Details |
Manqabat Poem
|
ATLAS SCRUBBED
Let’s all sit down and discuss this rationally
Since it is of import internationally
And hysteria will get us nowhere
So let’s get a few facts clear
First of all, from the first of us to the very last, we are quite frankly,
F*cking up
Wait………… before you fly off the candle
Allow me to defend and amend my statement
What I really meant to say was we are all f*cking up this atmosphere expediently
And exponentially
This is an emergency of preeminent planetary proportions
We are inventing diabolical devices that scar the flesh on the pride of Atlas
And hold our grandchildren hostage to a hoard of hedonistic heathens
Who mar the face of even Mars
As if f*cking up the earth forever isn’t near enough
Perhaps I’m not making myself clear enough
We don’t hold our environment dear enough
And flocks of flagrant fools don’t hear enough
As the magma is moaning
And the crust is turning to dust
Because countless millions of mindless men decline to design what they must know
For absolute sure………..
that there is an absolute cure
But men don't listen and will come to rue what must eventually come to pass
Because their all f*cking this f*cking planet straight up the f*cking ass
© 2012…PHREEPOETREE..~free cee!~
Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Manqabat Poem
|
there are moments that catch your breath, others that take it away,
there are instances which you dread and others that you long to stay,
for the seconds that drag on to minutes,
for the never-ending strikes of the clock,
for the moments that shed the tears,
for the cradle that didn't get to rock.
It can't be put into words, nor expressed through art,
the hurt, the guilt the love that shatters the heart,
to you who felt it- it was real but no-one got to see,
an emotional injustice, a hard hit of reality,
I can't imagine how it is - to feel a part of you die inside,
to feel it growing but then no longer, yet the bond not yet untied,
the emotional scar that residues,
remains an ever-healing bruise,
the mourn, the loss, the"what ifs" that cross your mind,
oddly as it may be it is the truest testament that love is blind,
though you hurt now that the wound is fresh, the memory still lingering,
in time it'll fade, never completely, but enough to stop from constant wondering,
there will come a day when all will be calm- no restless nights,
you begin to embrace the moments and enjoy life's highlights,
for love to grow again it must be felt, when everything brightens,
where the fruit once the size of a blueberry evidently ripens,
for now there's hope, whatever strength hope can give you will get you through,
hard times aren't as bad with loved ones close to you,
a passing away of 'the unknown' is deeply effecting,
sometimes it's what you weren't expecting...
Copyright © Maria Kyriacou | Year Posted 2016
|