Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Monster at my Nape

Only in the gilded lands,
does sometimes the idiot become wise
Then decide,
that wisdom is too heavy,
and recede away with the waves
Only within a life of comfort,
can the fickle, wax and wane
The self-imposed hardship,
teaches nothing, but delusions
To those who play destitution
as some hobby,
dancing happily with poverty
While the rest of us sleep,
with it’s rotten breath on our nape
Simply twirling with terror,
does not mean you know its name
Or the scrape of its claws on your chest
As it embraces you

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