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by TGSOT 2 years ago in surreal poetry
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Frustrated by blindness, the fool stumbles over his own understanding and not of beer, for the wine of wrath be his own ignorance.

Photo by Color Crescent on Unsplash

Their eyes grow weary

Enraged with fury

Have I ever seen a heart so tainted

Your tongue giveth them lies

While your grin is revealed

Your plot of destruction

Will take all that you yield

For your time is but a moment...

A component of your poison

Is a delusion of safety

That which you are is the reason you hate me

But that which I am makes you love yourself more

The greater is lessened

And the lessened made great

A foresight of bestowment

Recognized a second too late

Sends one in confusion

Before stones of fate

These are the works of my hands

That were made with love

As innocent as infants

And precious white doves

A gift unto you

Like the Son from above

I give you my all

But it’s still not enough

Your thirst for excess

Removes your good thanks

Until you’re left with nothing

But a reflection, a shadow, and the thoughts you must think.

surreal poetry

About the author


Poetry & creative writing based on having an unbiased perspective of perspectives. Spiritual Theories and Transformation of ones own consciousness.

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