Who Knows?

Who Knows

For which, whoever hears me, may

she take up responsibility

for I speak to the ancestors

to let me make this one my own

and ne`er give as oblation

O`er all that intent I have

Priced it like a pearl

giving lavender in exchange

churning every memory with hyssops sprinkle oints of aloe

To make this icon all blend

 

looking a`wop

making anthems for the crows

and `em making a symphony

of two graced together

dark days and times

despair clouding the moments

 

 everything super anthills

one after another pulling out

no remnants of `know` left

just a bare turk of tuft

illusions by the owls

an early chilling moon

presiding over the matters

 

 

like green mamba

the master of the living green

which splits venom, provoked

this icon,

stops my thoughts from wandering

and now, me, haulting

shoeing to where is the mistress

it`s nothing but philos

encompassed using a nob

to rob the senses of humans

it is sure a venom

powerful through

 

it`s a voice from the dome

like of freight lifted by builders

to summon an immortal feeling

feeling of desire, want

when the voice is diced

nothing` left but craft

of little say but a feeling

created by two `wop

making it a sinister union

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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