Forests of Brooklyn

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, July 17, 2011 Under: Rhymed Verses


Forests of Brooklyn
 
He was the merriest of man, never weathered by imperious command
He’d stand, in the deserts of Iran above a nomad’s face half buried in the sand
He put his ear to the artillery shell… how could the overzealous understand?
Unfulfilled human memories, he pooled his energies
In a war of lingering ignorance - who’s the ally and who’s the enemy?
Democracy - a foolish industry, Moorish, crude, bemused with liberty
Genghis Khan with his sword of Günter morphed to a hundred orphans
- but still set time and money aside to order his son’s abortion
Molestation Confessionals - proof that evil must ream good
As little Jeremiah fell into the gracious hands of the priesthood
As if gaping wounds could speak, I’m stabbing at the holes
Understanding that people’s weaknesses are the first steps to establishing control
It isn’t as simple as scapegoat cabalistic rogues or the human catalyst approach
I’ll always be free.
I don’t give a FUCK what these political cabinet analysts condone
I’m sending pieces of myself to my relatives, escaping through prison mail
playing Predator vs. Prey with the slaves of the citadel
Dolphins cascade through the winter air mimicking the shape of a killer whale
We had a small hut by a forest overlooking the Dublin cane fields
On the same night Hillary came home to a sunken faced Bill
I proposed to my wife on Dunsinane Hill..
There’ll always be a bigger hunter - it doesn’t matter how many fish you made it past
In the deep lies a hollow, caustic, rotting, horrific age of wrath
After human feces seems an invigorating draft
- my eyes are finally wide open now, staring at this incubator’s glass
For my last meal, make sure they serve me black water marmalade
And serve it up spiffy in a canteen for Blackwater farmer raids
When you have no faith in the puppeteer it’s kinda hard to remain loyal
Oh, the military propaganda machine broke down? Just add flesh (it contains oil)
What if the mountain messiah’s commandments were the touts of a liar?
What if a sheep herder chemically treated the wool webbing that’s housing your iris?
His fellow brethren knew, he'd never bend to the code
Life’s easy - try death on veteran mode
I’ll be at an outpost in the forests of Brooklyn, nestled in stone

In : Rhymed Verses 



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