Public fund for chow
Is dishonorable act
Like a milking cow.
The anguish flows when money dies
Amid the child’s and mother’s cries
It comes when scarcity is lost
And money made without a cost
Taking savings, stealing time
Open theft through hidden crime
Stones or feathers, shells or beads
These all once filled money needs
And represented hours of work
Yet money died when people shirk
And made more units, cheap and fast
Then money died - it did not last
We work for money - you and me
But central banks just print for free
Fiat money - scarce no longer
Loss of savings growing stronger
We need scarcity - absolute
No debasement - no dispute
Bitcoin provides the solution clear
Thank God Bitcoin’s finally here
180 nations - use fiat today
All are dying - come what may
Bitcoin conquers the fiat lies
Bitcoin is Hope, when money dies
Some find relief in solitary confinement
And others cherish the thought of being alone
I am but a weary soul craving for cessation and realignment
Waiting for greater powers to break this vestigial bone
Some are inclined to love and prosper
Relinquished control begets their duty to forget
I am built to loathe and falter
Borrowed time yields unreason; forever in sorrow’s debt
Some seek higher meaning in reason’s domain
Pity is the holder of divine understanding
I am a blemish that marks a desolate plane
Debasement is my steadfast tool for disbanding
Solace rests in a certainty embraced by one and all
To the place from which we came and from which we must depart
Eternal silence take stead and imbue my place of fall
Reprieve me of my ambling spirit and wandering heart
By Mark Miller
02/27/2017
Misuse in efforts of conscience abused in use reliance on substance for short lived comforts.
Machine of status in a creatures stature drowns below layers deep beneath characters silent misprision.
Broken down stricken down kept down in love with dance enhanced in a chemical romance.
Debasement inside lying still escape became a symptom a hollow metaphor pained with commission.
Reaching above sensory distortion grasp a surface decayed by rolling streams of decadence remains of choice in past circumstance.
Luke warm sadness fills a hollow hole below in dark depths lies my long lost animal of tissue and flesh.
Behind barriers of nature and stage lies my feeble friend of first born sentience in wait for guidance.
No fear for being there he heals basal emotions in disturbance hidden from awareness and consciousness.
Renewal of unstable condition rising above atmosphere in impulse of mixed function in prose perceptions and feelings.
Looking down a fond farewell to caged friend I'll never remember or know until illusions of reality come haunting again.
By Mark Miller
Laminate
Plastic covered up definitions lip with profound mastic.
Layered lamella formed single filed lines separating life from death;
Held onto by paper thin adhesions.
Besides bungling up a perfectly fine bollix,
Laminate single handedly took arms up touching innocency.
Scrolls of past things are looked less upon;
By inclinations vestal eye, seen glimpsing beyond chaste.
Blind alley virtual figment reality innocuously engulfed—
Suppressed complimentary service accepts multiplied donators;
Final offers pickled debacle is utter intrinsic debasement.
One lamination, under God, with liberty and justice; For all…
| Laminate | IrOniC ZiNc 12-13-15 12:59am (ct)
Sleep refuses to come
When you’re in the sights of a gun
Your eyes open just a crack
When no one has your back
Tombstones take hold of the reigns
We have nothing but false claims
Bodies fuel the empty fields
Nothing matters but human yields
So much wasted potential
I hope they weren’t essential
It’s ok we’ll find a replacement
Just a minor debasement
We can toy with our creations
Find some sort of relation
It’s fine if it has a different name
When they all look just the same
Thunderous palpitations upon benign sedaments,
Miscreants vindicate with justice of six cents.
A vociferous tyrannosaurus bursts sickly
Sanitized wives and rodents scurry very
Sedately towards dainty cliffs and heights
Of unforeseeable depths-withered sights.
A Persian rug is spread across garnered grounds
Before touring gypsies which please sound.
Great stories gather precariously on the head
Of a pen sent from hapless flutters in bed-
Sensations traverse a thing called a universe,
Discoursing various travesties as a nurse.
In gambits trained by substantial lapels
And triumphant whores who cast spells
Of priority towards declining propellers.
But, you're right, titanically proportioned cells.
Dwelling in tumultuous storms just to feel,
To melt the ashes of memories, means to heal.
Neglect the skeptic who's late for dinner
Skinning prunes and my meat suit's a winner.
Standard debasement sits beside youth
Stinking of stale sex and sweat of a sleuth
In the waiting room planning substantial
Equations translating to aliens:
We're still here...
Under the glow of the red light
Is a voluptuous woman with money in her sight
Putting away her dignity day & night
Sorrows she can't tell but can only hide
After a long night of decadence is over
She goes to her land of dreams
Awaits her is a knight in shiny armor
Her own imaginary prince
Someone that'll listen to her sorrows
And wipe the sad tears off her face
He gives her hope for a better tomorrow
As he sees no debasement in her but grace
But when the morning sun shines on her brightly
She puts her prince into obliteration
As she goes back to her sleazy reality
And awaits for her first lustful patron