Best Emaciated Poems
Powerful people know what weakened sheep want;
an ethically weakened hero with power to flaunt.
They want an easy ideological direction,
not actual common sense or introspection,
an excuse for what they are already doing
a leader to ease their guilt in misconstruing.
For them, feelings are tantamount, not acts.
they've been trained that way over the years..
mind's made up; never mind the facts.
They get efensive when truth nears....
The conscience is morphed and no longer applicable
through various worn out buzz lines,
Truth, God and introspection are despicable.
Powerful people know what weakened sheep want;
an ethically weakened hero with power to flaunt.
Autumn shears my weary garden
Yet industrious summer doth pardon
Summer's residual, dusts with frothy mist
My annual saplings fruitful labors desist
Late season gratuities doth slight
Yet graciously freezes rancid blight
My well-manicured plot
Frozen mounds do clot
Branching tendrils secede
Anon, bracketing weeds recede
Each ballasting furrow
Into the ground doth burrow
All the burgeoning blooms
With callous frost entombs
Leaves that did with fertile juices flow
Now lie on shriveled vines sallow
The green, neon afterglow
With a tarnishing brown doth bestow
My ripening fruit once pungent and mellow
With a rotting stench doth bellow
From the back of a woman’s mind
A thought creeps, peeps and slips
Meandering through layers of blind rind
Summersaulting to scan sweeps
Teeming with spaces in vessels
Where the thought investigates
Which epistles and whistles
Blow hot in the vicinity of gates
Hermetically closed
Shut so tight
The thought wonders who disclosed
Innermost secrets to delight
Ears and eyes that
Pry with neither repose nor pause
In their flat
Moves designed with no gauze
In sight as the thought
Snaps to attention
Peering left and right although caught
Up in a distraction direction
That tells the thought the coast
Is clear to proceed
To a toast
For the feed and seed
Unbeloved
Unappreciated
In a myriad of pesky problems unsolved
In love lozenges emaciated and depreciated.
her skeletal finger on her porcelain face
outlines her anguished song of grace
summoning the demon in her soul
a merciless pledge of self control
her body hangs on the ledge of death
pushing for one last poignant breath
knowing through her muffled cries
the only part she needs has died
and through her fragile silhouette
she moans through harsh and piercing sweats
but even as her flawed tears flow
ultimate beauty is never bestowed
I mourn —
Beneath her insipid skin laid
Vein tunnel hollowed
And beneath anaemic expression,
Laid a smile withering till slumber
I mourned a soul departing —
A soul so garish with love and light
Under the sun's rays she shone
A prismatic bliss of polychromatism
At the end of her devoted performances
Her branches fractured in bruise and scars
Trauma beneath the pipeline tunnels and;
Indentations of infliction by violent hands
Faintly, her vibrance languished to fall
Perishing under the weight of life's abuse
And larghetto into heaven's fáilte
I mourn —
The one who's time was fleeting yet eternal
Beneath deathless lights her beauty shone
Till the next time myself and her would meet
Once more, I'll have the courage to approach
And recite what I couldn't have said then
Her body frail in its struggling grace
Had never felt gentle hands on its surfaces,
But with caress I had vowed to have great caution
When the embrace matured to her beauty fading
On top of mine — I had allowed weeping aloud
I mourned — Her body laid rest before my rainfall of sapphires
Weeping and lamenting in melancholia
For the emaciated angel in her belle slumber.