Struggle

Struggle impassioned with glistening rage,
Emotionally stunted reverence of a page.
Beneath the lines lies dark and lurid
Sworn oaths, allocated yet amended; is this just?

And who is the higher power?
And why is their will obnoxiously adhered?
He has a soul which you just trampled
With your one size fits none beliefs
That every one of us must weep
And bow to your majesty, right honourable creeps
The lot of you.

Struggle galvanised by a faded few,
Even you can’t hide the shame
Of all things pure now left as blame
For targeting rubbish within the page
And our embellished, impassioned rage
Becomes our master under your watching eye
Through the guise you once derived
But now greater still for the sycophant
Tracing blood from your serving ants
To prick a wound you’ve hence created.
Praise the needed; where are the needy?

Lose your love(s)

Lose your loves and failed marriages
Of hate. Do you reckon looking at your profile shows
Your true shadow? Ugly. Grey. Past romance.
Oh you great ‘men’ of power,
Boasting through your words, voice and feet.
I can see you, not closely though.
It’s like your hidden somewhere,
Somewhere deep within us both,
But isn’t it ironic that I long for it still.
Or is it longing? Short term longing
If that’s the phrase, to judge, expose, betray or confirm
The nightmare state I lived between; the rock and a façade face.