Starting over freshly seeded in Earth
rising up to the fruitiness's epitomai
all 'tis new here 'pon our weariness's,
everything old now's withering away
Poems
Thomas Harris wrote The Silence of the Lambs
but the author's not a cannibalistic serial killer
and Edgar Allen Poe penned The Telltale Heart
yet wasn't that gone crazy, homicidal murderer
Stephen King champions slaughtered fantasies
however, tends no real-life, Jack Torrance signs
In the bipolar depths of melancholic depression,
where murky waters meet with ran out of breath
one comes to wonder how much worse it can get
and what difference does it make if I fail the test
The subtraction's huge says wise man up the hill
once sees faces of humans dead asleep 'pon a slab
others grand in contrast doing rejoicing aerobics
breathing in to remember living hopes I yet have
Once we're beyond the veil
this game's no longer afoot
so lay every duck 'pon rows
nice basket all our eggs put
The natives are restless and hungry,
in ghettos propped up by an illusion
99% of 100% but that math's chaotic
<greater than lesser than confusing>
reality stars with converse delusions
slow and steady, like lions crouching
low and inching forward to homicide
Hear, hear and a huge Christmas cheer
for dear glimmer of hope and affection
may the gratitude and love of Who girl
shower us with compassion's intention
If you're celebrating the holidays of this western world
but don't think your family's the most important being
then you're a poor, deluded, shithole of a human-thing
with festively colored Xmas ornaments in a nasty twist
Oh! You mustn't be a rock
nor live 'pon lonely island,
seek thee help dear friend,
troubled waters find them!
If Jesus Christ is niceness
a gift of giving generosity
then I am same humanity
as his kindness within me
The North Pole, Antarctica
nature's twin phenomena's
a converse of melancholies
forged in mistaken identity
Oh, if only I'd seen it sooner, he lamented
all my wise and sweet human compassion,
be so gratefully glad you found it, she said
many unfortunately poor people never do!
I once held title to idiocy
as an Idiot King I reigned
saved by a late awareness
I'm now a-hole redeemed
Yet I'm peasant imperfect
an Excaliber stuck on rock
forget all kindheartedness
I'm a revert at being a cock
