This life is rotten friend…
Walls built between rapports; souls razed on notice
Discourse the social lexicon used to hold such onus.
This world has no focus, no atonements to be spoke of
This Windex pen used to craft this opus, with crystal lyrics
Embers from scintillas, the births of supernovas
These streets, they still own us, their vision, still the coldest
Painful paintbrush strokes suffered, to life’s canvas,
The poet is emotive, riven as his thoughts disown us,
Words become components to formulate as motives,
Like live-in comas how my father told us to dream
The hard talks, and long walks, the outlines in white chalk
All eyes watching, clocking in, mopping up some spilled milk,
By the filled coffin, as the dust is swept from any promises
You said jokingly, that true saying about forgotten men,
They have no traffic stopping in, nor faith depositing.
Confusing rebels chartered in, chartered to madden quests
pamphlets nailed to church doors, raising ire toward the firmaments
Like ungodly pets, or Lutherans reciting all the precepts
Both feet on the floor of the church steps, riot book in hand,
Chary of Charon’s behest, espousing this world they condemn
This life is rotten friend, screaming at namesake obelisks
Smacking the pine box, the afterlife vessel we travel in
Anxious minds speak in paean positing while soapboxing
Teardrops from upper lids prove that pain can be positive,
In a place where emotions have begun to bear providence
Remember sharing pudding cups and stale bread sandwiches,
golden potato chips and cheese slices to fill those day-olds…
happier times, now grief shown at the footholds of a new home,
life’s reason sought from that green space, from the catacombs
time spent with someone where spirits roam the site of new loam
Closure awaits, reciting poems from the prone in haste,
Tear water for the fresh cut grasses to grow, noses blown,
Breaths uncaught, quaking timbres, muddling low like baritones
Pain corrupts the veins, in untamed rage, heart shots of cortisone,
Each chiseled mark to the throne, speaks louder in milestones.
Waiting for-ever-after, some poor kid’s wish was dismissed
The trials of civil warfare, and this vile world persists
Closets of bones, like fruitions or lavish harvests, missed,
Another year is gone where no blossoming exists
Cruelties mask compromise, a raised fist with schism wrists
Kids inculcated into catalysts, as catechists,
to usher in this new world of zealots and activists
the compassionate ones, devoid of their damn minds,
bend something normal into being inadequate
they say things like we really need to reexamine it.
These neophytes, these babies, they speak in enigmatic shit,
Recalcitrant, the ire of the few who can see right past it
The combat zone is becoming almost palpitant,
These radical factionists think parking garages
Are societies normal for a fortified cantonment
The establishment message is now less cognizant
They suppress the facts of the matter from the applicant
Telling him/her to peer up at this pretty little amulet
and that the piercing side spear is considered an accident
Meanwhile the people suffer in being the social ravishment
A new hope: the aggregate knows the corporate crapulence,
The sacrament that’s fed to politicking anatomists,
It portrays the rapture of tyrannical, upper management
So easily they quell postgraduates and philanthropists
Poisoning the inhabitants with the contaminant
Collegiate graduates are not the only ones with animus,
Dolts and simpletons as well, in possession of a faulty thalamus
Asleep at the wheel, to what liberals shaped as a paralysis
Aping as magnanimous and claiming substantialness
Genius and simpleton alike fell hard for this extravagance.
This paralysis is choice, and how dire the consequence
The power grab to take choice is orchestrated by dominance
The story is then postured as something of opulence
A basis to maybe usher in the dogmas and their tolerance
The cries are sonorous, the viewing of the death of commonsense.
Utopian ways untrodden by the blind and their pride,
As authoritarian plays are the sights that they bestride,
A confident, Orwellian haze, presents us their hide,
To the sound of contrarian praise is how they reply
A system in place, as the slow erasure of those who defy.
With that, apartheid strolls in, not wearing disguise
alongside the maze, patrolling with laissez-faire guides
Sectarian clichés are written in as societal war brides,
and cyanide, politicked in such a way, is then glorified.
Conform now to those ways so you can become diversified
Undignified actors, in roles the states have supplied,
Entertainment also, it’s so sad that their dogmas coincide
A new world order with cleverness used to turn a blind eye,
Proletarians alive in short supply, while watching the demise
As the containment of “choice” will play out as forced genocide.
Death to a country in motley, multifarious ways,
with buildings ablaze, and cheers in Machiavellian praise
Into the dark times we go, in various shades,
barbarian raids, and adieu to those glorious days,
with citizens afraid to speak in this new precarious state.
Friendly discoursers remain silent and amazed
though their words rarely attain a lesbian’s gaze,
nor will they reach the newfangled, egalitarian base.
With racism redefined, as being a specific hue or strain,
We may as well have our craniums buried in caves.
Yet, in the news these days, octogenarians slayed,
killed under the guise of humanitarian aid
From the dais, lies spewed in nefarious phrase and
rendered falsely by trusted sources as gregarious praise.
Down the rabbit hole we go, each of us donning a mysterious fate.
In these myriad games we’ve played, our debonair deportment,
Has led to a wild assortment of various endorsements
For an environment that is nightmarish and distorted
The Lord’s prayer has mixed with the devil’s discordance
And patience to this affair has become more and more shortened
A scary portrait we paint, with patronizing adornment,
But how rare it is that they paint themselves as discordant
Such hatred affixed to words, in these waves and these torrents,
these doctrinaires, so savagely mordant, they wear their importance
like some shiny metal, some shoulder flair of adornment
A blank slate populace imported, more like Remus than Romulus,
All of us raised in the wilderness only some boast the confidence,
And even less today project that ubiquitous consciousness
Most follow along the road consumed in insipid somnolence
with ominous music playing in the background of the subconsciousness.
The screams of Wake Up!! Wake Up!! as a necessary interruption,
Tasked for some to prove to the sleepy masses their massive disruptions
How freedom is only a front for some wholesale corruption
At least in their eyes, reading the lies they spew at their luncheons
It was the Chinese, the white man, or maybe a Russian
In all actuality they’ve come up with nothing
No proof, just rhetoric to accuse you of something
Because something is better than nothing for destruction
So bad the solution was offered without some discussion
And compulsive liars are still left running off assumptions
You know what assume does right, it leads to combustion,
But they needed something, a fire?!?, something to quell the discussion
A silly old man on a pulpit, blindly giving out instruction
To what of, he knows nothing, but it must be for something
The construction of something that comes without repercussions
The lie is it, the perception grossly using misconstruction,
Of racism, of terrorism, all leading into their seduction
Like a main act of a play, or a main role in the production
all of a sudden, all the bad guys can come out of their dungeons
supremacists and terrorists alike, arriving to thunderous percussions….
Seems farfetched right, all these accusations drummed up
Convenient, every time it happens, the news cameras come
Sound folks see one side of the coin, the other side, they see none
How does one side capitulate without raising a thumb?
How does hard work and pride equal equity of income?
I need someone to tell me the facts, or it is all just theory
To all these imagined what ifs, we should start up a query
All creeds and colors and races alike in a series
Should question how this life has made us so leery
And if ever we will come out of a year seeing more
This life is rotten friend.
For more works by this author see Paul Neglia on The Creative Exiles.
You can also see more great work by Paul Neglia on HubPages.
- Nothing Spells Masochist Like my Pride, Don’t Worry My Heart Can Take It - November 18, 2021
- Flower Cover - November 16, 2021
- This Life is Rotten Friend, Purposely Led Astray - November 16, 2021