In Waiting, the Fans of Elite Poets' Clubs

"Loss of innocence'
-lamented - yet beautifully,
the elite poets of the world.
Aroma in the conditioned air mist;
Applause from the polished chairs.

Far in the Lands of Reality
flashed when crashed
-frequently and freely-
to fully flush
the sheltering nests out
as mere heavy smoke and dust,
and thick ash and soot,
the crushing clusters
with their own childish mind
hurdled from the hands of men
armed to their teeth,
business partnering minions
of the applauding monarchs.

Loss of Innocents, and the
poor poets gone too.
Chars of Wars -
Words already marred;
mingle and mangle,
mangle then mingle.

Still in the silhouette of
Metropolitan Mansions
in waiting
the Elite poets' fan clubs
for their Poetry of Dead,
Cheap Mummies of Men, Women,
Children and Poets
of poor kinds.

In the far lands of burning jungles
Loss of da Innocents
pushes the
Loss of Innocence....
....
......
.......
SOLDIER!
.........There gone a child.

Dew Tear drops on dry skins!
Wetting mist of the dead poetry
mixed with the dots of blood stains
- Sulfur in Air
Vs.
Caviar in Plate.

Beautifully Dead in the Poetry
of da Princes of Highlands,
are da Paupers of Burntlands.

Beautiful Poetry Sells!
Bomb_burnt People Smell!

Capital Hills
eat in
Rotten Hells!!


(yet to be edited)