Untitled poem

I once filled another with my own soul.

Sure as flame, you can’t do the same

On a mule- it’s a rule

And I’m sorry to say I learned the hard way

‘Black wants black, white wants white,

Who the hell gave you the right?’


You weren’t always the mule

I made you to be.


I once fed obsession with honest love.

Pay no attention to the god above

Or those intuitions- another sight

That wake you in the dead of night

Worry not- logic’s turn.

I’ll push you in the corner, get you to fight

Brush away the voices in the dead of night.


I won’t let a magpie fall to its death.

Truth be told, I crafted a mould

So fall into me. Profess your flaw

I am the program. I am the law, and I

Know that I know it’s good for you.

Twenty odd years to find an address

I am your vehicle for success.


I wonder about my own two hands.

The sculptor of sculptures already made,

It’s a shame they don’t let you get away with it.

I cared for you, but you couldn’t see

That one should carve your destiny.

Is there one answer, cold and trite?

Follow the voices in the dead of night?

The End

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