I needed to be engulfed in the love she so intimately imitated...
She, so delicately,
Integrated both what she felt
And what she portrayed..
A product, like me, of this
Generational corporation
Under genetic sedation.
What was so poetically illustrated,
Failed to be demonstrated...
An emphatic paraplegic¬
Balanced on belligerent balance beams....
Hoping the latter would be outweighed.
But
I am the addict in her contradiction
Both transparent and opaque
Yet, in her own play,
This pro-antagonist
Has yet to realize she be both
The cure and the plague..
She was, Queen of Sheba,
Shape shifted upon departure.
She was, Queen Amoeba
Queen to me, but
Queen to whomever was fond of....
I am the King but,
She stripped that very persona.
...
I was lost in the act to be honest,
I was a slave to her need to be drunken in her own colada.
To be honest,
I was inebriated myself looking through her kaleido.
Yet to have scoped the problem,
It was ourselves we needed to look inside of...
~
We, lost in our own separate confinements
Left the anatomy of our commencement
Behind us.
So as you can see...
The destruction was rippled by the fact
We were at war with what was beloved
Unaware we were the casualty.
FortheloveofPoetry
 1900
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Casualties of War
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OTHER POEMS WRITTEN BY FortheloveofPoetry
Casualties of WarI needed to be engulfed in the love she so intimately imitated... She, so delicately, Integrated both what she felt And what she portrayed.. A product, like me, of this Generational corporation Under genetic sedation. What was so poetically illustrated, Failed to be demonstrated... An emphatic paraplegic¬ Balanced on belligerent balance beams.... Hoping the latter would be outweighed. But I am the addict in her contradiction Both transparent and opaque Yet, in her own play, This pro-antagonist Has yet to realize she be both The cure and the plague.. She was, Queen of Sheba, Shape shifted upon departure. She was, Queen Amoeba Queen to me, but Queen to whomever was fond of.... I am the King but, She stripped that very persona. ... I was lost in the act to be honest, I was a slave to her need to be drunken in her own colada. To be honest, I was inebriated myself looking through her kaleido. Yet to have scoped the problem, It was ourselves we needed t...  |
Lost in the Fire spWith suspicion I still leave this open door For a door barely opened.... For the curiosity of what may be inside.. Trying to gain remorse for the now empty room, We have both departed. Faded memories of what use to be, Laminated in an album I use to flip through. Things we lost in the Fire. |
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