THE boots are marching
through the cities,
mud, and frost
The boots are marching
and they bring red capes
across the borders
The boots who stamp
their footprints upon
the faces of the dead,
dying, and fearful
are coming
But the four seaons
are unpreturbed by
human nonesence
and the world turns
the world turns
within fire, blood,
and anguish …
the pain of living.
And the boots
they are marching
into the THIRD!
:: 12-23-2017 ::
THE painful feeling of existence
resists loving feelings
strangers smiling
like seeing a unicorn
All hypnotized like
stiff necked geese
And I’m just sitting in
my car dreaming red to green
So mesmerized by propaganda
from the deep state of losers
Katsu curry on my plate
ginger too and merlot
makes me happy
Mesmerized society flunks
a key element of life
but I’m happy with merlot
and no reason why disguised
terrorists kill the innocent
they proclaim to cure
and media owned by a few
A few bastards
who think they can control
the emotions and feelings
of the masses
The ignorant pigs of history
they forgot to learn —
I’m waiting for my …
chance to tell them.
:: 12-22-2017 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 