Lawrence S. Pertillar Poems

Everyday and in many ways,
Our lives lived is another test to pass.
Like a taking of a quiz.
With answers heard that are daily given,
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Overpopulated by gameplayers,
Who have played out to squeeze fresh energy...
From a climate left brimming on the rim with a hope,
That an awakening snaps these jokesters to loosen their grasp...
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Tossed, kicked and thrown to puncture.
And those who have been deflated,
Like abused balls slammed against walls...
Are often heard to express,
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The various messages sent,
Have always invited confusion.
Whether or not intented or meant.
OR prevent the increase of misunderstanding.
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Those who rise to opulent skies,
To make statements generated...
In mediums to deliver their knack for bad taste,
Are often heard giving their opinions...
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I used to think of them as funny too.
People who acted foolishly,
To portray themselves as clowns and buffoons.
In fact,
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So happy am I and pleased to see,
Others with talents to express them publicly.
When I began to do this I felt alone and strange.
Especially when people misunderstood my attempts,
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Coming from a distance,
You picked me to offend...
And,
How do you like me now?
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I've been investigated, under-rated...
Berated to scold to deflate in debating,
A non-existing ego...
Believed I frequently visit to feed upon,
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Why is it that a certain class of people,
Feel they can free themselves...
From committing the most horrendous deeds,
To excuse what is done...
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