The Coping Cloak Poem by Craig Turner

Eloquence in a burst of rage is hard to get right,
No subtle riots or gloves in a drunken street fight.

You cant shut us up we've got nothing to say,
You try to ignore us but we just walk away.

The brightest light there has ever been shines from the greatest love you've never seen,
Await and commence and be everything you can only believe.

The voices in my head really get on with my nerves,
They poke around the synaps without the credit the deserve.

Reclusing me, into my ever decreasing sleep,
Into my gardens bird box, Just to hide in peace.

Sitting on your bones and resting on your laurels,
Counting out ten pound notes disgracing all you morals.

Scrubbing away at my sins into industrial biffa bins,
Leave's just me and the psalms of my vulnerable.