This Life is Rotten Friend, Purposely Led Astray

This life is rotten friend…

life is rotten

 

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

clearly

This life is rotten friend.

~~~

For more works by this author see Paul Neglia on The Creative Exiles.

https://www.creativeexiles.com/author/pauln/

You can also see more great work by Paul Neglia on HubPages.

https://hubpages.com/@pnknucklez

Paul Neglia
Latest posts by Paul Neglia (see all)
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Paul Neglia

Proud father of 3. Part time writer of poetry and short stories. I want to paint the world in but a few words.

4 thoughts on “This Life is Rotten Friend, Purposely Led Astray

  • November 18, 2021 at 11:38 PM
    Permalink

    Paul, this poem stirs some deep thoughts and emotions. Great phrasing and word skills make this piece a work of a master. Well done, my friend.

    Reply
    • November 20, 2021 at 6:21 AM
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      Thank you Phyllis. Thanks for powering through this long poem. Had a lot of thoughts on mind that I had to get on paper

      Reply
  • November 20, 2021 at 8:45 PM
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    Paul, this poem raises many deep concerns. It is quite an epic piece but very much needed to release the frustration and ire at the direction the world is taking. I need the truth, the real truth, but don’t know where to look. Everywhere I turn there seems to be friction and disharmony. something has to give. Nice work.

    Reply
    • November 21, 2021 at 7:51 PM
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      I wish the news would just report that….the news. I don’t need their opinions. Also wish people would stop being blinded by their political affiliation, its really a disgusting mask to wear. Thank you so much for your kind words and willingness to read this somewhat lengthy poem.

      Reply

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