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<span style="font-family:Book Antiqua">Created in my hours of boredom...
Please grasp the symbolism. I'm not THAT subtle.
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Untitled Poem
A whiting scurrying flurry my untamed eye did meet
And with silent hurried motion my gazing view did greet.
As my glowing orbs did widen when the darling flakes ignored,
I felt a sudden longing, which at that point was restored.
A luscious sigh escaped my lips as I in such marvel stared.
My winter cloak grew soggy as I through the redflood blared.
Step for step, crunch for crunch, my rhythm carries through,
And so it will forever - even when light does shine anew.
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(H)our (Gl)ass
The big city shines its reddening lights and frames its lovely surprises:
The hour glass, on billboard high, whispers softly secrets of life and time
Its trickling tick runs down below, crystals seeping in never-ending flow
As the centuries become decades
The faithful servant always near, bows down to the billboard with listless sheer:
Coffee and coke, paperwork and dope, valium and purple bags, gasoline and pretty-boxed fags
With the corners of his mouth stretched up to his eyes, the servant prays to the god super-size
As the centuries become years
Swarms of insects gather 'round, jabbering nonsense with deafening sound:
Silicone breasts, skin-tight vests, faces covered in cosmetic masks, swigging out of sickly flasks.
As their lustful jeers ring out to billboard tall, cloned imagery will dominate their fall
As the centuries become months
High above, on billboard tall, contemporary Zeuses cackle at it all:
Servants with hope, doffee with cope, valium and pretty-boxed bags, gasoline and purple fags
With the piles of green always dear, they trip and stumble over their overgrown beards
As the centuries become weeks
The protestation quivers in their flocks, as the lion's share ties them into knots:
Chains enable them to move, starvation helps them consume, difference is bad and difference is sad
As they stare up at the billboard with spite, the sanctified wonders throw
venom in joyous might
As the centuries become days
The faithful servants return then home, the barbed wire, metal-encased impenetrable dome:
Blinded midgets with smiling faces, immaculate wombs setting the places, mashed potatoes and pork roast in their hands
As they sit and hold hands in peace, their perfect, darling, cookie cutter love will never ever cease
As the centuries are reduced to nothing</span>
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very well worded poems. But, they are so vague! keep at it tho i look forward to reading more!
