The stream (all workshops)
In piss and shit and filth we grovel deep
Our masters grin so smugly at our plight
So helpless we abase ourselves in sleep
Yet knowing that there is a way to fight
On Wall Street and each other sign of wealth
Our presence can’t be lied away as mad
There is no longer any need for stealth
The fight is a political jihad
No mercy for corrupt and greedy pricks
Their time has come and changes start to show
we will not fall for trickle down’s last tricks
the bosses will be struck a deadly blow
The I at the centre of my universe
is mentally, physically so unaware
that multiple sentience, widely diverse
with manifold centres of I's, with me share
through various insights accorded to all
the wonders of manifest here for the soul
The better for digest and easy recall
the singular works are removed from the whole
The entire universe splintered and vibrant
decoded by infinite angles of view
examined by limitless sense, endless agents
and never one single I really accrues
We have become a people who turn their
Backs on their own in need
Beggars' they are, pay them no heed
Even the animals have more compassion
Why should we bother if no one's there
to hear their cries of hunger and fear?
If you listen closely, you will hear
the sounds of a dying society
We are reaching the point of calamity
Remember well that mercy shown shall be mercy owned
Take care, take care
hump the kisses
the cream you butter
from rancid dreams
and that snarl pulled
like Lucifers loose button
at your crotch
steamy metaphors shoving
limbed wheeled tracks
all those whom became
ghosts
swallow your fucking pride you
pointing the automatic
against my temple
how I worshipped
the cracker jack treat
the brokeness under the
heel of night
I don’t ask for much,
I really don’t
But know I ask that you don’t die on me,
Because I haven’t spent my life or my words
Making you worry about me,
So please don’t make me worry about you,
It wouldn’t be fair if I go on and worry about you,
Because if I do,
Then I would have failed you,
I would have let you down,
So please don’t die on me today.
I'm way too late to play here, but this is Stan's cold write and my lifeless poem.
The sweet deceptions.
These lies to my ears.
They tear me open.
And feed my tears.
The mask.
Covered disguise.
Have been the sweet tooth truth. Not the bitter lies.
The vile acidic reflection.
As I peer into the reflected agony. The big or little correction.
Changed the way my mind prospers.
The mortal realization.
The castles of my own failure.
I am my own creation.
While I am also my own deflation.
I am not the round a bout guy.
The bend over and pick it up where it used to lye.
Return to me, oh silent one,
dear friend of yester-year
Proclaim in me
of what you see
and all we've learned to fear
Originally legitimated reasons
of concern
quickly turn into more profound statements
of deterioration learned
Mental stability needs constant repair
causes of disappearing
and fearing
now finally shared
The mist hung low, so low that mountains grew
high up in my imagination,
they towered into the sky
and threw their aura far,
I caught a glimpse of snow-white tracts,
of deep dark treed ravines, of balanced boulders,
blossom filled meadows, its slopes diminished
where the cataract, cascades of water,
danced between in cracks of velvet turf,
You are an artist.
You effortlessly sing a song of a new life,
each verse sounding clearer than the last
until you reach the closing chorus
without mentioning my name.
You eloquently tell a story
laced with characters I'll never know.
Swiftly moving from one chapter to the next
with the happy ending you've always wanted.
You paint a picture of the future,
colorful and bright,
but no matter how hard you try,
even your expert hands
can't find a way to fit me in.
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