Save me from this life Like you have done Many a time If i listen to our old songs, Will they summon you? If i scream them from the peak of my lungs Until they tire Until they burst And my throat scorched Will you come back?
Perhaps in pieces, your life has been an open window Or a poem, open for everyone's interpretation Or just the grey matter of the dead And the maggots are feasting And your toes are cold The snake's lies, how they got you here And humans never listens to me It's the lack of fear
I always want to say And maybe it started when I was Young, knew what a man really was
I always want to say to the men If I'm not talking I'm thinking About how I'm gonna write this.
And then this sort of poetic Philosophical tendency Where I try to live as many
Metaphors as possible When I walk in front of you And teeter on the edge
Of your doorway or Hand you a lighter with my index Singularly in your room.
Especially when I sit in the Bathroom and look in the mirror With you
Except this has been executed By every man ive ever been with And at that point it is called a motif
men.
Author: KD Miller
0
Date: 02/04/2020
№ 1202951
Where are the Men of Peace
Although it's peace That we seek We find ourselves Up the creek Viewing a picture That's bleak From the folly of man And his long losing streak
It seems the way Of our times Fighting wars That are crimes Killing kids In their primes Robbing them Of lifetimes
Religion and greed Continue to shell Leaving death behind In the wake of shrapnel Not just the soldiers But civilians as well Yes it does seem We've made our own living hell
Why can't we end this Why won't we cease From these men who seek power Is there no release Death and heartache Continue on the increase My heart cries out Are there no men of peace
Society speaks. Oh, so loudly and annoyingly, Their words enter my ears.
A man who likes to sleep around is a hero. He's so manly and tough, I mean obviously Because it takes such skill to procreate, Which is designed by instinct.
A woman who sleeps around? Oh, she's a slut. Instinct does not affect her the same way, Because she is supposed to be a lady. She is not supposed to have desires, She is supposed to be classy.
Well, if that's what classiness is, I want no part in its double standards.
Does anyone even know that she is standing next to them? Do they give a fuck that she is a human being? She has needs, wants, and she should be allowed to express them. But she cannot, out of fear that she will be judged.
He thinks he can do whatever he wants. He makes himself known, and does not take no for an answer. Society condones this. "Boys will be boys" they say. And he is a boy if I've ever seen one.
1 Oh what shall we do What shall we do With these drunken men - Like my very own darling Mike Hammer?
Last night I picked him up From outside the pub Where he'd been drinking With his mates And in the car Almost near our home He says: I love you And I say to him: Is that you talking Or the beer? And he says Like lightning: It's me talking. I'm talking to my beer.
2
Oh what shall we do What shall we do With these drunken men - Like my very own darling Mike Hammer? I locked him in the car Doused him with effluent water Let him sleep there Till he turns sober But it's 11am now and hot And sober or not, He's still asleep In the car And when I try and wake him up He's still mumbling about love and beer
Oh what shall we do What shall we do With these drunken men - Like my very own darling Mike Hammer? Maybe I should dunk him over a hill Car and all Till he turns mature, till he's sober
The breath of priests Their voices thin Who fruit are we We pray within Finding broken roads Where dreams explodes Priest are cloaked Behind their robes Lord, these priest are men Let the whole world say, amen
