Amos Christopherson Poems
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My Voice, What If No One Is Hearing It!
We will be taken captives of the rebellion demands
Bloodshed pictures are forcibly grabbed from our hands
Burnt and then later are perfumed
So as out there rottenness may still while zoomed
smell as glamorous sugary rose flowers stooped
The weak beggars, the one-eyed, the gawky needy
The crippled, and the poor suffer a lot
Our voices are echoed back at our hearing so dainty
We are hushed by men of embezzled fiat
No one will ever rise to our uplifting
O my voice, what if no hears it
When shall this ever end I ask?
We have lost confidence...
New Clothes New Habits
New clothes new habits
That leaves the receptacle no deficits
And they gone to school with guts
Ask them megabytes, gigabytes
Why drain sooner until the last mourner
Find them in junctions, saloons in any corner