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of the overman
The Overman knew many who died,
But cried for a cat the most.
The overman searched out those
Who could understand his poetry,
But settled for those
Who would suck his cock instead.
The Overman considered this reasonable.
The Overman corrected those,
Who would stare at a cross,
But not jump up on it:
His is life-survived talent,
Not God-given.
Before becoming king,
He made himself a prince,
And killed his father.
He wasn’t so ashamed
Of his father after this.
He clung to the comfort of form in life,
So in poetry cried out freestyle,
Demonstrating the strength.
Demonstrating the strength,
He realized that sometimes,
What is blind,
Cannot be seen either.
He closed his eyes,
And became something greater.
Being something greater,
He acknowledged there is no hope.
Without hope,
He began laughing the laughs,
Which mock the duties of the heart.
And his heart was something like
Compton in the winter,
Full of emotion,
But not functional.
