Think Me Not More, Not Less Poem by Maveriqué Richard

If my hand should dribble of blood,
And my clothing of slime and mud,
If I gird my thighs with bows,
See me, but speak not howbeit.
For I do not rob souls of their coats,
Nor set them afloat on boats,
I do not glory in tears and grief
Only fetch cichlids;
From the ungodly ponds.

For life served beef from cadaverous bull;
And have crowned Princes;
With thorns, so thick
She'd fed sour wines to the Nazarenes,
Have built skyscrapers in Cimmerian shores,
But I no longer could her heartbreaks, nurse;
I'd rather will I declaw the Cat;
Hence I can't hold strong,
Nor hold steadfast,
The virtues mother taught;
With each breakfast.

So, I blow kisses before thick clouds;
Now that all their mercies abound,
So, think me not more,
Think me not less,
For I worth not more than a bunch of scum;
Think me not less,
Think me not more,
For the Inglorious hearts;
And the flippant tongue,
Shall both own no home in Abram's tomb.