Carl PortenFrom

Poetry By Carl Porten

The upside down...

A stranger thing,
is humanityís show,
with so much upside down
in this world that I know.

Have you seen upside down?
Itís a side that few see.
ĎCause most wonít admit
that it lays there neath their feet,

itís our world reflected
refracted through lies,
in a world ruled by pain
where lives end with sharp knives.

Where monsters roam rampant
like fe fi fo fum,
I smell the blood
aní Iíll cut throats for fun.

For pleasure for prophet,
this upside down,
in this dark house of horrors
laid under the ground,

Only seen by those traveled
whoíve walked through loves rain,
aní wonít help seal more coffins
with nails forged by pain.

Those people cry out,
begging for rescue,
while you fail to hear,
upside downs rite below you

tearing hearts open
with ropes chains aní hooks,
stealing babies from mothers,
upside down were all crooks.

Their torcher wonít let,
not a minute in time
in their upside down
from their bodies aní minds.

Living in fear,
in upside down,
thereís no room for a funeral,
or hole in the ground.

But die as they lived,
only ten fold now fear,
as crashing sledge hammers
bring death angels near.

One blow...two blows,
three blows, four.
Scared beyond fear
but thereíll be one more.

Hung upside down,
through horror filled eyes,
in upside down worlds
watching saw blades swing by.

In an upside down world,
their throats cut, its done,
all soon to be served up
with fries on a bun.

We know upside down,
aní must do what is rite,
so fe fi fo fum
aní fight monsters at night.

Our rite way up,
is the wrong way around...
... aní Ďtill all are set free,
there will be upside down...


Poetry © 2022 Carl Porten

Go on to: 'till then i'll be a cow...
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