PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

a fisherman casting into a body of water

as barren as a martian river bed

and, by your dispair, as equally unmoved

a guitarist whose strings turn to ghosts upon the strum

a spider sentenced to an unfortunately placed web,

you can't escape the feeling

of being alone

so you impale yourself on the shed exoskeletons of demons

who parasitized your only captive audience - 

your hope and better angels and flew off

no one even on your shoulders with whom to talk

is life merely the dice roll of darwinism?

if so, what's the point?

reproduction or sterility, 

feast or famine, 

eat or be eaten,

king them or king me!

so now you're a little bitter,

you say you've been red-pilled,

well who put you on those drugs?

who has you hallucinating ghosts?

some kind of pyschedelic flower,

trying to get high on itself

tell me, who has you hallucinating ghosts 

even where flesh-and-blood butterflies land?

seeing a transaction 

even in a sincere lovers hand?

you say, "but look, i've got an empty net"

but, of course, 

that body of water you're fishing 

is a puddle, my friend

you say "an age of drought has kicked in,

so why not fan the flames?"

everywhere you go

boiling more promising waters away,

though it surely can't be easier

sealing your fate

so now you're older, are you wiser?

you've got yourself promising followers

you're gonna get them red-pilled,

about to deal out all of those drugs

we're gonna find, in a dumpster, 

their aborted hope

some sort of carrion flower,

drawing flies to itself

tell me, who has you carving out killing fields

even when fluttering butterfly stands

are fully in season,

cutting off the reach of a lovers hand?

some tragic, ruthless, medievil king

afraid she's stealing bread