Thanks for the Giving (or The Beggar), by Gerald Tirade

There is the man that can do nothing for you
 asking you for life 
you allude the fallen leaves of his eyes
he doesn’t exist nothing exists 
You are genesis 
manifesting life through perception and the
dogmas that fondled you with their transparent fingers 
so you walk on 
with your nose pointed to dulled stars
while drunken symphonies devour the skies
inciting the most contemptible of heart 
a contemptible stalks you 
a rouger chills the bone
of your cervical spine
you are asked for life
but you have none 
you never lived 
you’ve only existed
you’ve spent your life fighting ego gods,
with a nauseous conscience 
you’ve slaved to the trivialities of time 
slaved to the conspicuity of your consumptions 
that in turn consumed you
You slaved to waiting
the waiting
with the fall of leaves
he turns you around 
It’s him 
you give him money, 
this time
he flees into the night 
stars intensify
blinding your eyes
a cocoon hits the floor
a butterfly takes flight,
-Gerald Tirade
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