Untitled

Life is dream of delicate complexion,
an obscure interaction lined with pity,
the silver lining smeared sloppy and crumbling.
Is this what we want?
Is this our sublime sunset?
or is it a slippery slope.
the pebbles fall unceremoniously from our feet,
a ramble,
a scramble
through the thicket of an unforgiving uterus of love and affection,
an inconsistent joke played without contempt,
a subtle affair that lingers on.
All around we sing a song,
oblivious our prolific magnification persist,
based on self importance and corruption,
an obscene interaction planned but lost
among the slivers and slides of our contempt and arrogance,
our inconsistency gives us credit.
We who’s delusions dilute the world,
bring truth to its knees.
never shall we neglect our development.
We shall destroy our destinies
with the lethargic leprosy we project forward towards those who live without sorrow,
those men who leap in your dreams and fondle your feelings,
those men of power,
those men of sin and sensuous pleasure,
those who may free you,
but you ignore