I wasn't bred from good stock Or birthed with any hope of a shot Can't imagine that coming as a big shock Couldn't possibly hide the rot A thick scar dug into both wrists visually express what verbally I could not Flesh color replaced the black rorschach ink blot To clarify, a stark reminder was all I got KO'd after a turned cheek an awful lot Like knock knock Who's there? Just a nobody, A lowly placeholder of a single census spot
Looked up to your atmosphere Saw a little girl with wings Painting the sky with the Clouds Brushing them up And letting them flow Like she did With her mommy's hair
No camera can capture what we are gifted to see with our eyes and imagination. What do you see in the clouds
The poetry of thoughts shines despite the deceit That lies beyond the kingdom of the forgotten For it is otherwise shackled by the extraneous resolve To bind it to mortal forms with the cross of the sheet
And the hammer of the pen.
From this mere p*rversion one can't help but marvel At the speed upon which we surrender to defeat And stand ready to relinquish newfound heavens For the sloppy aesthetics of poetry and prose
And the fate it can't but meet.
For we walk alone on the quicksand of time And it swallows us whole before we dare speak So breathe the fresh air before it goes stale And let every moment be a chance to exist
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.