Powers Of Man

In life of vagabondage
Mourn for a father is a fable
An acceptance of pursuit
A whim, to neglect defeat
Like a slave’s protestant feet,
To kick out sorrow to a halt
Standing in divergent streets
Lugging a yoke in unease

My heart is a lock on a cage
Somewhere a man wallows in drunk pleasure
Somewhere I gasp sobs of sheer hovering
My love is locked in chains
I’m trying to melt the glaciers
But I’m flustered by an incessant tone
Of the never home nature of man
With an attractive smile, and unsung care

Swept in vibes of emptiness
I’m a color in shades of pale,
plush and rose
a frothy chew, flat on the face,
battered by a state of mind
and odd circuitous routine.
I snap, delicate and dainty
I take a breath and jump
at the perennial shade of fresh lust


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