to the Maker who created him
gave him sight sense of touch
sense of smell but hunger as well
a lady threw this paper plate he
is licking the sauce the other side
of misery is worse than than the other
side of hell..some have it easy others
scream and yell through a picture
it is street stories i tell ..my stories
born out of despair remorse zolaesque
narrative on a barren earth devoid of
emotions where we dwell..
under moneys alluring magic spell..
my body you can borrow
kill it mutilate it but my cameras cosmic
vision i am not willing to sell.
OM MANI PADME HOON
This poem is dedicated to my oldest
friend on the internet Benn ,,
a chiming human Bell
my 10600 poem at Flickr
