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Poetry and I


It keeps me sane when I tether on the edge,
Soothing me and fighting that dark urge,
That morbid urge to become one with the night,
So yes, you can call it my guiding light.

It lifts me to new planes of reality,
From those dizzy heights I look down
And I see my actions are not futility,
From the mundane to the monumental,
They come together in a stunning mosaic.

It is the rose-colored glasses, through which I see the world clearly,
It is the deafening din in which I find true serenity,
Stripping me of all pretenses it leaves me clothed in truth,
So you look at me and my nakedness is just an illusion.

It is the place,
Where my nonsense finds meaning,
Where I can call you a fool and have you smiling,
Where my sins are virtuous because I’m rhyming,
And where it is truth even when I'm lying.

Through its words,
I've traveled to places only I can imagine,
I’ve gone back in time to write many wrongs,
I've stood on shoulders of giants and seen the future,
And my hope in humanity was restored, well, a bit,
I've spoken against politicians who milk us dry,
I've spoken against religious dogma and shackled minds,
I’ve spoken about love won and love lost,
I’ve spoken about fair maidens won at great cost,
And you listened and you awoke from your trance,
You matched ahead not giving our shame a second glance.

In my mind I see myself on the grandest stage,
My voice, crystal clear,
The crowd hangs on my every word,
Each word worth its weight in gold,
I hear them screaming, my name,
They bid me not to stop,
Flashing lights everywhere,
And at the curtains call,
The applause seem to reverberate forever,
My ego swells exponentially with each heartbeat,
And in my mind, I know it’s all in my mind, yet, it’s real.

Poetry and I...

*****March 31, 2012*****

(someone recently asked me what poetry meant to me, I couldn't really put it in 'normal' so obviously I had to write a poem about that)

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Tonight,
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The sickness that made the Vulture bald
would have killed the Crow.

It is because
the gods are petty
and would not be questioned
about who they show favor to,
That Crows live to,
Squawk hysterically
At Vultures' misfortune.

We have come to understand, that,
when a petty god is your barber,
Crows, who can't afford a razor,
with their benevolent destinies,
will punctuate our precious peace
with their shameless snickering.

but
the Vulture
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nor
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http://morganes-photographe.deviantart.com/
My Second poem about Vultures. I really need to stop this...😂😂😂

The Vulture

In times of famine,
The Vulture does not eat grass.
When Leopards are lean
because antelopes nowhere to be seen
The Vulture sits and watches,
Waiting...

Those who mocked his baldness
Will do well to remember
None has seen the Vulture's corpse
And he is secure in the knowledge that none will.

So,
when it rains
And they mock him
For having no nest still,
He holds his peace,
Watching...
For the Vulture, he's a patient animal.

The Vulture is not vindictive,
Those who mocked will die,
Those who didn't will die,
It matters not.
For when carcasses lay ripe
The Vulture does not ask
If his feast was once friend or foe

*****February 1, 2016*****