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The fury of poverty in an unfair world



I swell within my adult papoose,
Emerging, daily, like repeat butterflies of soul shine,
Delightful in my power thorax,
And still lager laden painless abdomen...
My chi extends to astral wings,
Colourful and vast, yawing out of my spine,
And allowing my gilded divine mind to take flight...

I spin and dance in the atmosphere at a general altitude of about five feet ten...

Sometimes less...

Sometimes higher...

But that's the altitude I generally maintain swift velocity within...

I spiral into countless fancies...

I'm a million compressed miracles into one real miracle...

I have touched o'er 1,000 people in my time with chuckles,

And wrought slay lyrically to over 10,000 Anti-Christs, evil doers, and venom worshippers...

I have done all this via the medium of supreme divine knowledge,

Gilded about my way one fine summer's night back in '95...

Since then,

A long and alone (but not lonely) trek to Olympus Alphavilla and the Heaven sent Empyrean dispatch unit...

I... am... winning...

If just because I'm drinking a cup of tea...

I... am... ENGLISH...

And every cuppa is a win...

How many scores is that?!?!?

Do the maths... because I can't.

It's not because I'm numerically illiterate...

It's just that numbers are hard for the best of people...

And for a Biblical chap like me...

Words curry more influence in memorandum than calculations...

Call me a party pooper if you will....

But this is the way I see it.

I do not like the way the world is going...

I'm sorry... but I'm offended because everyone's awful.

Gays everywhere, foreign religions still being mental, war in the Ukraine, because of 'yet another deranged despot'...

And guess what?! This one's got loads of nukes!

It's clearly a case of 'power corrupts, and absolute power corrupt absolutely'...

Lord Acton was right!

And what with the power Putin's wielded for so long, he's clearly going senile...

I think his dark phantom menace like ways, is self imploding... And with that loss of control, due to age and fatigue, he is having one last vainglorious stab at immortality... delusionally thinking he is doing the will of God... A mad man... causing merry Hell upon his neighbours, in some naff little concept of border proprieties...

You mortals... and your embarrassing ways...

Hurl the hussies to the puddle pools!

Into the jacuzzi of pains, scum queen!

Gerrard bottomley sniffed his lower graces:

'Hmmm... hmmm... I feel the notion'.

He was skirting around the plinth of whathapses, idling for a biscuit, full on crumb in the debonair skies... A milk runner, hoarding the secrets of quantum discoveries in the holy air around us... Peering deep into the principles of perhapses, laughing with mad delight at the power of the holy realisation...

The holy miracle that was real... 'the one that had occurred'...

He wasn't going to deny what he knew was real...

Shiiiiiiitttt...

Every man jack of them knew the pestilence might have been a 'sentient deploy'... but what they didn't know... is that it might have been done by higher angelic forces...

Agents of God... That sort of vanilla milkshake...

Commander Nu only thought this, because he'd heard a voice prior to Corona being launched...

That voice said: 'I'm going to set a pestilence among you'...

And yes...

It came from the divine realm.

Not the Hell plane...

So Commander Nu knew that in order to survive, he could not hold back the panic of an entire globe, but he could bide his patience with Jedi focus, and maximum faith.

Still yet to be contaminated, he has had the vaccine, but will not be getting the mark of the beast.

They are not the same thing.

(At least, yet).

We stride on... Pushing through the envelopes of reason, knowing the profound depths of onions in art, what with regard to our early comprehension of cells and layering... and animation.

Prior to the fall of 'The Glandular One', everything had been dainty in the cool breeze night of a thousand chortles... Everyone had loved it... Simply everyone... And that's why it was forever known as a 'success'...

Which reminds me...
Oozes me...
Twists and Garibald's me...

I am not the token swing dance...

I'm the main hunky...

And don't you sweat or forget it...

Because when I steel my pecs...

And ripple my Adonis like body...

Soaked in beige gold...

You know, God is in action here with specific elements of precision...

I exude beauty so oft, I weep for the unattractive...

They know not the powers I wield.

This isn't to say I'm Brad Pitt...

My teeth aren't as fine as his...

But Danny DeVito I am not either...

And thus, pulsing, through the contours of a billion thank you's to a supreme deity for maintaining somewhat my youthful good looks, contained, protected, and preserved like a Pharaoh,

I milk into a tender blanket...

And charge the darkness away via power photon of my own bewildering cranial properties...

Exuding light, extruding the shine...

I define the subset relay sequence, of what is mine...

And I dress, I impress, I seek to be sublime...

For before I was a butterfly,

I was a caterpillar of ugliness and slime...

Gibbing, in the muddy grim of soil...

Surrounded by worms, crap, and brown...

But now... oh now... I am one of God's miracle sky kisses...

A fleeting dart of high speed beauty,

So always delightful to the eye...

I wonder how many butterflies have changed the causal event of history?

Perhaps we should send in a butterfly to Moscow...

Remind Putin,

That no matter how deranged, mental, disturbed, evil, twisted, or sick you are...

'No one kills butterflies'.

Word.

About this poem

Setting the wrongs right, Highlighting where we need improvements... Setting the record straight, And not listening to shit music while doing so. (Subjectively).

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Submitted by Nikos on June 30, 2022

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Nicky Nustar

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    "The fury of poverty in an unfair world" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 15 Aug. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/130892/the-fury-of-poverty-in-an-unfair-world>.

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    Who wrote the poem ״Invictus״?
    • A. Sylvia Plath
    • B. Thomas Hardy
    • C. William Ernest Henley
    • D. Oscar Wilde