Everyone has something to say.
Yet no one knows how to listen.
They cower under the percussion of their own shouts.
Unaware of the buety lying behind cooperation.
The unique bond of mutual understanding.
I stand conducting a musical.
Cues for percussion to lead the rythm
Interlacing with the footsteps of angels.
Roaring thunder at the ties of the conductor.
I shake in anticapation.
I want more then anything, my god.
To lift me into the sky, So I can leave this hellish place.
Without a need to die.
Do you think me sly?
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Deprivations of Mass Accumulation
PoésieA series of short funny and serious rhythms But be warned My poems are not for the weak of heart They will tear down the very fabrics of time. Or so I say I shall post every other day.
