the words never seem to formulate
to coagulate
to thicken
into a crusty mess
to be such glamorous poets
idolized by the ignorant masses
rat traps surrounding the growth
of an ideal humanity
to be taken in
by the seducing glare of violence and hitmen
we are all so bewildered
yet enchanted by magical, musical, soft creamy words
to die a soft death
would be ideal
in the mind of a blank poet
who values the grace of dying
to the torture of living
when both words so meaningless
and meaningful
present such harsh circumstances to a child's eyes
ask not for whom the bell tolls
ask why it tolls at all?
