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The First World Cry

 

The First World Cry

 

Bureaucracy kills poetry

Reverse that like gangsta rap

Cause we’re meant to be “tough”

Poetry kills bureaucracy

 

But honestly it’s about pain

Poetry doesn’t kill

Unless it’s propaganda

It yields


Tears & blood

 

& Poetry’s primal tender call

Is broken

The spell that cradles life in its sacred balance

Is shattered

 

& box ticking

Black & white forms

Inflexible to reality

 

Reductionism at its most violent

All one can do

Is rage & destroy

 

Bureaucracy brings out the revolutionary in me

& the scream

The red mist

 

When if left unmolested

My passion lies with the butterflies

& the distant rumble of cockatoos thirsty for water

While reggae soundsystem 

Smokes cool & fire over the airwaves.

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

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