Monique
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The Plight of Clarity (Semi-Finished Thought)
🕑 Added 2017-02-20 02:43:19 +0000 UTC Often, I keepAll these words to myself,
Soften and sleep
Among the herd with stealth.
Like layman, laden
With a latent scurf of radiance
Singing single syllable courtesies,
Performing surface maintenance.
Raging for raised wages,
While forgoing their health.
Presume and preach,
But refuse to reach
For the higher shelf.
Will not hear teach
From within oneself.
Living as serfs
Appraised by monetary worth.
Letting their lords
Decide what it is they deserve
Pray, tell…
Absurd, had they heard
Words
Abdicated.
Unrelated
To material wealth.
Await, pray for patience, cadence.
Lost in grey gradience
Caught in the crosshairs of complacence.
Ward off my discord,
I hoard what I can't afford to sell.
Buried deep, what my lips hurried to tell.
What stirs and steeps within the void of this shell.
Whispering words spill from finely felled
Seams.
Silent screams,
Dispelled.
The spidering craquelure of dissidence,
Of sidelined raconteur’s expense;
Quelled.
Stripped of all fat that could be flensed.
By the blunt fist of the almighty state,
Who confiscated our estate,
And sold off all the vertebrates.
I don't mean to decorate
With pretty fallacies,
Nor lawlessly lacerate
Pretense, or petty malices.
I exasperate,
Exacerbate.
I am inadequate.
I just want to be touched
Such that;
The rush
Against rhyme
Suspends time,
And is choked
In the clutch.
A priori
And therefore I
Feel the hot flush
Of trust
Release from the adrenals
Un-police the pineal.
I am much.
Too much.
