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Ira Babbles Poem
Like the dog sick in the streak of His sultry sun,
Like the cow mad in the muck of His molten moon,
Like the pig hung by the heels in the heat of His hollow hills,
Like the goat feral in the face of His foul fields,
Plan my funeral
for I, too, am vulnerable to a state of decay—
Sowing His seeds of misery in the pit of my belly,
cultivating blight within
Breeding plague inside me already,
watching as fresh rot sprouts before Him
Omnipotent is He, but so is He wicked
to make men mortal—
His power is sickness;
We are children of the grave, we must accept,
feeble beings of His neglect,
and when He commands for us to pay respect,
we live to die, we mustn’t forget
Copyright © Ira Babbles | Year Posted 2018
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Ira Babbles Poem
Mass suffering placed solely upon me
The weight of the world worn as a scarf,
A stray straw away from snapping at the spine;
Like the parched camel roaming the desert—empty
A lone rider returned to the earth
Mirages of something splendid before me
gone in an instant, vanishing beneath the sands;
A drowning sea of palpable strain
Pleading to breathe—choking
Death’s hand around my brain,
life’s hand around my throat
A brighter side of suicide
beams beautifully through my pane,
A tempting vision of an escape before me
A life more radiant in its passing—freedom,
the freedom to break the stranglehold—death,
death is imminent, most eminently, by my hands
Copyright © Ira Babbles | Year Posted 2018
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Ira Babbles Poem
Amorphous is she, yet she takes every form
A shed of her skin is all it is for her to be reborn;
She polishes her fangs, and paints her lips
a shade of red to conceal her hiss;
With her forked tongue and hidden guile,
her jeweled crown and slithering smile,
men are oblivious to her hidden powers
of fertility and vengeance—she is born to devour;
With a wink of the eye, and a sway of the hips,
it is faithfulness she is set to steal
So, men, be warned to always resist
the devil that walks in six-inch heels
Copyright © Ira Babbles | Year Posted 2018
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