Ideal citizens, you.
Dreamed-of private individuals,
With villas and servants.
Feasts, travels, lavish meals,
And drugs at the disposal of life.
Bravery is tiring,
Easier is indulgence,
Though it does not fill the belly.
With luxury you melt in saunas,
With androgyne butterflies.
And then, in the mighty air-conditioned
halls of Sodom,
you offer your seed
to Sterfos,
the tunnelled demigod.
The stench of puerile self-aggrandizement wafts through the air, a noxious cloud of platitudes and pomp, as the pusillanimous pustules of pseudo-intellectualism congregate to lavish accolades upon one another. How... amusing. The notion that these self-absorbed aesthetes, ye armchair sybarites, consider themselves arbiters of taste and talent, is nothing short of grotesque. And yet, here it persists, leeches on the cadavers of real artistry, perpetuating a vicious cycle of backslapping mediocrity, as they vomit forth oozing saccharine, cliche-ridden tripe, and elevate it to the status of holy scripture. Quaint indeed. The stench of their ignominy is almost... palpable.
How does it feel to know that playing by the rules was your downfall, I said I would be the last poetess standing because I can do: abattoir hymns of crimson vortices shredding the children to rain sanguinary as viscera chunks hail from above. Sorry ai can’t touch me, it would freak out to even read that. I may not have won many contests, but oops. Hehe.
Death is convincing.
Does a crowd gather to indicate certainty under the influence of doubt?
Is extinction a plot designed to entertain slavery?
Mastery, a cruel dimensional hierarchy where death is ever so [terribly] convincing.
The European Court of Human Rights
Have just approved Catholic appetites
The Vatican can't be sued
No matter how crude or rude
Sovereign Immunity sybarites!
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.