Nobody’s Insanity


Image by jmauerer via Flickr

Take a bow to the arrowed-gunshot head of the bereaver
grieving stands for apt to be perfectionist
was it clay fertile each nourished grain
a perfectionism of dirt and sand?
your fellows state the sins
cloud the mind with the sins
for it is they who keep tabs of the diners
where you drink coffee and fantasize of earthly splendours

Wrought in sin and good
a human should know
that all cravings for blessings
if made not mute
rupture souls rather then polishing
for evil is imminent
good an inherit  bee
stings should not corrupt flowers
made them feel lesser’s be.

Art has noble stallion wings
Science a hare’s jump to sky
you stopping, flooding with guilt
makes no edifice to bear
and passion

I made love with my mind
to keep it intact
to hell with all your other sparks
if you think
that I am sinfully meshed
but it is sin to judge
without a brain

Your alcohol is your pious-streak
and my beads are the passion I keep exploring sans actions

the mind rusts in guilt
give it poetry to breathe again

Speak yer mind

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