I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
If your wish to hear Stories not meant for your ears Feign sleep and listen
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
How carefully some choose the right footwear Occasion, mood, height, weight, color and style Collapse the search parameters; they care
Haunting idiots Makes encroaching death seem much More appealing, no?
What kind of leader Believes everyone he wants Can be bought and sold?
Each time you feel small, weak, sick, insufficient Consider the subtle power of one, grey orphan Luckless lunar lump, looping languidly through silence
Hypochondriacal isolation Thanks to a rampant, mysterious plague Gradually yields to relaxation As good signs appear, though many are vague
“Kings are the slaves of history.” Leo Tolstoy, War & Peace When humble workers Humiliate proud monarchs The world seems more just
You survive a plague And then discover that you Suffer from MS
A gift for humans Was more than he could conjure We will not forget
Prometheus' pain Was your original cost How cheap you are now ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Genre theory doesn’t get much respect But then again, what does at the moment? It might be bright to history inspect To find out what the thing’s name really meant
None of it is ours We are designed to receive Accept and transmit
