The cordiality of punctuality
bespeaks hidden venality
spooks watchful eyes
over dour mustachioed disguise
Checking out
You’ve created a world in your head
That I’m not apart of
Technically speaking,
Those actions should have come with a price
To raise satisfaction so heavily
Is asking too much of me
You’ll catch me off to the side,
Escaping into my mind with relative ease
Your venality is comforting
Consciously banking on plan B
I’m not prepared for this to break me
Maybe I’ll leave with a false sense of starting over
‘Till the end of this martyr party,
Expecting to see me on the other side of the glass,
Parting ways with my reflection
unlike Reality
humans' Criminality
becoming Calamity
coz of Insanity
dealing with Duality
spread of Venality
infected Animality
vicious Brutality
Dogs are eating Dogs
gone all Fidelity
leading to Debility
in front of Neutrality
dealing in Superficiality
laughing in Hilarity
greed Whimsicality
claiming Ideality
building its Regality
under Illegality
where's the Morality?
you've lost your Originality
isn't this Inanity?
human race Fatality
tell me it's Unreality
Darest V.C.,
The voodoo was the ill-omen,
Like the Mills bomb of the uniformed;
The voodoo was under-stated:
Youngsters danced by your stygian microcosm;
The voodoo was our ill-omen,
A crypt in this forest of pantology!
Darest V.C.,
The tear-gas tattle in the tavern;
The uniformed patrol perverting the road;
The pestilence of beating rods;
The petrifying forcing of the lasses
In vaults inside the vault;
Are these the few marks
Of the venality in the Ichor?
Darest V.C.,
Of course, not these alone!
Many are limping: few are walking,
And some of the walkers are limping
In their inside –
Of course, not these alone!
We all saw the fallen logs,
These logs – darest V.C.,
Should have been the ready trees
In the forest of their ancestors;
Of course, not these alone!
Many of the stars were lost
By the reposition of your sky,
And we like one long wood
Are the fallen logs of the Ichor!
Then – darest V.C.,
At your kindly instance
Some logs were towed to the ready rascals
Of the regius horse-pital;
Of course, not these alone!
Blood of gods gushed freely
From these blessed horizons of your rod.