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Of Blind Cocks

Of blind cocks 
that crow at dawn
Dyeing, drying on 
the thorns of humanity
The Blood of non-creation 
and criterion of a nation insane
Inhumane and decimates 
to the red strains of Children’s games
Glory and praise the 
ascensions of one
The sum of masculinities abortion
The burnt image 
of the aftermath.
Go and see 
the walls of None
The tribunal of dung
Crown the one-eye worms 
Anointed in rotted empires 
Furies scurry and bury the thoughts
Of lace and grace the masses of fame and shame
The brutal pyre of human’s creed, 
the immune one
The dyeing, 
drying of the horns of cruel black sons
The burn of dark hands 
The blood of divinity 
The nation 
Is at war with profanity.
Sanity 
What is humanity?

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L Milton Hankins

Date: 4/25/2021 2:15:00 PM

Jehiel, I am not sure I understood a tenth of what your poem is about...I just know it is awesome. Your lines call up such rich imagery, and your poem flows smoothly from the first word to the last. Good work!

Poet Tellaferro
Date: 4/25/2021 3:48:00 PM

Thank, some times it just about the words, imagery and feelings. A Rorschach test in words with a dash of Dadaism a RAOUL HAUSMANN if you will in written words. But that puts my nonsense to high on the totem, I just love imagery, words and emotions...