Of the Soporiferous Kind
And those who love to war have nothing more,
But troubled endings.
With strategies exposing a host of insecurities.
To keep the heat of fear in place.
To ensure suspicions are never erased.
And those who digest thoughts of terrorists...
Knocking down their doors,
To split their throats and wrists.
Choke in horror from nightmares dreamed.
As they look over shoulders prepared to scream.
And those who can not fall to sleep in peace...
Are kept haunted by visions from themselves released.
With purchased weapons hidden under beds.
Believing everything heard and to them said.
As they witness neighbors going out of their heads.
While relatives and close others...
Wish them dead!
'How cryptic! '
Would you prefer it to be less realistic?
Or sweetened with a narcotic?
Either way...
It can be numbed up for you.
'Good.
I'm of the soporiferous kind.
Induce me that way.
Gently! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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