Poetry, prose, philosophy, news, art, culture, life, sport (of course) and other universal conflicts...
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Friday, July 08, 2011
Official Prison
Backs bent to submission
by the bulge of prosperity
surrounding a job in a room
with red-carpeted walls and
a white, life-less ceiling
that guillotines the dreams.
The windows won't let the
world in or the word out;
they are sealed tight by design,
to keep spirits at bay, allowed to dance
only in the rays that the
dusty glass panes let through.
And we look out,
to see purple mist rising from
the rains which give life for many,
while filling the moat around us
prisoners here;
it's official, the sentence.
by the bulge of prosperity
surrounding a job in a room
with red-carpeted walls and
a white, life-less ceiling
that guillotines the dreams.
The windows won't let the
world in or the word out;
they are sealed tight by design,
to keep spirits at bay, allowed to dance
only in the rays that the
dusty glass panes let through.
And we look out,
to see purple mist rising from
the rains which give life for many,
while filling the moat around us
prisoners here;
it's official, the sentence.
(Ah! The cell called office cubicle)
Monday, July 04, 2011
Death tone
I dread this change,
the tones, from drum-rolls
announcing life in this city,
it's now a few night birds humming.
Darkness, I fear your smile too,
for you will sneak up on me
from behind to sever the
warm nerves to my heart.
I hate you too... wily, black n slimy,
how easily you got the same drummers
to play music at dawn
'morrow for my pallbearer.
the tones, from drum-rolls
announcing life in this city,
it's now a few night birds humming.
Darkness, I fear your smile too,
for you will sneak up on me
from behind to sever the
warm nerves to my heart.
I hate you too... wily, black n slimy,
how easily you got the same drummers
to play music at dawn
'morrow for my pallbearer.
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