Mono's Poem Collection

(Dreaming)
The grass was brown
And I dreamt it green
I dreamt
I hoped
I wished
But hopes and dreams
Cannot soften the ground
Nor quench the thirsty roots
Dreaming is like the desert rain
And the blistering heat dries it up
And nothing hits the ground
But dust and wind.
The dust, the dust and wind.





(Happiness)
Happiness or pleasure
Is like a shooting star
A crack in the heaven
That burns the sky
They are like the
Lightning
Bright and brief
They are like the
Summer breeze
Respite and relief
But in due time
Darkness and despair
Comes to reclaim them all.
Night swallows the shooting star
Rain quenches the lightning
And the haze overtakes
The gentle breeze

Happiness or pleasure comes and goes
Leaving behind a faded photograph
Pain and despair lingers onward
An immortal wound in a mortal soul







(One Thought)
Once I met a fellow from the meadow
Who had a fear queer
He feared of his accent
such an object to jeer!
Yet as I heard him recant
One thing became quite clear
The lisp he carried
Was indeed harsh to the ear
to save my ears harried
I killed the urged to leer
And I told him straight out
He shan’t find a cure,
I added “at least not here”
He went on his way
His spirit downcast
I regretted my say
But something held me fast
One Thought held me there
One Thought, “Why should I care?”








(The Goddess that is Media)
Our mother and our assassin!
Giver of milk and poison
Suckle us with your great glass teat
Nurture us with homogenized knowledge
With fat free ideals and 2 percent tabloids
Gifts of love and fantasy in the fiber highway
Angst, self pity, disgust, fascination
Hold us in your gloved hands
Throttle us with your loving embrace
As the poison that was our milk
Slowly turns bitter on our tongues
As we die with hunger in our mouths.






(This Hand of Mine)
With this right hand of mine, I rise above the mass
For no equality can be nourished
while man still has a heart
No wisdom can flourish
While man retains the man
Foolishness is his sword
Stunted vision, his shield
Misanthropy his companion.
Now steeped in the rank of logic,
And religious parsimony
He wonders of the unknown
As the knowable crumbles to dust beneath his feet
And scatters like worthless Autumn leaves.