Poezja

Fluttering advocations
of a suicidal nation.

Promisingly I renounce
my utter distaste
that I had acquired
from the irritant taste
of bitter memories.

So sweet do I renounce!
that I urge you to bake me your
finest pastry
so that I may feel but just an ounce
of that sweet dough you call a bossom
beneath your silk - so divine

My pearl, oh I do not care
for fancy and folly
to watch slaves become hereos
when I'm with my polly

"susanna" "hosanna" 
what is a name to a flower?
but a short instance of breath
one that could never gasp for such beauty
that is bequeathed by that which is unseen

you are my rose of gold

my rose of ever-lasting fortune
the sweet fortuned is entirely yours
for the only true prospect of heaven
is that which hides in your minds dresser-draws

Alas! let us not speak
for wandering eyes
dare to peak
at words that speak of history bygone
For you may be the answer to everything
but you are to the world only to belong

And so amongst sea urchins
I hide beyond the near
gaping tunnels of illusion
the ones that most will fear

I shall speak to you through your fingers
on a plastic speaker board
only so that one day you might remember
how close you are to the lord.