Fri, 01/09/2015 - 00:21 -- exhil


Like the Rose of battle sweet,

My inner Yeats drops cash beats,

Paying no attentions’ way,

To the worries day to day.

Sin, I’m saying, attrition, my way in, but

I’mma weigh in my opinion about this condition

Breaking through fire, walls, renditions of stalls,

I’mma data mine this day of mine, seize,

Day to day operations, cease

All cooperation with the ugly beat

That’s for cops to walk, I talk the talk,

But the talk my fellows see are melodies,

Shunned swan’s song sung to the sound of ghetto beats,

I call in sick.

One more round of credibly crediting the felonies of life-everlasting peace -

Wait no. Crap.

I take that back.

What’s life then, besides existing flat?

The purpose? Why we take its flak? Stomped all over like my welcome mat?

Fuck that, fight. I choose to hike

the perennial path of Hypatia’s past.

Decide for myself, avoid the Sylvia Plath

Now that… that doesn’t seem all too bad.

I choose to to bring it back.

Like the prose, my tongue-in-cheek

Past the past, no longer weak

But rather days go by - always.

Don’t worry ‘bout the wrong face.

My epigraph is now a second fact, today’s iridescence,

No scripted laughs, no critics’ wrath, just plain prominence.

Tomorrow’s promises, I’ll solve all of it

Today’s wallowin’ - happiness is rare these days,

Prized commodity, duopoly between cash and faith.

But not me. Spread eagle, hug the sky so all may see.

Mellow in the shining yellow of tested golden mettle

Hello, seed the gorgeous sounds of my melodies,

The parable vines will fail this time. I preach - pardon and peace.

I’m flawless.

The terrible times that tore the truth tell tearable theses.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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