Poet Treason

This was a poem I wrote years ago. The point of this poem was to string sentences together so that they made sense - but on their own they have no meaning.

Once an abundance of love was sung here.

Cheer still familiar, it's peculiar appeal surfacing frequently on this face

Kept clear of the game. Lamed the billiard of will spilt in this wilted disgrace

fear is a clear intentioned utensil in which tunes the instruments of a spent mental.

Bent sentiments are fragments and remnants of the once adamant cents, spent on a "better than the rent" type of mentality.

Now it's "how" and "told you so's" which so go out of the mouth screaming mute-ly. 

Mutiny!

Now isn't it time for a change... don't wait.

All along it's known that the things in which we wish to change never do.

Clever you, the true pains are the only constants permitted to continue to grow

What's hindered is the ever falling timber, and in veins the dwindling remains of trust no longer allowed to call when crashing down.

Cashing our nauseating ashy lamed theme.

That dream is passed, no soul should go to ask in elongated pauses clash.

Which clause is to be lost a gasp the overcast and passed on of laughs

Pitched flaws aren't the gas; it's the stench sticking in the back.

Axed into the taxed insinuations that this stipulation is disappeared into fears new home of tears.

Cheers, a beer for your score no more to be seen in schemes of bore- more clear than dreams hidden in between the lines, now fined with the divine thrill of killing "the still".

... It's uphill in between my spine and this swindled shrill mine.

Rape all to take claim to things you'll say is yours.. Soar is the core of my mind. 

Mind me not.

I'm blindly hot with strict plot thickening like my ripe mind clot.

This season is not for me nor will the indecency seem to seize when belief is to be sieged. 

Leave this plea to reach into the nothingness blessed to every sea.

Still rich in its beneath.