Taboo

The floating, drifting patterns that
encompass all of us,
the things that enter in our mind
which no one will discuss.

The man who wears the different cloth,
who’s teased about his taste,
when in his broken, shattered state,
he feels the pain, debased.

What virtues doth this man imbibe
to warrant such protest?
Is he not just another man,
a fact I will attest.

It is not him who carries us
to sinful days and times,
but you, who stick to your old ways,
the primeval soup and slime.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s