"uncorrect" poems
sip on this game direct from the tree of knowledge
im trapping in the forest; nocturnal like that owl,
im that black panther, ninja on the prowl
highly melenated, ALL BLACK, no darth vader
highly medicated, NO SNACKs, or now and laters...
never chasing paper nor running for the mayor, haters looking for a savior
its clear they don't love their self
I'M riches in my health, stash crystals in my wealth
if your calcified then you don't feel me like felt
you buckle under pressure why purchase cheap belts?
call me Mr wizard as i place you beneath my spell
unlimited vigor feather light on the scale!
even if i were brail, still no one could touch me.
if life WERE a ***** i bet she'd bee UGLY
non the less that phrase stands uncorrect
13 LOVE 13 Raspect.....
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
In the essence of value, there is much to be said
For a language, words mean nothing
Without their value:
Instead they are letters put together, random and unrandom
As base pairs in DNA
They will unaffect you, unchanged you, uncorrect you
You and your ***** mouth of worthless words
To anybody who doesn’t speak your language
In the essence of worth, there is much less to be earned
For the worth of monetary value in your pocket is imaginary as well
Just as the meaning of words
It is paper, cloth, the tattered fray of a Goodwill jacket
And until you see those green and red triangles
They are simply paper, and metals, jangling like dreams
Investments made, while rarely is the question asked
Is this all necessary?
In the essence of significance, an object is privately coveted
Your textbooks, your humans, your keepsakes
You pledge to take, when asked, on a deserted island
For this comfort can be found
But starting life in a cell takes but a small electric surge
And you thought it really did take two to tango…
Would you ever believe that it took but electrons?
In the essence of morals, an objection is always remarked
The space between black and white can be filled only
With the value, significance, and worth of piety
But where would we be
Without our reliable instincts
To guide us into the darkness?
As the rebel knows, and the king and the layman knows
From the same faulty conscience breeds the newborns
The identical clones of “should” and “should not”
Which pervade those private imaginings
Of your perfect world
Because why would we bother having those nagging little morals
Without the want to change someone else’s?
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC