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Of a sick nature, a signature to sign away a mind at play and find a way.

Standing up to authority, an author to conformity, comforting all those committed to dogmatic insanity.

Mentally implicit, I imply men tally illicit points extracted from the flesh and joints of the sexually complicit.

Completed and sold, a soul pleated and folded to be rigid in its ways of being eternally molded yet bold.

Bowled over through tough crowds, watched through the hands of clocks with pupils as keen as stuffed owls.

Boys and girls of the world, whirled and meshed for a mash-up of childish chess making kings and queens from the hands of pawns and jesters at best.

A jaw at jest, gums flapping like wings singing songs of rebellion to test the guns at rest.

Putting down swords to pick up cannons, the hands of the abandoned itch more than can stand the patience of the arms secluded and stranded in tandem.

Branded for earth, band-aids at birth do little to patch up the tragedy of the pageantry of our worth.


Profile photo of Shashank Mane

Shashank Mane

www.writeuptothemoment.wordpress.com

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