Poem By Lawrence S. Pertillar
Sitting to admit this.
After self examining it.
The only difference between anyone,
Is in their appearance.
And nearing is the chopping block.
Coming to end this to permit.
With a swift chopping to have this stopped.
This nonsense kept is medieval.
Creating an upheaval of an evil,
To appease those with leftover insecurities.
Prolonging identities questioned to not accept.
And no one lives to have made a choice,
To approve of an appearance...
They were blessed to live and get.
Some sit to admit this,
Is a creation of God that exists.
On the chopping block is a stopping,
Of this nonsense to permit.
"Why is it,
When I ask who the butcher is...
You wink at me.
Then look up towards the sky."
Would I be searching the sky,
For a cake baker or a candlestick maker.
Why do you think I wink,
Before my eyes then gaze at the stars?
I know these times can be progressive.
I prefer to change the subject.
Especially under the circumstances."
What on Earth are you talking about?
The nod and eyes gazing towards the stars.
The talk of cake bakers and candlestick makers.
And not a word about a butcher,
Coming to end the differentness...
In our appearances.
What are you really suggesting?
I like what I got.
What you want to do,
With what you have keep that to yourself."
I'm talking about differences in appearances.
When we all feel the same inside.
"We'll talk later.
What you want to confess,
I'm not there yet to accept it."
Kinda doubt that's gonna happen.
Tomorrow, the next day or anytime soon."