Friday, 25 April 2025

poem 244

 

I know a hole, 

It dreams of all the hate so perfect 

and each blade he needs to reflect 


As another life drains into the dirt

he just cries your my latest convert



I know a hole, 

Feed it day and day, its all the same 

easy exclaims a lord land given claim 


And wine freely flows to grapes of wrath

while talks of poverty ends with a laugh



I know a hole, 

It proclaims on all just grow and grow

then forget chains of sorrows you know 


Find that we will breed, to give no quarter

in this garden horror, we’ll give you order



I know a hole, 

Each day he try’s to sell you a soul 

while his winning smile takes control 


He just twists all your tender love 

into an ever-lasting rabid flying dove 

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