The poets realm
Sings staccato
Relying
On the buying
Of imagery
To state the pain
Of
Ruddy Potemkin villages
Set for her majesty
To consume
To pillage
The comforting lie
While a mix of words
Spoke to silence
Might return
The violence
That crushes
Complete
Searing pain under control
What little control
Is to be had
Vision blinded
Blinded
Yet seeing all
As dancing apparitions
Disguise
The facts
That we are charlatans all
In a world
Created
By we
In a masquerade
Where only
Facades are played
Carry on
Carry on
I hate to admit this is beyond my comprehension.
ReplyDeleteMadness all (hey wait... that's a great title for a poem :P)
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