More Than Five Hundred Intriguing Words

Life may be unfair
But still there is solace
Before death infact
Yet to still leave the body intact
The worst is left, a fact
Yet troubles are upon a rack
Drama is calmer this way…
Fear is a curse
It makes people worse
Breathing is good but it means the more is you die,
I cannot see why
But you breathe more as you cry
You lose your breath
And cry for death
Then nothing seems certain
Or sincere
Sincerity is a curse,
A trickster and a verse
At time to time you see as a malevolent rhyme
And it does not seem certain
Nothing seems, till you pull down the curtain
A dose of favour is half a blessing
Like a guessing game full of guessing
It’s impatient and worthy, of gold and rubies
But still it ends unserved still
And only happens with strength of will
Harmonious like pills can be
Yet fiery and different to me
A message inside, a perversion to deprive
Why cant one see what one sees?
It’s like you feel it’s only to me and me
But really, fully, certainly defiantly you and me
Can one still not see…?
Deathly hallows surround me
Beauty is a rarity
Tasteful beauty is deprived you see
Still can anyone see?
But enough about sight, what of light and of life?
Still there are those who desire a knife
Preferably the blade be clean of blood and contrite
But what we wish is not a dish; you can’t just wait a minute… and a minute…
Till an hour grows still
And you starve until
Your meal is served
And it feels deserved when all you do is pay the legal tender to the devilish little man
And of course you find your lobster was from a can
And you find out that it really was another man
Twas a foolish addict with thrift
And then men with lead bullets in weapons interfered
But still it’s not food still
It’s about life chaverim!
That foolish piece of life my friends
Sheli Chaverim
It’s a phrase again
Only some can comprehend
My friends…
Comprehension is a gift still dearest
Only what the departed understand
Only some can understand mir ist hess
The ignorant others stroke their heads
But also still before the subject demands
It’s still not about languages
Not other than English
Although that depends
Wasn’t it about the plans, life its self and its natural demands?
It’s so silly and stupid
Like when Rachel screamed stuilly in her drunken fit
But shush, she is not the emancipation in this art
She is just a madwoman with knowledge of the types of blades alike
And who wishes to impale her enemy Sally on a pike
But she’s still sane and I try and reason for her actions yet again
For shame…
I guess I cannot find the question
I cannot find the answer
Wasn’t this a question in a poem?
Or a rhyme for love as a donor
Or how life is life and requiring a knife
Or a Parade……?