Trampled Wills
Do you want something? Own ideas?
That’s a problem! You cannot live alone!
Are you an individual? That’s a crime!
You cannot have your own will and
consciousness, ideas, dreams, goals
You can’t be yourself, you have a ruler
You are a slave to a science. Human-made
This is the dark age. Foggy. Psychologically
The sun died. God became an exile
We are controlled and monitored animals
This is the darkness
We become zombies
In the Bible, Jesus said
Wolves come in sheep’s clothing
People who have been made…
Hopeless are waiting for the hope
“I am your hope, I save you!
Just do what I want of you!
Just follow all my instructions.”
Say it with a false, friendly smile
In a lambwhite cloak
The Foggy Psychology
You are
Money
"I was running hard and displaced afraid in solace. Caught in prison humanity solace embrace casualties of my own sins. Forlorn disrupted and aborted running and heard it. Run, run away from your manatees bulls. Hurting and this made me displayed my fears. I was running from the hordes of humanity's lures. I am ashamed and in balance trident unchallenged. Good morning life and embrace me the more always. Run Run away from your manatees bull. I ran away from them I was careless I wouldn't commit nor submit. A man running for my life tripped and fell like in a marathon. I'm surrounded running along it was crowded. Run, running away from the Humanity bulls. It was all my fault it's in all of this premise I was lost. Falling down I tried to get up and scampered open up my eyes as I realized I just been trampled?"
11/5/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Freedom Trampled Underfoot 2/2/2008
My thoughts are like a shallow grave.
As I sit here and rot, my conscience begins to waver,
I feel my soul begin to wilt.
Oh, woe to those who feel the depths of my calamity.
Cursed are they who fuel the fire of this infernal system.
Black-hearted are the beasts who stalk the halls,
That prey on the weak and feeble-minded,
The forlorn and the forgotten.
Rancid and foul is my predicament, my plight.
Brought on by no less than my own hand,
A mistake much regretted, causing much remorse.
Oh, hellish place, damn thee to hell!
May I never darken the walls of your prison again!
-Written while incarcerated in VCSD Jail.
Daddy comes everyday when the twilight
Bifurcates the light into shadows
Like a miscreant, grasshopper
Intrudes into the cracks of walls
Mom became a vociferous loudspeaker
Alcohol staggers inside his belly
Like the movement of snake..
He never came that day
Mamma's hand freezed with
Wheat flour and dough
My rapacious belly was ready to suffer
Starvation.. And I thought
Where did Those besotted legs and trampled
Shadows go?
It can't go to some other pastures
Some other homes,
It can't slap some other shoulders..
Myopic eyes often started to sew the dress
again enhancing the sartorial elegance..
I missed those shadows hued with that
Of pickles and spirit..
Still I proclaimed:
Shadows have gone..
Light is yet to come...
Life is yet to start
Everyone dreams of being
In the clouds
But only know how
To get there by
Smoking loud.
I'm tired of the weed.
People only
Know how to feed
Bad habits.
They want to lead
By example.
They concede and
Get trampled.
Things get rocky.
Life turns from solid
To shambles.
Procrastination is
A Fascination.
Stress levels increase.
We all scramble.
A New love is like a spray of wild horses.
Sprinting over the plains of emotion and passion.
On a whim- zigzagging, changing direction.
A pair of manic butterflies carving the wind.
When you realize that it wasn't really love
the butterflies get trampled to death.
Behind his endless daydream, behind his boundless self-esteem, what's picking up steam?
Swines Capture Team, proceeding plans stacked ream over ream, as well as their seamless dragnet scheme.
Hush money he can pay, for impunity he can pray, Justice never looks the other way.
Futile his bark and bay, futile his bray, imminent his reckoning day.
Donald, a sham piece; dolt nerd is slammed apiece, by nemesis without ruth,
whether he flounders tooth and nail or nail and tooth.
Trump in trance, trumpery in truth, a big and bold gone goose for FBI to sleuth!
Crushed petal, crushed stem
Flattened flower, Trampled love
Dead and dry flower
Crushed love, crushed heart, still
Packed down against the pavement
Crushed flower, crushed stem
Forgotten love, lost
Dried between sun and pavement
pages in a book
Trisha Sugarek
Moths and Machettes
I let people walk over me like the rug i thought i was,
flat and faced down on the cold floor,
where no one can see,
the pain and hurt brewing underneath.
I let people trample my soul like the dirt on the ground,
dry, cracked without a life source to live,
desperately trying to find,
that something to help it live.
I let people stomp on my dreams like they do concrete,
hard and fast in a blink of time,
without remorde for the feelings,
nor sympathy for my hope.
Oh, why do i let people walk, trample and stomp on me,
is it because i haven't found the voice i need to speak for myself,
or is it because i am too scared to just be me,
maybe it is because i can't find the fight inside to fight to walk, trample, and stomp on them.
gravely i'd remembered you
with hints of a sudden pastorial
past time crawling beneath
your craving energies as tangled
grapevines a tantalizing ore
i'd awakened the sullen must
beyond your weathered tones
beating as hidden drums
quietly calming my inner most needs
where i'd bestowed the memories
of you capturing my chafed being
borrowing seduction from future
joys cringing above your
beckoning sighs ravishing
naught why you taunted my space
i'd believed in safety an yet
your wrath ripped my soul apart
leaving my heart bleeding
under the sole of your feet
A field once walked
Becomes a path for today
Tomorrow a road
Trampled underfoot
Two words that describe my life
Initially my first fiancée
And latterly my wife
To be cheated on
Then a broken trust
In monetary and in love
Like ageing bread, I'd be the crust
To their Lions
Is where I awake
Dazed and confused
How much more can I take
My peripheral world is hazy
Whom we meet, their sometimes not
Trample, more like trampled
My name is James, forget me not
In the beginning,
their new life together was
a bed of roses
and nothing could smell as sweet!
Her heart opened up -
a delicate red beauty.
One day - foolishly -
he trampled that rose red heart.
Soon he was to learn
there’s no rose without a thorn,
and that scorned beauty
left her sharpest thorn for him.
Alimony’s sting
pricks him endlessly, and now. . . .
nothing’s coming up roses.
Inspired by Paula Swanson's "Trample" Poetry Contest
Trampled
mauled emotions
seeking an escape path
reverberate heart's corridor
confined.
Released
ink of sorrow
emotions' molten flow
compose a soothing serenade
heart felt.
Tear drops
sprinkle water
refresh trampled flowers,
flowers of emotion again
blooming.
© kashinath karmakar (12th Feb. 2012)
=============000=============
Placement: 5th; (Feb. 2012)
Contest:Trample
Sponsor:Paula Swanson
crack in gray city sidewalk
tiny flower face looks up
trampled by hurrying feet
beauty clings to life
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