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It was Cold and We had No Food

Author: colbybradshaw
ASL Info:    24,deep south, u.s
Elite Ratio:    3.61 - 19 /19 /29
Words: 482
Class/Type: Poetry /Serious
Total Views: 1255
Average Vote:    4.0000
Bytes: 3162


It was Cold and We had No Food

Wind like cutlass rapiers,
slowly drifting across too soft skin,
Piratical God,
The sign of the jolly roger,
the fear in the eyes of the transgressor,
the love you taste in your mouth,
the blood that comes with false acceptance,
friendships made of papier mache,
we are anachronisms,
we are battalions of North Korean Workers,
Ready to pray to the bench,
where the great leaders ass scraped the wood and caught a splinter.

We are blue collars prayers,
Being ushered into the heavens and disregarded by a white collar god,
We are books written to be misunderstood,
we are ephemeral war zones that must be changed like socks,
wars are the socks that countries must wear,
hate is love if your a continent,
hand motions on pedestals,
and double talking love promises take the place of leadership.

Friends pat eachother on the back,
in the cold dead anathema night,
a night that breathes like a cold blooded insect,
a night that holds you in its slick exo skeletanal grip,
the bony grip of a corpus,
the smile of grandfathers in sepia toned photographs.

And then we made,
what the Indians call the beast with two backs,
No one knew,
But we weren't the worse off for our physical trappings,
So I put on my invisible gas masks and skipped in a dismal false gravity towards the glowing crater that is my profession.

The money I make comes to visit me on different occasions,
Mostly twice a month and never enough,
but I dont need it,
I just need to place nutrients in my skin,
so that I may expand and become something better,
Not to say,
I dont like me now,
Just that,
I really dont like me all that much,
Right now that is.

And so It is,
That i carry my love on my back like a trader,
A tinker man,
Hitting the byways and vain twilit hillocks of the Appalachians,
With homes like headstones,
Citizens and denizens like undertakers,
their breath smells of formaldehyde,
All Ive got is the smell of your skin,
My bags of fake possessions,
and the home where you sit warm,
Bringing life and everything that is opposite,
of what i despise.

And here I am,
Dancing a drunken fools dance,
with words like whores,
tangled in my thoughts these syllables wait,
like adept assassins,
Like scores of troops dedicated to the hunting of my ideals,
dedicated to limiting my needs,
dedicated to definition and cheapening,
dedicated to making me lose my mind,
in the most sane way possible.

But i cant stop,
I don't even care if it means anything,
I have these thoughts,
I ask myself,
Will I always feel so limited,
The distance grows between all of us,
And I wonder,
If I were a mountain,
Would I even notice?

Submitted on 2010-03-09 14:27:41     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  Oh, gosh! I love this! Your syle of writting is so different and thoughtful in a way no others have really.

Wow. I expecially love this line.

"If I were a mountain,
Would I even notice?"

Amazing. Please continue to write.

| Posted on 2010-03-09 00:00:00 | by xxiknownowxx | [ Reply to This ]

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