Unsightly world

[UnbornBuddha]

Observing an unsightly world whose features have unkindly cursed us.
Every color has kind of swirled into an amorphous sight the earth loves.
The righteously termed divinely learned sit back silently quieting turmoil.
Disturbingly the search for peace only reveals tales with climactic sorrow.
Somatic portals that therein lie in each of us containing dialectic murmurs
A turbo paced turbid stream of misanthropic voices whispering chaotic murder.
It's as if harboring an internal turbulent tornado churning climatic horrors
Rampantly running in a psychotic hurry to spoon feed me anti- biotic stories.
Coincidentally causing cellular questioning of their own mitotic worthiness.
Giving rise to the theory of how crucially vital one's journaling is.
My journey is distances from being done, I've yet to decipher the burglary
Upon my life form by the parasitic fibroid that terminally is determined to cause me to hibernate permanently.
But before my dire end I certainly must cipher with Hercules, or any other professed child of eternity.
No amount of the vilest surgery is likely to conserve me from the down spiral of mortality.
Yes I have considered all options, even Nazi technology of the cyber kind from Germany!
A delightful life is about quality- not about elongated quantity with barely sustaining arteries.
Lack of blood flow to the elderly brain makes their tongue contain garbled speech,
An image bordering on the Parkinson patient whose ability to communicate atrophied.
Brain dead all they convey is fantasies.

The state of affairs of my country of birth is an inhumane masterpiece.
Half-asleep natives complain ardently only to gradually realize the futility in trying to ordain harmony.
The revelation was that their entire colony serves as a base for armories that supply Satan’s cavalry.
Mass destructive weaponry is the sole reason it is politically maintained orderly
Not allowed to fall victim into the hands of blazing anarchy.
I have complete disdain for playing lottery because every time I play I’m wasting salary,
Its winning odds are mathematically impossible like escaping havoc’s reach.
Not even deities can escape the weight of suffering, only the uncreated can have peace.
Failure has to be a large percentage of the game in order to gain the subtleties.
It’s is my hope not to forsake courtesy by exposing the charade of sorcery
In the name of science I must erase what’s forgery, a courageous murder spree on horrendous quackery.
My lyrical song can be compared to buried pottery.
My ascension to my descent rains down on all targets like subterranean archery.
To a jester's eyes mayhem appears to be a parade of parody flourishing merrily
I'm an eremite foraging every week for berries
Collecting them for reserves because these city streets are scary.
Every midnight without fail the ambulance emergency sirens start to beep.
I parry all snark replies with memorized tidbits of Lord Byron's poetry.
But that’s less remarkable than Plato illustrating his telekinesis
And less impactful than Pontius Pilate consolidating the death of Jesus
In summary, every putrid pontification is said to reap us.

[theMuzzl3]

this is good stuff.

I really enjoyed this read... even though it wreaks a bit of negativity, I see the light through the seemingly closed hole. I liked it.

Pos'd.