wings unfurled in protection
eroded from surrounding rudiments
along a beacon of illumination
visage composed and serene
branching arms cradling cleaving souls
afraid to fade into eternal rest
gifts born from remembrance
weeping, wilting, worn
beneath a wandering ivy-covered guide
quiescent consignor of peace
beyond the cessation of life
- suspended in advocation
The worse that is the evil,
The more is the seriousness of the save,
The longer the walk away,
From the wrongdoer or master,
For the slave.
Israeli society only saved the rich from death and illness,
Or government soldiers who gave effort,
So the consequence of this was the massive tale,
Of angles and divinity interacting,
At the saints’ nail.
The tall lie that the two Mary’s and the guard told,
Pilate and the disciples who were heartbroken,
Was the result of the cess pit,
Of Pilate’s doctor advocation,
Of the softness of medicine’s permission.
Rumble bars ~ the education
is slowing down to advocation,
a better choice, or celebration
this hereto reason of duration!
The poet's handle, co-relation
wants time to think, their own creation
is rhyme, is rhyme, its' innovation,
composite thought, for allocation!
We dinker here, we speed, then ration
what facts could flaunt, we're our own nation,
the poet's poet, the graced sensation,
all else gets caught by time's invasion!
Stop now ~ the sign is mind's abrasion
it must be taught, fine art's embraced run,
a line, so brought with meaning's phase one,
the poem, the wrought, soul's recreation ~
Is hereby drought . . . . spectrum's persuasion!
Forsaken, mistaken. That is the way I am.
That's how it happened. I was left behind.
My brain flaking. Unaware of my mind.
I'm forever saddened. Bruising, I'm losing.
My soul as quick as could be. Advocation of truth, I try to send.
A left hand fashion statement. Realism that's soothing.
There is a case, there upon my face. Of depression and hate.
It's a question of mind. A part of fashion.
The essence of my trace. A sensual form of passion.
I'm running out of time. I see the rising moon, at "my noon."
And I shun the sun. I am a blend of love and hate.
Curse me and die!!! The end is coming so terribly soon.
I may as well continue. The screwing of my fate.