No More Words

photo of head bust print artwork

Photo by meo on

If grasping for the brass ring
Has me grasping at straws
Why would it make my skin crawl?
For we all made it through the womb/wound
So, why must we pick at it?
Hungry ghosts, I presume
Perhaps now it’s time to demonstrate
Instead of the fruitless ‘accumulate’
Less can mean more in an abstract sense
And still, I wonder of the concept, ‘progress’
For the disease of greed petitions a need
Whereas nurturing requires an aimless seed
The plan eventually falls flat
While spontaneity carries more impact
It seems that words are never enough
Unless they’re directed to call a bluff
Then again, the pen is mightier than the sword
It invariably penetrates as a nail to the board/bored
As for a sexuality, I guess I’m bye
Because I’m working and just getting by
Yet, the magic touch of humanity is a torch
Seems I’m lit even as I sit on the porch
Or in my artist’s loft
Escaping a conceivable beecroft

About bognetta

Love has been so much more powerful than other people's control. I think it's all love, but sometimes it doesn't feel like love. That is because so many people are defensive, protective, and do not care to trust in that four letter!
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