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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


People rightfully want what they can’t have. It would mean consummation, to be consumed, to be married with desire.

This would commence floundering, a struggle in a darkness,

To have blind spots, uncertainties, things unseen.

When a total surrender to what one desires most occurs, giving the power over, stepping from the throne

A dangerous russian roulette.

Onlookers all around searching for hope, shrouded in darkness.

Hallow boned, like birds

Chattering and plucking at each other

Consuming suffrage and plunder

No teeth, no true line of defense

Only a wondering beak that drifts in and out of another’s’ business

No ability to look upon themselves, even though

All the other birds are onlookers as well.

When you facetime and put your essence on display

To put on an appearance, you'll lose prestige with every minute’s wake

A narcissist, a slave... to onlookers

A vessel to be frozen in time

A statue, a public figure in the middle of a busy center

A vessel that has been emptied by the thrusting of the soul outward

Lifeless inside taking home souvenirs and pennies in exchange for a priceless treasure flowing with milk and honey

Hallow boned and made of stone, public figures with other statues and limitations

A merry go round of constant thrusting

Broken open, creating pearls for the world to see


Submitted: October 01, 2018

© Copyright 2021 D.A.D. All rights reserved.

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Poem / Poetry