a song yet to be sung

I think I’ll write

A song yet to be sung

I think I’ll craft

A fad yet to be set

 

Feed one hungry mortal

For every beer you have

Give an old shirt away

Every time a new one’s acquired

 

A song yet to be sung

A fad yet to be set

 

Castrate the rapist

Lynch him then

Some crimes can be warranted

Ask the weed smoker

 

A song yet to be sung

A fad yet to be set

 

A liter of cola a day

He weighs a hundred and ten kilos

He’s the couch potato

He should keep fit

 

A song yet to be sung

A fad yet to be set

 

Governances rule the world

I’m told where I can and cannot go

I wish to see, all that can be seen

Another lifetime, I might not have.

 

A song yet to be sung

A fad yet to set

 

Reviews

[Chaos]

I don't think is how you intended this poem to mean, but, as I read your work, I thought about the waisted dreams of the average person. When your sitting on the couch filling your face with fat and grease on a shingle, you still dream. When you get up in the morning and you smoke a cigarette and fill your body with liquid energy, you still dream. When you donate a shirt or do nothing at all, you still dream. I loved the concept that your work gave to me. Color me inspired.

Great write.

[alyssa]

WOW!! really means a lot!!!

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