skin
explodes in tumours.
Victim to stigmata dreams
and
a
hearse
travelling
in
purposeful
direction.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 4:31 AM UTC
Holding on.
Not been a good week.
Aches and pains.
Disappointment and more.
Writing a Will.
Editing the Will.
Thinking about death.
Do I want to wait,
or should I select my
own time?
Suicide is a sin.
Purgatory no doubt.
Holding on.
Back to square zero.
Last weeks' optimism fading.
No, not fading, rather, faded.
Gone.
Ended.
Hitting mental icebergs
and creating
desperate images
Circle of life.
Circle of death.
Cycles really.
Metamorphosis.
Even butterflies
expire from the
drama of living.
Flicker like smokestacks
that expel black smoke.
That is me. Black smoke,
and a bucket of tumours.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
The wires are poking out
and a small childish plaster
covers over a broken artery,
turning to the colour of black pudding.
Cold toast sits on a plate
next to the smallest vat
of salted butter
and somewhere amongst
whiskey and tiredness,
I have become ill again.
Politicians organise themselves
like smoking aids for quitting.
They claim to start a war
against the malformations they rely upon.
Old news spreads like rumour
as the nurses tend,
bend necks over bed-sheets,
learning to gossip over
the topic of tumours,
and suicide rates in men.
Mothers wring their hands
beside comatose sons with
screws fitted into knee-caps
and a procession of staples across the skull.
Entropy has sent us here,
only partial, always anxious
for when the curtain will fall,
willing to rely on healing crystals
if all medicine fails, as the church
cries for prayer or else: acceptance.
The tree-tops peek out
and evidence the wind
that keeps on blowing,
only promising a boundless freedom
now that I am removed from it.
New patients arrive and leave
as fast as it takes me
to learn their names.
Nothing has changed
since I stopped drinking.
I am always the last one
out the door.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
Cancer is a fungal growth
Effects all things living
You and me both
Cancers leukemias, you will
Feel Lost
Drugs are there but all at a cost
Tumours tumours there is always light
Red and white cell in a life threatening fight
We are the Guinea pigs of the current day
So future generations can stay in play
When you lose the battle and your curtain is drawn
Please scatter your ashes on a fertile lawn
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 1:25 PM UTC
So Just Like My Namesake...
In... “ The Great Escape “...
I’m The King of... The Cooler... !!!!!
Kinda Like... " Rick The Ruler "....
A TRUE School Type Mover...
TOP NOTCH Rhyme Producer... !!!
With Tunes That Are Cooler...
Than McQueen In His Scenes...
As Yup... " Virgil Hiltz "...
Showing Nazis I CHILL...
When They Try To Instil...
Ideals That Spread War...
Where Division’s The Cause...
Because I Stay COOLER...
Than Yes... " Ferris Bueller’ ".... !!!
When It Comes To These Tutors...
Whose Thoughts Should Be.....
....... NEUTERED....... !!!!!
That’s Right NULLIFIED.... !!!!!
Just Like Norton’s Guy....
And American Types....
Whose Actions DEFY....
REJECTION of FIGHTS...
Because They’re Still TIED....
To... SUPREMACIST Minds.... !!!!!!
Whose Vibe’s To *** - ide...
Based Upon Colour Lines... !?!
While I Deal In Vibes....
Where Tribes UNIFY... !!!!!
No Matter What Colour...
Or **** They STAND BY... !!!
Because I Am COOLER....
Than... Racist Wrongdoers... !!!!!
I Move With MORE Coolness...
Than Those Who Pull Shooters... !!!!
... MILITANT Armies....
Like Those In Zimbabwe...
Now OUSTING Mugabe... !!!!!
Political Parties.....
Who DO NOT Move Calmly... !!!
So I’m Cooler Than THEM... !!!!!
These Government Heads...
Who Cause Heads PROBLEMS... !!!
As Well As... DISTRESS... !!!!!
Because They Use POWER... !!!
To Use Cladding That Showers...
Like... EXPLOSIVE Gunpowder... !!!
So I’m COOLER Than Towers....
That In Just A Few Hours... !!!!!!!!
Became HOTTER Than Plotters...
Whose Movements Get HOTTER...
Than.... SUICIDE BOMBERS... !!!!!
I’m The COOLEST of Jotters...
About All This NONSENSE.... !!!
ABUSERS Whose Movements...
HOT UP... Certain Collars... !!!!!
Who Took Time To... HOLLA'...
About How They BOTHERED... ?!?
Producers And Movers....
Who Seem To NEED... “ Coolers “... !!!?!!!
To CONTROL Their LOOSENESS... !!!!!
However Some Coolness...
Is NEEDED Like Shrewdness...
When It Comes To The CLAIMS...
That Are Made Nowadays...
... SO MANY Games... !!!
That People Now Play... !!!!!
The Type That Have RACKETS...
And Strings That Pull Jackets... !!!
On Puppets And Slaves...
Who Seem To Get Brave....
When It’s LATE In The day.... !!!!!
To REFUTERS I Say...
CALM DOWN Now Okay... !!!
I Suggest You Stay COOLER...
Than London’s Commuters...
When TERROR Becomes....
What HITS It’s Stations... !!!!!!
Or Cooler Than COUGARS...
Who Move Like SEDUCERS...
When Their ONLY Future...
Is *** With OLD Suitors ...
Boozers And Schmoozers'... !!!
Whose ***** LOST IT’s Rooster.... !?!?!
So NEEDS To Use BOOSTERS...
Like..... ****** Users.... !!!!!!
As I Said... This Poem...
Should PROVE I’m NO LOSER... !!!!!
I’m Just A Producer...
of Rhymes That Are Shrewder...
Than SCOOTER Type Looters... !!!!!
Who’s... SICKER Than TUMOURS... !!!!!
And Like... " Steve McQueen "...
When It Comes To Rhyme Schemes...
Don’t Let The Rest FOOL YA.... !!!!!
I’m THE KING of What’s...
........ “ COOLER “.......
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 1:09 AM UTC
Dance with the devil with
two chicken feet,
spilled beans
pills reeking of sin,
braided veins, clenching fists,
the Lord is my shepherd when
I'm the sheep,
manifesting brethren and manifestos
of governments,
depopulation of educated slaves,
drink from the cup that
defines your worth,
***** lips, thoughts in braille,
diabetic oldies and cabbages,
dead fetuses and tomatoes,
manhood and eggplants,
sterile women eating omelets,
abandoned kids eating goat meat,
buried underneath slubs,
subscribe to the notifications
of corrupted media,
mutating phobias, the feared is
the victim.
Poets and marijuana,
writers' block and emotionless poems,
******** eating molds,
fungus and bacteria foams.
Hide righteousness in a cloak,
dangling nerves have strangled
our generation!!!
Club Controller;
Boom bap,
*** shaking,
wombs filled with ghosts of babies,
Ovaries now main ingredients for corporate omelets.
Adam and Eve,
the dominant and the submissive,
Bitten forbidden fruit on Apple logos.
Artificial intelligence,
human negligence,
mummified peasants,
death is proud of its workspace.
Institutions judging
black ops as being too rebellious for success,
stores selling tumours
and diabetes symptoms.
Atheists and theists fighting in poetry pieces.
Innocent citizens dodging bullets whilst diving into graves,
mortuary polluted with the smell of corpses with gunpowder in small spaces.
Free our souls,
stop polishing the chains that shackle us,
remove handcuffs that have extended to our throats whilst we dangle from Amarula branches.
Deceived intellectuals,
searching for Nirvana in cannabis trips,
mocking poetry,
seeing Shakespeare as a founding father.
Deception poeticized,
corruption politicized!
The truth is my artery,
wisdom is my capillary,
poetry is the hidden mos code in my fingerprints.
Poetry is the stem to
ascend truth into the human language,
use it for no social
media whilst
marketing for likes!!!
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 6:16 AM UTC