Buds of Life

HUGELY experamental. Part of the protest style poetry I wrote while being oppressed at a Christian school.

 

People say one is the loneliest number

Only sometimes

If I knew how to be brave enough I’d explain

What are numbers?

Same as time?

That doesn’t mean much

Not to me

Explaining what I believe gets old after three million times

I guess that’s the purpose of numbers

To measure aggravation

1+1=3

or 2

the choice is yours now

I’ll only break it down once

line by line

some spring forth from their father’s heads

some are born of words

raised up through key strokes

music is the answer

do you know I believe?

We can be heroes

Just think it out

We can be lovers

Inhibition has no place here

We can be perfect

Just a click of the heels

Once upon a time,

There was hope.

It grew in its new home

Until it opened its eyes.

Some believe they stopped burning witches

Well, at least with fire

I have children

I expand their minds

I can’t open the door

I give them the key

I won’t do the shooting

I give them the needle

My hands stay dirty

Not what you were expecting,

Was it?