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
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