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I wrote these poems one night, as a breather after a busy week. Hope you like them. |
(Dreaming) The grass was brown And I dreamt it green I dreamt I hoped I wished But hopes and dreams Cannot soften the ground Nor quench the thirsty roots Dreaming is like the desert rain And the blistering heat dries it up And nothing hits the ground But dust and wind. The dust, the dust and wind. (Happiness) Happiness or pleasure Is like a shooting star A crack in the heaven That burns the sky They are like the Lightning Bright and brief They are like the Summer breeze Respite and relief But in due time Darkness and despair Comes to reclaim them all. Night swallows the shooting star Rain quenches the lightning And the haze overtakes The gentle breeze Happiness or pleasure comes and goes Leaving behind a faded photograph Pain and despair lingers onward An immortal wound in a mortal soul (One Thought) Once I met a fellow from the meadow Who had a fear queer He feared of his accent such an object to jeer! Yet as I heard him recant One thing became quite clear The lisp he carried Was indeed harsh to the ear to save my ears harried I killed the urged to leer And I told him straight out He shan’t find a cure, I added “at least not here” He went on his way His spirit downcast I regretted my say But something held me fast One Thought held me there One Thought, “Why should I care?” (The Goddess that is Media) Our mother and our assassin! Giver of milk and poison Suckle us with your great glass teat Nurture us with homogenized knowledge With fat free ideals and 2 percent tabloids Gifts of love and fantasy in the fiber highway Angst, self pity, disgust, fascination Hold us in your gloved hands Throttle us with your loving embrace As the poison that was our milk Slowly turns bitter on our tongues As we die with hunger in our mouths. (This Hand of Mine) With this right hand of mine, I rise above the mass For no equality can be nourished while man still has a heart No wisdom can flourish While man retains the man Foolishness is his sword Stunted vision, his shield Misanthropy his companion. Now steeped in the rank of logic, And religious parsimony He wonders of the unknown As the knowable crumbles to dust beneath his feet And scatters like worthless Autumn leaves. |