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An uncovered guise.
Our; downfall is by design.

With, clipped pinions. We are told to soar.
Without, the correct equipment.

Gritty, winged-kerchiefs are, now, only used,
to make; crashing deserts of long,
suffered eyes.

Our, flightless; bracketed letters,
autarky and prospects, are;
grounded, plucked and taken away.

By egocentric, corrupt; butterfly-catchers.

Conglomerates, politicians, monarchies,
police, pharmaceuticals, media companies,
and kill-anthropists. Masquerade,
as caterpillars, from ruddered heights.

Butterfly-catchers, in caterpillar costumes,
that constantly; covet, steal, and touch,
our; colourful, patterned aesthetics.

Without, any consent, or, otherwise.

Unmoved, they subject our, sincere, candid,
consciousness, to their; captivating nets.

Nets of; iniquitous,
crooked hallucinations.
Lined and constructed, with;
utter lies.

Consequently, we have become,
an apathetic collection, of; curtailed,
blinkered, cocooned, restricted…

…(b)utter(f)lies.
.
© poormansdreams

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If you ever feel that you are frightened,
by barks, intimidating.
Do not fight, ignore or repress your feelings.

If your inner-walls detain you. Imprisoned.
And you seize. It is because,
your rage within, will leave you beaten.

If the dark arts can’t ever be enlightened,
start off, illuminating,
your life’s canvas, with your soul’s graffiti.

If cold, bitter winters leave you stricken,
stiffen your fingered gloves,
and reach for your extra cover, fleecy.

Life’s the hard part, please,
know, that the unliving’s easy.

Strife’s a scarred heart, please,
be careful, when it is given freely.

Be careful and know that,
the windowed moments,
of living pane,
will be mirrored,
in the reflections,
of every anguished,
droplet of rain,
and as they descend,
upon the ground,
in puddles, lain,
they’ll pool together,
a collective of absorbing grief,
in
angels’
scat-
tered
sky-
falled
tears,
cried from the heavens,
again, and again,
and again.

© poormansdreams

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———–
To sit atop
a throne
of pikes
with swin-
ging ankles
grazing clo-
uds of milk.
Above the w-
eary world, a-
way, way up
high.
——‐—————————————-
Looking down at salty, earthed disl-
ikes, and infections rankled. When dre-
ssed in robes of silk, unfurled. Woven fr-
om a lowly worms squirming, teary cry.
———————————————————–
A squ-           And, i-                      Thorn
inting             t’s pre-                      curls, r-  
  eye m-           y, all, a-                     ed. As
   akes              re tan                       our flo-
   out a              -gled.                       ck, slow-
   shrike.              —-                           ly, die.
      —-                                                      —-

© poormansdreams

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Low-born, lowly,
lumbered, plebian
mushrooms, steal and
take, their final gasp.
 Before, a fastly approaching,
 Babylonian Avalanche. Where, lined up, thinly, ivoried-blue, are petulant
       pigs. That, usually; sniff out, lick, arr-
             est and lock up; black, brown and
               white truffles. The unguilty

              are apprehended. For false,
             treasonous reasons. So, who
            can blame the fungis, for wanting
       to seize, the cult of vulturous swines?
     By; the scruff of the system, and br-
   eak their snouts, until, their peccaried
      feathers are ruffled? The champignon,
     were; hewed and chewed, aplenty. By;

    hoggish, gnarled teeth, curled trotters
    and lavish appetites. But, those that  
   fell, to the Babylonian Avalanche, will,
  eventually, become a Mushroom Cloud.
 They’ll float over, the 50, fuzzy, boarish
 corpses, to stellar, toadstool plateaus. When, their; final, pixie dust; they bite.

© poormansdreams

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Can you imagine,
that day,
the cataclysm came?
Red horses, ride sanguine, mammoth waves.
The foaming flotsam, screams of despair.
Fear, hastily, carrying your loved ones, away.

Can you imagine,
that day,
the cataclysm came?
Mouths, where remarks, went to their graves.
Popcorned grief, by the handful, to share.
All over lands, desolate, embodied litter, lay.

Can you imagine,
that day,
the cataclysm came?
Futures, stubbed out, by cigaretting staves.
Clung nooses, made of, shoulder-length, hair.
Burnt edges, making skins, constantly, fray.

Can you imagine,
that day,
the cataclysm came?
Water, smoke and fire, devouring the caves.
Untold, vast, abyssal infernos, consume reeky lairs.
Inky, sapphire, carmine, chews leaden decay.

Can you imagine,
that day,
the cataclysm came?

Can you imagine,
the bray, that came,
from mother nature’s, justice-shaped, shame?

You won’t have to imagine,
for long,
it’s, already, on it’s way…

Can you imagine,
what they’ll say,
when,
the cataclysm came?

© poormansdreams

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somewhere
along the universal path
a twilight hut

stands alone

where cosmic palms are read
and untimely fortunes are told
by abyssal blackness
in the guise of twinkling
clairvoyants

planets reach out
to touch lost faith
yearning for a claim
to stardom
but the uncelestial zone
yields only
dead broke dreams
that have been missold

inside
the sensei shadows
of physics
whisper
contemptuously
of blaggards that
“couldn’t even imagine
how to float
never mind actually
be buoyant”

outside
sub-zero temperatures
make sure their teeth
are heard chattering
as their lips
splutter kisses
upon every
last inch of spacial decay
comets are the remnants
of their spit splattering

© poormansdreams

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As,
the, curious,
beak, cracks, through,
the shell.
The curvature, splits. Like, a
crooked spine, in, Corruption’s; hu
-nched, charlatanic, back. Memor
-ies; scramble. As, yokes, are, unhitch
-ed, from; cheats of burden. They walk,
with, precise, apexed, chins. Held high.
Elevating, to; poached, classy, cultured, chambrés. From, collapsing shacks. I
-ronically, the highbrows, never sense,
the cliffs, as they, edge, ever-closer, to,
their; flipped, scripted, skyscraping,
demise. Now, ovalled. Over. Easy;
is the fall. The, unlucky, Moon,
stays, risen. For, a baker’s,
dozened, months. Rot
-ten. Unable to;
evac.

© poormansdreams

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Taken…

…is, but,
a quivering,
moment.

To fade,
into, sign
-ificance’s, aching,
thrumming, mists…

…with, those,
unforsaken.

Yet, desolated,
is, the sequence,
of yesterdays,
leading, upto…

…that, final,
shaking…

…moment. This…

…is, when you become…

…trembling millenia…

…in the making.

Time’s
–ed by…

…tremored rememberance,
in perpetuum…

…a, for ever
-more, breathtaking,
premise.

© poormansdreams

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Unlucky horseshoes,
strewn around the fields,
where I used to play.
Captured ankles after curfews,
absconded sword and shield,
laugh at me from yesterday.
I used to cry with curlews,
now my mouth is sealed,
like the word unsay.
Broad and mighty purviews,
are now wisps that yield,
to ground on which they lay.

You’ll never understand,
the pain with which you struck me.
The young outstretching hand,
has wizened into an old and grizzled duppy.
The noose I wear by your demand,
has the same shape and plans,
as those; hateful, possessive, and, damned;
horseshoes unlucky.

@poormansdreams

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You were Sacrificed on the Altar of Innocence.

Does the inkling stain
of an untattooed hole
and another teethless grin
explain the sinking shame
of a sunken soul?
Needled punctured spirit
of unholy porous stories
get underneath the skin
creepy crawling minutes
a minor’s corpus quarried.
Evanesced trauma and potential
left odd outlined fingerprints
like belief absolving sin
by the purported reverential
Godly eyed/bedeviled glints.

I was Sacrificed on the Altar of Innocence.

Still misshapen flat screeching; grief.
Childer’s; forsaken crescendoed deliverance.
Open-mouthed caves; youth’s open graves.
Yearn to be filled; in muddy melodied relief.
The undertaker only bends; to dissonance.

We are all Sacrificed on the Altar of Innocence.

© poormansdreams

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