My Long Lost War Poem by Caleb Crow

Bile, backstreets, and blisters,
Paper cuts, and pulled hair.
Caesar is dead, betrayal, and bloody tears,
Lust bits, strangle marks, and smeared lipstick.
Pause, void…. Listen to the sickening silence –
Quickening faith, with this passive cancerous violence.
I am pain, we are intolerance; this is wicked regret,
Forget, the unforgiven, forsake the saved.
This depraved ungraciousness, groveling under false pretence,
Lost in carnal existence, smelling the fumes of forgotten reverence.
The bumbling, blustering, buffoonery, of the self important intellects,
Masturbating to the sounds of their own dissertations of nothingness.
While the street corner poets, and the jail house scholar –
Must wallow in these ill reputed houses,
And dance in the domain of squalor.
But I say no to this crippled hypocrisy,
I break the chains of vain decadent democracy.
Back to the wall, as they all close in.
Closer …. Silence …. Faith ….. Fury …. Redemption
Wickedness ….. Virtue …. Rain …. Pain …. Sunshine
Nothingness …. The Void … This Sickening Void
Cold Blistering SILENCE! ! ! ! ! !