Poetry should be like boxing,
Short, swift, and powerful.
To the point and presented so that you never see it coming.
A hook, a jab, a firm right cross.
Hard hitting and unforgiving,
Never what you are expecting.
Watch it on your cable boxes,
Cheer and scream till you're obnoxious,
Because poetry should be like boxing.

the pieces fall into place
&
sometimes
the place falls into pieces

"Yet you feed us lies from the tablecloth"
- B.Y.O.B. by System of a Down*

We sat across the table
as we feasted on misguided notions.
Our integrity tenderised,
thoughts manipulated,
traded with unconditional compassion.

Twisted ideals,
served upon the finest china.
Delectable treats,
laced with shards of
such distorted agenda.

Multi-faceted truths,
all lobbied for self-centred gains.
We're the ones who'd worry
and cower under tattered brollies...
To anticipate for when it would rain.

Between us still sat the table.
We'd still be served age-old (t)ale
while the room stank of rancid broth.
But I have lost my appetite
the moment we were fed lies...
Offered on the most extravagant tablecloth.