creative writing, love, poetry, Romance

Social Norm

She sees pictures on dark walls, of times that she can’t dissolve,

Reflections of an echoed past, that evening that happened so fast.

The fault was not you nor I, yet you chose your grave to hide,

A death to the nights we shared, from the tears we bared,

Because we were scared, of the choice we declared.

Sometimes I still see her face you know, in the moon lights glow,

Reflections of your soul, shining on the tear drops of my pillow.

On that sunny day in May, or when the autumn leaves turn gray,

Shouting with such Boisterous gay, our families were dismayed.

I’ve filled this poem with words, that look bright tonight,

I’m older with youth, giving them the love we had those nights,

When I stepped in to the future, and you rose to a new height.

I keep in silence as a lamb, as cursed I am, another broken dam,

Force to drift through uncharted seas, and through forest filled lands

Yet in my heart lies this quest, birth from our turmoil and stress,

To prove this sexuality is a vest, honed from our loves laments.

So let loose this bitch for war, let the courage of women soar,

In this time of scorn, lives hate for what isn’t a social norm.

creative writing, entertainment, Music, poetry

I’m Afraid of Music

I’m afraid of music, or what hellish parody it’s become,

The image of stars has darkened, darken one’s imaginings of fun.

Musicians have become scandalized, from abuse, violence, and disgrace,

Money and power takes presents, of those once Platonic days.

The string guitar is a noose, the drum and base are non-medicated drugs,

Voices are hyperventilation, I’m being raped by the thought of what was.

Demonic life illustrations, over obnoxious acoustic and electronic trilogies,

Take the place of Thought provoking lyricism, above expressive hypnotic melodies.

I once found security as a child, in their words and their seductive songs,

Musical illustrations helped me battle, through cancer and sickness, when the nights were long.

Is it wrong to choose disease, over these once spell bounded tympani’s?

Or wait for a day of relief, where the love will come back to me?

Intoxicated hallucinations, bring and hold a semblance of harmony,

Then I tolerate those once peaceful enjoyments that are now violating non-realities.

Whether if it is Molly or Drake, or if it is Blink or Green,

Alliteration’s of M.J., now scare me with the dearest limericks of Kelly.

Can true wisdom tell the difference, over a painful foolish resemblance?

Is my pretentious phobia curable, if I embrace this toxic ignorance?

While they recite phenomena, out of their satirical lyric tunes,

Acidic verbal nonsense, gets heard from our rational views.

I’m afraid of music, or what concepts it’s inspired,

Thoughts of giving up my talent, light my ambitions on fire.

Call me a coward, say I’m terrified of nothing,

Yet has times ever become dark, and music made that depression cutting?

Am I alone in belief that the world’s music, had better for us and our loved ones?

Than hearing drummer boys rock from their flocks on the streets of their trap funds.

They Talk gun clapping over auto tune beats, but real culture takes it and puts it in to reality,

The first reason I’m afraid of music, what it is doing to the community.

They preach inspiration from intoxication, melodious narcotic creativity,

The second reason I’m afraid of music, endorsing tranquillized abnormalities.

I wish this phobia was void, and there was not any reason to fret,

The third reason I’m afraid of music, I can do nothing to change it.

poetry, politics

Royalty Midst Retches

Can we call this one evil, if they are a product of their republic?

That nation that praises hypocritical morals, posthumously adopted by fathers long buried in the passed.

Anyone can take on a ghost principle, if one wants to proclaim a self-righteous invisible glory,

It only takes one gullible fool, to start a damaging fire.

Did we overtime become that gullible fool, whilst others led us to follow their dark shadows,

Yet to a ledge of internal death, in the pretext of independence?

But were we really sheep, flocked together by men and women whom knew our foolish morrals,

And cultivated the seeds of hope, to just grow the flowers of their end finances?

For what is a billionaire, or millionaire, are they not just babies,

grown with green forest around them, while we sit in eh self wanted concrete city,

wishing for their nourishment, and them giving bites at a time.

Can we blaim this anymore on the ignorance principle, The act of not knowing,

but yet living on hope and dream, when 99% of us die never getting a bite of their apple?

yet salivating for the taste of those red juices, drip seductively through vision and sound,

to the point when one would kill blood, just to have a taste of that green forest heaven!

Is that heaven seen by us in the mist of hell, millionaire angels and billionaire gods,

And us disciples warshipping their light in our poverty stricken darkness?

Have ones committed the ultimate  self sacrifice, because of failed atemps to touch their hands,

All we could do is drink the wine, and eat the crackers given from their tables!!!

You can only laugh at the ones who praise, hope!

You can only giggle at the ones who seek, dreams!

You can only guffaw at the ones who chase, fantasy!

But die with a smile of regret, that you were never able to be one of those angels…

So praise to the gods above, that you have wine and crackers.

Party on the land and sea, that you have family.

Give thanks and worship, that you are close to heaven.

Yet remember, that they are vain celestial spirits, that don’t really give a damn about you…

For they would walk with a stance, that states their better than man,

Yet heart corrupted black, from financial advances.

Skeletons formed by lower inhabitants, have no baring on their comfort,

For the ideals birth by money and power, make one royalty midst retches.