The Black Hitler Is Born
riding on a cloud of evil
surfing the whirlwinds of disaster
i think you ought to know
I'm running on E
come and bury me
lily pads
fingertips
peace at last
we children
of deceitful past
we greet the hours
as our last
hidden behind
a fabricated past
i was five
on a sleeping pad
riding on a cloud of evil
surfing the whirlwinds of disaster
i think you ought to know
i'm running on E
come and bury me
math was a problem
i rarely laughed
when to be sincere
meant to become entrapped
we were once as you
a figment of truth
awaiting filth
guilt came equally
as the fever was intangible
"smoke will rise
intentions will fall
the pains intense
but for all that you have done to me
i feel i must repay you
if i can not have peace
no one will"
th3blackhitler.com
Copyright © Jerry Golden | Year Posted 2011
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment