Peace and Pieces: Off a Poet

Presumptions and assumptions are but evil to life

To a rich man’s poor soul or a poor man’s rich eye

Such are the traps we’re all lured to

Some fall dead, while others find peace in graves

A coffin when becomes a dream to achieve

And the whole life turns out to be a bunch of lies

Whilst the ones that adjust are men

Others we now know as poets, after a life sacrificed

What should just one do when the task of puking air through nostrils

Becomes too heavy a burden to bear,

When the very air we breathe in stinks to an extent unimaginable

Such is the time when a man so senile falls in love with an after-rise

Then I don’t see a man’s wit failing;

When I find him surrounded by sin, superimposed upon him so beautifully,

That no Zeus himself can cypher he once was a man alive,

And in situations such, he finds solace and peace beneath the earth

For millennia unknown stars have strummed the fate of men

But some have immuned themselves

For a life superimposed, they choose no more

And all the human-ness is gifted back to those gods who never existed