The Final Stand

And I witness Your deplorable “glory” Hunching over my tattered spine, So we can have something in common You walk with glorified shell-shock, Another sentient tongue, Straddling on the Eros of vindication Your sandpaper hands Reach for an assaulted tenderness Embracing lambasted lyric Another tenor’s proclamation That their oxidized octaves Are legitimately sound … Nobody is listening. … So, you try to rectify your ill-erect Compass Only heading south Bound By meandering prophecies, Unwritten Undeclared Just another pre-historic fool Believing the Jamaican grass is greener on The other side Puff your corrupted beliefs Toward laundered Benjamins While I soak in the bloodied joy, That I remain priceless … Approach me While you suffer tiny warden syndrome In High Definition Be the insignificant syllable that Becomes, you, a fragmented figment Of your re-imagination Call in your slobbering pinchers and Convince them why dethroning my smile Will be that change you conspire, Because I stood taller than the arrogant Umbilical c(h)ord that breastfeeds your high horse For I am you I am you Every kick, every punch, every verbal attack Every overcompensating, born-again glare You blasphemously portray But, it is not me you scar. IT IS NOT ME THAT YOU SCAR! … Your one-night stand with perception Succumbs your third-eye Keep drinking from your bloodied, rustic w(h)ine glass, As you drown in your declarations of dependence Screaming to be louder than love Louder than your ordained intentions To become a speck of importance To be worth something, Something more, Than the lunging foot you believe Will keep me down ©D.J.E.