The second another apocalyptic piece
Plagiarism
= Deja Vu = BarkingDogFox
The
street peddler pedals his soul,
to
all that care and don't,
with
microphone and mini-amp he drones on
without
staring his sheep in the face,
nor
caring for who he converts or not,
I
walk by and pity him, but for what?
The
space between me and him grows,
for
I know that I shan't preach,
nor
waste shallow speech, on him nor his type,
for
I keep myself to myself and
ride
off on my bike, and converse with only my ilk.
But
comes to pass when man can no longer, feel
weak
when he knows he is stronger,
as
jaded posturing street preacher,
spreads
his maker’s words and not his to be heard,
in
a site designed for free thought.
Bow
down, bushy tailed one, look in the mirror,
what
do you see that is such a horror,
yourself
amplified in shards of light
blanketed
by dark,
for
your mind is clouded and interminably shrouded,
by
someone who's not you. Oh Bark!
So
you plagiarise to make your name,
where
we free thinkers,
some
good, some stinkers,
express
our deepest, darkest, lightest,
prose
for us and those,
who
wish to share our minds and waters.
Well,
Roger has spoken to us and for us
and
the choking hoards who appreciate free
thought,
so
expression is the recession, clouding your
mind,
I ask you, implore to leave Gods works behind,
when
you make your mark in this thread.
Psalming
is calming, for you and your kith,
myth
or legend for what, do I wonder,
as
history says, that man shall not plunder
the
riches of the mind but
seek
to search for the sake of mankind,
the
answers to questions not written.
Oh
BarkingDogFox,
take
your hand off your eyes, and see why we despise the darkness that
lies within,
with
your hands removed you can touch other books
and
have a good look at others interpretation,
give
your mind-eyes new sensations,
and
marvel at what YOU can produce!
The
Passenger
I
am the passenger,
travelling
the cyber lanes,
I
am the miff,
the
biff, the poster,
of
personal creation,
creator
of sensation,
I
am the passenger.
I
feel the breeze,
of
megabytes and disease,
cruising
the net,
faster
than a jet,
flying
the miles,
in
awkward styles,
I
am the Passenger.
I am free, to say
and
think how I please,
to
bring governments
to
their knees,
be
hackneyed and old,
and
presumptuously bold,
I
am the Passenger.
I
feed the boards,
and
talk to the hoards,
I
don't pray,
Just
write and say,
what
I feel is mine,
like
mouldy old wine,
I
am the Passenger.
I
have the power,
to
kill and save,
and
dig the grave,
of
my absolution,
stamp
out pollution
the
final solution,
I
am the passenger,
I
ride.
My
message streaks boundaries,
fuels
foundries,
lights
the fires
and
peoples desires
creates
conflict
and
intellect,
artistic
expression
and
makes impressions,
I
am the Passenger.
And
one sad day,
when
I leave the fray,
my
connection broken
and
words unspoken,
the
worldly patience
exhausted
in nations,
as
the Passenger,
detrains
at God's station,
I
was the Passenger.
And
I loved it
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