To all the inexperienced yous
Who never knew
Who nonetheless distressingly
Attested that the light was shining through them
Who swaggered,
Brandishing decrees that all the features
Of their follies meant an easy street
To follow me
Demanding that their sordid stories were
Accordant with the Georgie Porgie pudding pied Piper lies, engorging with
The subtle stinging sight of making mockery of mine own eyes.
I saw, I sought to see,
To make of me the breath that darts so anxiously,
When thoughts are flickering.
Bickering in simmering din, tinged with
Drifting out to sickly sea.
A gift,
From you to me.
Braggarts of a manufactured wagon for their testaments,
Directing their duress, incensed
within the prided defiance of liars,
Setting fires with their power prurience.
Riding dire lightning to deny the ire of the hour
In their towers full of missing feathers,
With the weather at a tempest's tempo
Tempting us to let go,
Until another cycle finds it's torturous delight
Upon the miles of a might be,
Ripening the wrath of all the peoples
And their plights, their long nights
Staring at their wrinkles and unsightly writhing.
Depriving them,
Deriding them for sighing,
Decrying the reality of life and all its maladies
The ballads of morality beset by treacherous intent.
To circumvent
The validation of the people
Whom the system doesn’t represent
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