Sure, it’s cute enough for a t-shirt, but
Its words are without richness.
Men are real enough alright, they are.
Beating eggs mere practice for the brutality
in the craft of oppression, oligarchy bent
on choking the souls of the multitude.
Passive man wrestles with himself, curbs
his primal senses toward humanity.
Real is a word made from our darkness.
Men are wide-eyed singular flesh and bone.
Peaceful man is neither violent nor bent,
Civilization, his champion, his tutor, his sin.
© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
Its words are without richness.
Men are real enough alright, they are.
Beating eggs mere practice for the brutality
in the craft of oppression, oligarchy bent
on choking the souls of the multitude.
Passive man wrestles with himself, curbs
his primal senses toward humanity.
Real is a word made from our darkness.
Men are wide-eyed singular flesh and bone.
Peaceful man is neither violent nor bent,
Civilization, his champion, his tutor, his sin.
© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
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