Short Trooped Poems

Hate is chemical,
flows from brain,
do not know how,
some things add,
like a bloody fad,
you feel like away,
rather being on your way,
these faces and places,
that you hate,
are something,
and not just one thing,
they are grouped,
before they are trooped,
you stereotype,
as you gripe,
you bigot,
as you overlook bright spots,
this is hate,
you go long with it,
perhaps that is target's fate....

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I have chose, to pick up my 
head,
hand,
bulls,
leg,
and the particles which trooped off from my brain while sleeping,
         and stand by my inspiration

For I have sheepishly
slept enough,
slipped enough,
and crawled enough

The days of my sleep, 
has come to ‘Rest in Pieces’
because,
I shall never lay still, 
no more,
for I have found the missing effervescent tools. 
which I have been searching for in my long-term, day and ray dreams...

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