Wednesday, January 26, 2011

, Ain't I?

Like a phantom limb
An unsung hymn
A prophet whose disciples
Have cut out his tongue

Selling off true desires
To those who conspire
And waiting for a messiah
Who is fat with their cries for help

Like a heap of gold
Under a house forced to be sold
It is the poorest man who
Knows not what he possesses

Below Hell there is something worse
A circle not written of in Dante’s verse,
A daily damnation on this earth

Pestilence of the penniless
Execution by destitution
Tortured by visions in high-definition
Of every single blood-soaked gear

A man bereft of hope
Can soon find death so close
When an empty wallet matters most
And what really makes him human goes unnoticed

Goes unnoticed
It all goes unnoticed
Every one goes out unnoticed

Unless your death sparks a realization
One worthy of monetary donation
Worthless life. Stolen death

Like a phantom limb

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