Iridescence Of Deep Thoughts Poem by Van Empasis

Exhume not shallow graves
Die in not dying death.
If you cry, cry with flames
Of mine eyes, I bequeath
My words are not your words,
Make m’not a deceiver.
Thou sleep with your own swords,
Not drown in the my rivers.
Juxtapose of fictions
Are copies of good thieves.
None of their hands are the roots
Such rats of illusion.
Give birth of new seeing
Live a little while, for lies a lie
Let real echo echoes
Cause claps here are repeating
Rebirth is boring
Tasteless and odorless.
Cycle is another
Yet recycle is a trash.
We can live all the same,
Yet same is a lousy game
Out of nothing we are.
Out of something, we will.