Will somebody inform the asylum
there’s an anomaly.
The patients were given white coats
and the ability to sedate.

They took over the cameraman
and now they sell madness
in exchange for our peace.

They stole a car,
took over the government,
writing laws about which car
will save the world.
As for Joe, the violent criminal—
he’s free to roam the streets.
We wouldn’t want to offend him.

If I ever was to see you again,
It would be on a warm summer's day ,
The birds would be singing ,
The flowers blooming .

If I was to see you again ,
The sky would be an endless blue,
As my heart skips a beat for you.

On that sweet day ,
I'll sink into your arms ,
I'll hold you tight and won't let go .

On that very day ,
I would hold your hand ,
As you tell me how proud you are .

I'll apologize for the harsh words I'd said ,
And make up for those I didn't .

Respect is a two way street – on paper.
The bible says do unto others as you want done unto you, yet we’re compelled to do the latter ;
To turn the other cheek, then the other until we’re number and swollen
A generational wound left untreated,
Ignoring stains on the blood they’re bleeding
Sick from a disease they refused to see, let alone heal
Blinded by the deep-rooted pain no bundle of joy can ever kill, ever so slowly it is the joy they kill.
They killed our innocence with their negligence
Yet suffocated with elegance and reticence

A stranger in my own body
An intruder in my own skin
I have fallen victim of this
claustrophobic state
My body was a beautiful creation,
A sacred palace for the queen in
me
Til you distinguished all the
parts that made me a woman,
a mother,
And a sister,
My skin was molded with clay,
reflecting of art like Egyptian
sculptures
Til he painted it with scars,
Now like incomplete art,
I am left undone
Non of my best parts remain
best parts,
They have become

A stranger in my own body
An intruder in my own skin
I have fallen victim of this
claustrophobic state
My body was a beautiful creation,
A sacred palace for the queen in
me
Til you distinguished all the
parts that made me a woman,
a mother,
And a sister,
My skin was molded with clay,
reflecting of art like Egyptian
sculptures
Til he painted it with scars,
Now like incomplete art,
I am left undone
Non of my best parts remain
best parts,
They have become

I cringe at how it must feel
Drudging away peel by peel
The insensitive choice
To them with no voice
How dare you cut like a hot knife through butter
Paging through the mess, the clutter
Shall I recall the price you paid
To have them all laid
It's never how it actually ends
At The beginning the road bends
I don't want to care
This my cross to bare
Don't just stand there agape
Is there ever any escape
I cried once I think
Staring at the dirty dishes in the sink

My poetry dried up each tear
I’d spilt whilst sobbing in my beer.
It held me, like a faithful friend,
when my sad world seemed at an end.

Throughout my lost and languid life,
(while shackled to a wolfish wife)
those stanzas urged me bide my time.
In sunless shade they shone sublime.

In dungeon’s dank, dark days and nights,
temptations, trials, fond fancy’s flights;
like when she’d chilled me to the bone
and sorrow’d turned me into stone,

Lying in my bed, eyes slit open
closing them against the night's dark,
I began my ritual chant...
Visualizing with a spark,

to free my spirit from my body
go exploring about the town,
be not weighted with life's concerns
only when wanting to, touch down.

Astral Projection, it is called,
I employed it time and time again.
When I was young, healthy and strong,
could not wait to softly begin.

She tread along the world's savage street
eyes cast down in tragic defeat
toward a pining narrow light
barely seen, quite benight
till a hand reached out
open, devout
taking hold
consoled
saved

I saw the yellow bird from a distance.l questioned her existance,I gave her a meaning then I questioned until I came to the conclusion that she was just there to be beautiful and seen.If she has ever seen her self through the mirror then I am definitely sure she knows of her beauty,she knows that the colour of her wings are unique and carefully painted with love and adoration.The yellow bird knows about her creator because his signature is all over her wings .When other birds try and discredit her beauty she always remembers to look into the mirror and also remembers the mood in which her c