Listen -Part 1-
8/11/12
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There is a small soul within every crowd
A soft voice against the senile bickering of the strong
And the small souls wish they would listen
Wish you would listen
But the ears of the majority have been stuffed with pride
The puffed up breads have come out of the oven
And the oven closes on the non-finished
They were never finished
The masterpiece was torn
They ripped off its horn as they lavished in greed
Letting the soul bleed in the cruel wreck of silent despair
As they laugh knowingly and unmercifully
And I am left to listen to the blood trickling, groveling at my feet
I am left to the weak—the strong
The purified—the gone
I do not want to ruin everything by mending
As everyone is breaking I am bending
And my throat is constricted
The air has caught wind of a little soul’s voice
Begging for acceptance. . .for love
For an ear that isn’t breaded with self-indulgence
Crusted in disgust. . .drooping the damned
I am transformed into an image of a god
For this poor, sweet, ignored soul
Lies are his god. . .listen to my words
And rot
Listen as it constricts you—as I inflict you
It is better if I had never existed
I will not be worshipped in this prison!
You are everything to me and nothing
And the cursed breads rise
Sweet scents pour into your flaring nostrils
Watering my sunset eyes
And you see me watch as they turn their minds away
A guide towards lies and sticky debris
You follow the path not caring where it leads
Hearing the voices that refuse to clear their ears
And that therefore blind them
In worry and fear
I caress your tear and swallow
Your words like a vacuum
The disposable bag is always empty with dirt
Like a hearse I drive your body away
My blackness flaring
My horn honking
As everyone is staring. . .not wanting to know what I am carrying inside
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