I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Becoming yourself Is much more valuable Than their approval
By D. J. Reddall6 months ago in Poets
Make America Grate again, on all of our Poor nervous systems
When the robot lifts The heavy object for you You do not gain strength
Dare to disturb the universe, you peach Startle the smooth, soporific hum Of an ordinary conversation In order to complain about your place
We ought to be more careful with power It should not be available for sale It should not be kept in a high tower With keys bestowed upon the first born male
“In summer the empire of insects spreads.” -- Adam Zagajewski It might seem mad to envy any ant: With its whole life folded into a year
Do we want a world In which illiterate fools Can think they're poets?
Watching the glass drain you, cold and empty Makes the impish paradox of whiskey So clear, as thirst and wrinkles multiply
We either betray Or perish before we can Keep those knuckles white
Each of these odd voices sings about time Past, present and future supply their themes The first, a historian, eschews rhyme
Behold, the prophet Of profit, which we must love More than anyone
He will claim all of Us, tormentors and those who Suffer torment, soon
