As I sit before you all, I can only sit beside myself
And endeavour in the silence of disparity, in dire hope,
With aspirations of even transient clarity.
As I stare, barrelled, down the shotgun of my pen, I seek a cold vengeance that only Words seem eager to provide.
I am warm again.
As I stand upon my stool, not is it but my pedestal of which you placed beneath,
‘Tis where I gain such views of splendour. Yet my blackened mouth where thoughts Project on a podium for a fool, directs it in the squalor.
As I listen from a distant land of opinion unquenched, the cracks upon the veneered Mask of which you bare show clear.
Extremities with which you gesticulate, unknown,
Your words are not of what you speak. Yet seen as the true vernacular is your prose, Proclaims to hoards of inbred thoughts.
Minds do flourish and unrelent, emitting form suede-toothed sycophants
And prostitute your intellect.
Please, please do, by all means opinionate, forever wary of the rancid coke line that Divides minds so obstinate.
The continual flow of discontent excretes from the pores. Having the power and the Virtue to dissolve,
I urinate on your commodities and on your shoes.
Break through the torso barrier clad in brown, fraught with intention unvarying, and Inflict ideals against the rest, unyield to the hungry, humbled Gestapo, and realise the Grandeur in the beating of your heart.
And now, free thinkers!
You are detached from them all and without them cannot exist,
So still we ponder,
Betwixt,
Together,
Forever on our own.