A Poem for the Dead





Drink me up and shake
Better cool that blood of snake
Dirtier tried but counted not
Bet on your memory like it or shot
Cruel animal hopes not for the Gods
Soulful opportunities not taken grot
Bet on myself if your thinking is locked
Or enraged by the past and forget to rot
Our Book is forsaken but the narrator is timed
To perfection if you are man or a weapon
Do lie and say for coming of age is not as
Frightened and not as now ready to go go
Communicated errors of hope in you morning pain
Where is myself, remember in the words of truth
The suffered locked smile but just care of none
Then excused to enlighten five times for worth
Better off dead or do you not what you’ve become
Beard competitions and not say name.