There Will Come A Day

Thrust is a vile endeavor, roaring animal lust
And woman yell every sacred vowel known to Azaroth.
Joy in sin, sin is death, joy is death

Trust, an even more degenerate form of inter-
course: Will imposed on the weak and wet
Brain rape at its finest

Tryst Ah the self – brutalism of the dead and 
disfranchised, to make love to oneself asexually
Is the  Day God will Have His Word with you. 

◄ A Sweet little poem on happiness

First Impression ►

Comments

Tony Hill

Sat 10th Oct 2020 18:29

Really like this poem, Kealan. Tony

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kealan coady

Sat 10th Oct 2020 09:46

Thank Dw, hats off, sir.

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kealan coady

Sat 10th Oct 2020 09:46

Wow thank you so much Keith, your comments and feedback honestly give me so much hope. Thanks you so much again.

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keith jeffries

Fri 9th Oct 2020 10:00

Kealan,

As with all your poems I had to read this carefully and thoughtfully. Trust. Brain rape at its finest..... yes matey this rings bells from Notre Dame to Rome.

Another excellent poem and thank you for it. Your style has great merit.

Keith

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D.W. Hamilton

Fri 9th Oct 2020 03:21

Nice!

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