Poetic Prostitution

Poetic Prostitution

My poetic prostitution:

To sell myself to you,

Seed the life of light,

Decrease the noise from hell,

And make you see the pointlessness.

Inside all of this

Discretion died;

Discretion lied;

Discretion paid my poetic prostitution.

 

In the beginning,

I laughed and played.

Sweet child of mine,

For all of days.

Whatever you said, it was always fun.

Whatever you did, it was praise for some.

Whatever you saw, was astonishment in itself.

You remember the ones like seeing beauty in hell.

We all start that way. In the beginning,

We laugh, we play, we work towards winning.

We are all sweet child of mine.

In separate ways, for all of days.

 

Moving on and away

From a child’s carefree day.

Giving in to laughter sparsely

To satiate societies edict closet.

Now what’s said is journalized.

Now what’s done is penalized.

Now what you see is only what you want.

You remember the ones, like seeing hell in beauty.

We make our choices and expect a second chance.

We howl, we fright, we cheat where we can.

We do not recognize laughter among children.

But given time, the silence is sure to pour in.

 

My Poetic Prostitution:

To cool the strings of ease,

Feed the center of death,

Increase the fog of war,

And lose yourself in the pointlessness.

Inside all of this

Reality died;

Reality lied;

Reality paid my Poetic Prostitution.

 

Author's Note

Poetry is not my strong point. Not to mention, all of the poems on here are at least a year old.