Prisoner of praise
was slave of anger:
sucks the rival in high speed.
The violence travels
from roots to leaves
The lake bleaches, puts out the skull
a myth is washed out
in complete agony.
Give me the hemlock
I am ready to burn inside.
Crazy moon
where did you go?
Hunger had been arrested in bloody eyes.
Now fumes are rising.
The iron fist no longer strikes
demands to know
why you had to go?
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
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