Poetic Matter

born of the poets and born of beleivers born of the zealots and broken deceivers living the life i knew i would live taken by others refusing to give i stake out my future with weak sweaty palms uncharted, unwanted i heard living bombs dropped by planes in the distance i look with disdain upon hoardes of the dead beaten bloody insane men who walk with a lord who deceitfully smiles so can we afford to be stuck in the aisles of a shop long forgotten known only by sages who buy humans begotten unto rusty cages of thorns and dead splinters despite all the cold of red and white winters they stood up so bold. still i hike on a trail barefooted but free as i close bloodshot eyes to a world i wont see