Poetry, Writing

The Woman’s Mask

Respect the face she wears today,
respect the faces of her past.
Respect the reason she had to be
the woman hid behind a mask.

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Poetry, Writing

Echo

Distant voices bounce from mountains,
Strangling words and mangling minds.
Echoes of past and gossips of present,
Into my ears these strange ideas find.
Often I catch a sentence or two,
A phrase,
A fragment,
A word.
But in my mind,
These echoes still bounce,
Mumbling words of a strange,
distant mind.

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Poetry, Writing

Perish No Memories

Feeling my fingers around the
Coldness of the
Food-
Chilled and left
Forgotten in the back.

I pick out the perished:
Moldy fruit,
Curdled milk,
Expired meat.
I throw it all away.
No pick and choose-
Whatever’s bad must go.

Useless satiates.
Nourishment tumbling to the
Bottom. The pit of an overflowing
metal bin, covered in handprints
and cans.

No pick and choose-
What’s good is known,
And the bad is easily weeded.
Ain’t no nonsensical questions over
the correct sequence of events for
protesting a divorce,
or how many shirts one should
really wear
on a Tuesday.

No, it’s just specks of green
on the crust.
And that’s all that
really matters
anyways.

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Poetry, Writing

The God

The wind blows cold, from your dead God unpleased.
Sickly hands feeling ‘round, plucking the strings.
Breath of a shadow from one long deceased,
Pervading the children, and peering, sings.

He tells them a tale, lies of good fortune,
And tunes them to sing with His song.
God for the faithful ones, those in his cocoon,
Who strike and damn all who are “wrong”.

He uses the children, takes them for masks,
Donning their innocence, fooling you all.
Sitting above you, in reverence he basks,
Raising your young ones to bid as his thralls.

And they wrote down his tales, they spread the word,
Innocent, ignorant that His song had been blurred.

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