Her... XI

Phantom voice,

     Lip sinking irrelevant every double prejudice think but rarely speaking one, Inaudibly projecting memory ache pain filled seas behind a faceless chorus attempting to prey while singing crowd of grace decriminalized but for a moment inhospitable golden anarchy heaven unbound beings...

     She's crying sleeplessly through an unending vale of feigned joy trapped in a stigma constantly algorithm running before everyone's clouded jade over inner accompaniment of grey moral eyes, The chains birth commenced genetically; she can't but death escape the after twisted faith burnt reconstructed prayer offering; A hollow image adapted benign acceptance,  

     Therapy for would intolerance be anonymous monsters who vengeful wrath spiral of hate tattooed on their hearts for her guarded a miracle's bed only until their hope became deaf, Tones of love adapted to fit society's prejudice in, This is the natural regained outbreak state of our humanity and it brings me to tears. 

     But the wounds were grafted violently on by her depraved brothers and inhumane sisters, When you search the auditorium of this dream, Remember the problematic issue is not with the perceived but within us. 

     Have you ever taken up the battle, against our depravity... It is not imaginary, it is the method of thought by which you are living, Homeless is your radiating empathy wherein resides the honest bliss of dignity gravitating around love... Which is hope.


In lieu of our participation in,
Wounding cripples with gazes
Deflecting shame as bullies
With intolerant jokes