Poezja

For each morning that spawns
I evade your virulent dialect
Each syllable born of your orifice
 
 
 
Is embellished by grisly tones
As helpless I am forsaken
To canker in ire
 
 
 
To awake is to honor the culture of the universe
Though your miserly revelry ceases to deliver amity
Whilst your exploits wither into oblivion