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Words

people write them for praise

Others will look to depend on them

some people say too many

whilst others spend eternity looking for some

words may sometimes start wars

whilst some words will end oppression

Words can be agressive , powerful yet beautifully poetic,

they slot elegantly into an never ending rhythm.

Some words meaning extends beyond the parameters of control,

changing the lives of many in an instance , the simplicity of its nature

Words can never be fresh or forever new,

people re-use the words of others tarnishing its meaning.

praise comes in the form of the assembly of words,

yet it seeks to be a mere repetition of a formulation of words by another.

Words can be romantic , 3 words will tempt fate and future

whilst some, used to condemn others fate , sentence them to solitude

words can end fueds as quickly as they started,

Yet some words will loose meaning over time as their users expire

But what happens when you run out of words?

#poem #mr writer1 #spiled ink #poet #words

The City i live in.

Its dark in the day and dark in the night

drunk by day , will end in a fight

with job seekers allowance ,and benefits in their pockets

robbery of cars, or stealing grandma's lockets

a voice will cry out as the city is now rotten

of a government which chooses to forget, and now has forgotten.

Prospects stay low, but children go to school

looking for a better life , in a society were drugs rule

i finally begin to loose faith and grow ever tired,

sick of walking on old police cordon tape, of a life once expired

But remember.....

Guerrilla warfare is the order of the day

pointing guns will earn your pay

police sirens loud , helicopters patrol

many arrested, then out on parole

future looks bleak through the factory haze

another grieving mother, curtosy of this knife craze

A city stuck in a slump, bordering on its own rapture

A marvelous mess created by one Margaret Thatcher.

#poetry #poem #poet #spilled ink #mr writer1

Working Week

BACK back back again

6 months today

ink still leaves the pen,

the clock will strike nine

with a bellowing chime

and the stiffs will form an orderly line.

We will march through the gates

we will march through the doors

they say time is money

and it sweats from the pores

anonymous is our name, vast and large in number

defenceless people replaced for the slightest blunder

the day will be long,and the day will grueling,

Boss gives the orders, and we obey his ruling

Trapped on the bus home horror in the sky,

a barrage of people surround, as the eggs begin to fly

They will shout scab, "your the scum of the Earth"

A life plagued by money ever present since birth.

#mr writer1 #poet #poetry #spilled ink

The chronicles of the desperate man-Part 2

Part 2: Death's Funeral

The funeral commences, death is lowered into the ground,

not a teary eye , or bellowing sound.

the man is free to capture his desires,

to rid his life of the pretenders and liars.

To right what was wrong and win back his wife,

change the tarnished memories that plagued his life.

He talks in his sleep shouting her name,

hoping she would return, his efforts it vein

To loose everything your heart ever desired

her beautiful looks you once admired

he's remains and old man with an eternity to live for,

now that death wont be knocking at his door,

he must say sorry to the wife he betrayed,

for the gambling, the boozing,the vices he paid.

He looks at the gravestone and begins to read

whilst basking in the triumph of his sinful deed

panic suddenly engulfs his mind

upon the shock discovery of his latest find

he turns around runs fast with a quickening breath,

with the knowledge that the tomb read "the second coming of death"

#poet #poetry #mr #mr writer1 #spi #spilled ink

Sleepless days, sleepless nights.

How do you know when your awake,

my eyes open but yet i sleep,

my day to day life merges into a fairground of a circus act

my eyes close,

my days grow darker trapped am i, in the vicegrip of the working world.

constantly i drift in and out, always awake now never will i sleep again i know what awaits,

a lifetime of 'what ifs' i will remain alone, the ever chasing sleep approaches it sings to

me.

But who will hold your hand when the time comes

#poetry #mr #mr writer1 #spilled #spilled ink

Economical world

A wise man once told me ,

time is money.

So i headed on out doors into the blue yonder,

with a vision of making time.

if time is money, go out and make time.

#poetry #spilled ink #mr writer1

Insomnia.

Trapped mind, trapped lines,

console in a society thats uncaring,

its pressures will drive humans to brink

of insanity.

Its when your at the edge you truely realise who you are.

Are you the person questing to rid his woes or the one who accepts them.

im always to late to discover the answer, we as people move on.

discover , but mainly forget.

The people we once were.

#mr #mr writer1 #poetry #spilled #spilled ink

All on red ,please.

The possessions of a man will drive him crazy,

This man is broke yet he clings onto his words

like they were gold.

The harder the struggle makes the man,

he's wise beyond his years yet too much of a gambler to know when he has it good.

The sun will set on the mountain of houses,

stacked like factory boxes.

The man destined to loose will count his pennies

The winner just sits and plots it, with your mind,

you conquer, poverty is physchological.

You plot your path, its removed from your sight.

He knows the day will come when for a second,

he'll do something that will change his life,

wether its greatness depends on the man.

Everyone has that second , that moment, to go for glory or cut their losses.

The blue yonder awaits, and the race quickens, all runners to the starting

post.

its when you make sure you have your right shoes, you cant run if your sinking,

The man out of ideas is the man destined for failure, he suffers

from media slavery, it tell him hes broke, beating him into submission

believing hes destined for this.The winner sits at the line , he doesnt need to run

the inevitable waits for him so why run, he knows what he

must do so he just sits and waits.

What a rich man.

#poetry #mr writer1 #spill #spilled ink