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dead poet society
featuring the phenomenal Michael


i guess we all belong in a society of poets with hands blunted by writing about their sworded hearts...
 
so you see,
my language is blue
and my lips are untrue.
 
i'm a little puppy
baying at the sea
with no pup-buddy.
 
im a little bird
crying all the afternoon
waiting for the moon.
 
i'm a gay man
replaced by his proverbial vow
for a feminine-how.
 
we're only a bag of bones until our memories live with some of our unappreciated works.
 

in a place of unity looking around,
what do i see?
a bunch of hands from strange and different lands.
the colors red, white, and blue seen right through.

daffodils and colored frills
line the tresses on me and you.
playing the beat on the solo drum,
ho-ho-hum all in the bands.
living a life so happily
and running in fields frolicking and free.
dance to the cadence come one and all
and let down your hair, cast aside that shawl.

the end of days might be near,
yes, but get line let's fix this mess.
till the end has come and we've gotten some
we'll keep on fighting for freedom

TO THE SAME D*MN DRUM



© ubik
@I_Am_Michael