Where have the lilacs gone?
Are they with the belladonna
that bloomed when we were young,
before the truth was known,
before the side effects,
before the taking of remedies?
Neither mother, maiden, nor crowne
can morn more the passing of this nation
He’s nobody’s hero,
the man that wakes at dawn,
the bagger that packs bags
’till swole with groceries.
We are living in Orwell’s mind,
while Huxley sings his lullaby
Do not believe bankers, princes,
or governments; for all their wealth,
glittering gold, and grasping at control,
He passed away today—or was it days ago,I have not the strength to tell.Anymore, the rose’s petal’s saywhat my words could never:don’t send me more flowers—please don’t affix a card to the lilies,because I have relived his deathwith each wilting lilyand cried more often then a rose in molt.
On workdays he’d get up,
worn as the mattress’s springs,
and put on his dad face.
I’d sometimes see him through the cracks
How many year ago
did the carpenters tools
to understand the world?
Reading the newspaper:
It said, new material blacker
Ever since the first grass blades gathered
beneath the feet of wandering birch trees
those little leafs have made us leap and flee;
our hips an Eocene launch toward hazards,
Not in leaflets or amid the marching
of nuclear niore to be found,
Liberty’s wields her sword
in most imperceptible ways,
I have gone out into the snow,
braving the winter’s fiery cold,
and searched for rabbit high and low
when frosty mitts refused to hold.
Do not let your spirit be leveled flat,
your laughter should rise with the coming sun,
laugh, cry, and dance in the embers of life.
We adapt and flex as rubber,
because, for us searchers, wonder
finds answers that aren’t writ in stone,
To destroy is to be human,
we’d sell the sun to buy a candle;
The Reaper’s cloak swooshes across the road.
A feeling of doom sweeps over my bones,
I hear the sound of sharpening up in my throat,
In it’s most simple form personification is a poetic device where animals, plants or even inanimate objects, are given human qualities. I said simple because, in it’s basic form, if we imagine a rabbit hunting with a 4-10 shotgun that is personification, and that is a fairly simple idea.
In thumping thuds of far off drowsy drums
I hear the restless distant call of questions,
beckoning me closer to feel their boom
and beat within my body louder the taunt
I will not let my death bore my friends.
Our lives can do enough of that,