To forget, to lose

To be lost, to confuse

Origin is map

Compass and guide

Excise the root

The fruit will comply

For, the branch that is blind to the source of the soil

Dances with death and begets nothing less

At the behest of story

Memory attends

A tale told by a tyrant

In the tone of a friend

In the war between nations

Between women and men

The wickedest of weapons

Of course, is the pen

It depends on nothing more

Than the flick of a wrist

But the damage it inflicts

Breaks generations

Yet we don’t condemn

As the bomb or the bullet

Though the pen does kill

Way more than the regiment

What is the death of mere skeletons

To the death of intelligence?

The death of the body

To the death of the mind?

We can find more soldiers

But murdered memory

Must be re-membered

By a people




Osiris is scattered

Isis must come

But Horus the young

Rejects his own mother

As we reject darkness

Especially when feminine

If you wish to see sickness

Then this is your evidence

Memory, memory

Where for art thou memory

To our shame, our dead

Mere stones in the cemetery

But the dead are the living

And the yet to be born

So it’s not death that we mourn but the changing of form

And we scorn our past it’s the mask that we wear

On our masters behalf, and we ask in our prayers

To be made over, by Jehovah

White as the cliffs down in Dover

Cos you know you believe what they told ya

And the truth that we hold is a boulder

So you beg to forget your exposure

Bury your head in the sand to the shoulders

And hope someone else is gonna solve it, but


You are Peter Jackson

They wont fight you squarely

Those that claim they’re superior

Believe the contrary


Forgetting is begetting

A self


And the part you’ve negated can’t be replaced with

All of the stars and the stripes they emblazon

On blazers and faces and races inferior

The narrative the story that causes hysteria

The savage, the baggage, the marriage to myth

We must divorce from the source of the sick

Severed from centuries

Cut from continents

Hidden in view

Who is responsible?


What is this omen?

That sings of a time

When stories of mine

Have the gall not to hide

But to scream their solution

In picture, in rhyme





11 responses
You are one boring fart. All of your material is about you. How are you getting on with being a self-righteous hypocrite, is it still paying the bills?
Very deep! And as to whoever thinks its boring aynt got a braincell To appreciate it
Shut it delboy!
I can relate to everything you are saying carry on inspiring wisdom,keep up the good work.
7 visitors upvoted this post.