My poems are everywhere! I better immortalized (!!) them electronically.
Hot Hot Air
Their feet buried in the hot soil,
But their hearts still love the toil,
Of cutting, and levelling, and cutting and killing,
The one heart that they so desperately need.
They breathed in the unnatural air,
That constricts and hisses at lung's depth,
As their breaths grew shorter, the air got hotter,
And their minds justly got smaller.
Let them lick their own wound I say,
But darling their wounds are on your skin,
Let them be pickled in their own sweat then,
But my love, aren't you drowning in yours?
See how unfair they made it?
Are we not all on the same boat?
It's not your place to boast and gloat,
Stop taking my right for clean air,
And we'll make this just and fair!
Hot Hot Air
Their feet buried in the hot soil,
But their hearts still love the toil,
Of cutting, and levelling, and cutting and killing,
The one heart that they so desperately need.
They breathed in the unnatural air,
That constricts and hisses at lung's depth,
As their breaths grew shorter, the air got hotter,
And their minds justly got smaller.
Let them lick their own wound I say,
But darling their wounds are on your skin,
Let them be pickled in their own sweat then,
But my love, aren't you drowning in yours?
See how unfair they made it?
Are we not all on the same boat?
It's not your place to boast and gloat,
Stop taking my right for clean air,
And we'll make this just and fair!
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