Michael Walkerjohn

Gold Star - 13,957 Points (January 01 / Earth?)

Debilitating Repetitiousness - Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

physically assaulted
shut down and laid to rest
as a river stone, haphazardly
sealed within the finer sands
and silts of those disintegrating
ones, which came along before you
were graced with this one in a universal
lifetime chance, to experience breathing
in an evolving atmosphere of ever
changing dimensions; of imbalance in
a circumstance of fate as that instant
that challenging questionable postscript
and epitaph all scrolled together
and carved in stone…
Still, you continue
to rely upon those tingling
feelings in your collective gonads
and distrust, misplace, and disgrace
those clustered and feeble to
your thoughts questionings, from your
misunderstood unconsciousness constantly
existing on this particular moment's
commotions to incite, excite and put right
just which kind of ‘balls' you feel
you are endowed with…
Does equality in belief
exist; or is this concept
simply proud vanity, or one
hazy ideal that is fantasy?
Comprehendible, in comparison
to watching a faggot burn out
over the lifetime of a blazing
house fire where this burn
is allowed to reduce to
a pile of ash all of the
memories experienced
by living in such…
It, and all of its
essence, burned thoroughly
through, every chunk, every speck
watched by a jeering neighborly
crowd cheering the glittering
rise into that night's ghostly
skies; surreal and sinister, hopeful
and glimmering, until each fleck
holding on to its fire, expends
all of its consumable flesh
as fuel and its flames
are exhausted; then
these remnants of
memory and life
slowly drift down
upon that gathering crowd
and find their ways to the gutter…
Fluttering, fluttering, fluttering, as gravity
works its purposeful weighting down of
such earthly ideals and things as life
memories, and the ash of burned out
faggots; somewhat tragic, this
melodramatic rendering of
those ‘wet dreams' of lively
acceptance, that infected
brilliance, gone through this
society's resistance to rebellion
to the hypocrisy of an agenda deserving
only of the ashamed, the chained, the
underpinned and supposedly ‘free'; who
shout out their silent rage to the assumed
dark and deathly self-made enemies that
do not now and never did exist, except
in one's accepted educational
experiences, ‘those learnings' meant
to bring you, bowing down on both knees
surely submissive and totally kowtowing
to an agenda of compromise, one in
which you commit your promise to
exist, as a simplistic cog or spoke
a silent joke; a figurative token
unspoken, exceedingly silent
compliant, reliant upon
the wants, the reminders; a
that ball less mule wearing binders
and being whipped constantly
so you will comply…
The prohibition of spirits and
thoughts and decisions; repetitively
attacked actions, words, and submissions
do these constant negatives
cause you confusion
incite your disillusions
provoke of you any solutions
to this necessary and belated
rebelliousness looming on the horizons
of any and each future imagined?
Or, is it the only truth, that this
discombobulation is simply
a persistent hypocrisy and each
of US is an innocent; in thought
in accountability, in our tightly
constricted realities, and so immature
as contributing factors, that we do not
care to give a shite about anything
other than ourselves
Now do you see, how
extenuatingly irritating
these things are to me?
These ‘things', AKA citizens
so much the morbid mess
of this ever ridiculous
Debilitating Repetitiousness…

Topic(s) of this poem: surrealism

Form: Free Verse

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 21, 2016

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