Got to find the rhythm,
got to find it,
seeing that the glass sheen,
will fade and break,
falling down,
ending so slowly of it all,
just as a brittle porcelain skin,
aging solo on life,
by the by,
come on,
low on a bitter,
the lie of it all,
justifies nothing,
yet nothing else,
so close,
oh so close,
be it on the breaking on the laws,
just on so,
to it and being fair,
what else is there,
choking on the corduroy bar cells,
that stuff down the throat,
bend the air,
to thin out,
becoming a poison,
bare on the naked,
love one,
that fights against the walls,
yet still,
there is no way out,
yet the will to fight,
never dies,
on a vast idea,
that becomes,
on a rule,
that is overlooked,
where a utopia will never be found,
on a brilliant hue of a sky,
that bleeds,
sluggish and copper to smell,
for it all,
of it all,
celebrate the time now,
forget it all,
break the walls,
even the air thins away,
after hard work is come and gone,
more will fall down,
like stars that died,
before a wish was made,
by the moron,
who goes all the way,
born on death,
and kills life,
choking a blue,
that tints the skin,
eyes rolling up and away,
linger of tears that stream away,
and pool,
of that of an universe,
that no one bothers to explore,
leaving it all as a lie,
to that it never live,
fade away,
to ashes on ashes,
becoming the solid bull loads,
of crap upon crap,
which in truly,
poetry life like this and others,
don’t wish to speak about,
are over glanced,
placed with a wall that heights out the sky,
deep in the ground,
for there is no way out,
yet they all keep beating on the wall,
because on that,
some choose to write like this,
hoping someone will listen,
and make a try,
in the helping the world,
even a dollar to a homeless man,
or to a lonely child to find a family,
it is the small things,
now get lost . . .
the only cause that left behind on this,
was that the outside world is not noticed,
so just get lost.




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