In order to win
you've got to sin,
been in this skin akin to nefarious wicked,
a sickening afflicted,
how awful to be addicted.
As predicted things are constricted,
convicted of connection,
an injection of affection makes perfection to disconnection.
When elections are directions for devastation,
the sins build in protection
for losers who win within a thin grin.
In recent times of crooked rhymes,
where crimes prime enzymes,
to speed up the bleeding of greed,
and take all that of which we need,
a seed of hope impedes the guaranteed,
because despair is in the air with a staring glare
to snare away their fair share.
Alas, in this warfare nightmare I declare,
to win, you've got to sin.
YOU ARE READING
Personal Poem List
PoetryThis will be where I write my poems from here on out. I do not have a specific agenda for releasing them, nor do I intend to publish them. This is just a document where I can place my thoughts down in the art of poetry. All of this is original work...
