Wasted Energies.

You've done this thing,
like attaching a string,
from my mind to your heart,
from my mouth to your brain;

You've created this thing,
like a hornet's sting,
from my inner-most thought,
comes a painful tingling;

You've become something,
not quite a human being,
from my unhealed parts,
the blood is running again;

You've turned out to sing,
the song of an old enemy,
from the deepest of want,
for the very same things;

You've proven to swing,
back and forth, in between,
from the history you haunt,
o the throne of a King.

Tar and Feather Suit.

These days the praise is so long-gone:

the desire once harbored for you to belong,

you’ve gone ahead and just moved right on,

into my nest with your reach – over-long…

I can’t help but to see through the “friendly”:

the poorly fabricated façade is now crumbly,

ignored chances to walk away from it humbly,

and now, the blood in veins courses numbly…

no differences to work out between:

two people from long opposing teams,

while one keeps the other second-guessing,

behind intentions growing into forces unseen…

the equation you’ve laid out is rather easy to deduce:

you think that you’re exempt from any need for gratitude,

an explosion of the magma from my own home-made brew,

that’s seething at the threshold of my door opened up to you…

if you had any sense, you’d be driving fast and far:

as my eyes have tired of looking at your parked car,

and I feel like I know nothing of who you truly are,

beneath your suit of feathers glued onto hardened tar.