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Vincent Topp Poems
Every little red riding hood Walks into the forest unprepared Who would expect the wolf When your heart is the unstained innocence.
Long Time Awake
The mountains scratch the sky Birds of prey shield the sun from unprotected eyes Nature is secure Nature is the ruler.
Modern Day Caveman And Cavewoman
The flames are laughing, arguing, seductive The words are whispered, shouted and mimed Adventure without the risks attached ‘How was your day? ’
Architects Of The Future
The crime is in your own personal betrayal It will never come gift wrapped by loving precise fingers Exhale your fear, inhale some courage It’s in the unseen
There’s a wind that’s blowing in my face, As everybody else walk’s with ease, It’s trying to knock me sideways, It’s trying to bring me down to my knees;
Behind The Cliches
We are not good enough to be the heroes or the villains We are the jokes, not the jokers We are the stupidity to their genius.
Before The Clouds Move Over
Riding his purple Harley Davidson At a thoughtful controlled speed Along the dusty winding mountain top road Not long now, till he’s at his sanctuary.
All Black Sunset
So I play the waiting game No fresh surges struggling to free themselves The karma isn’t calling me anymore Mother nature’s in a strop.
I Think I See Too Much
Deep sigh Slap my face awake, hard Will today surprise me, probably not.
I Have To Leave This Instant
I have to leave this instant, The vibes are building into a tsunami of evil. My thoughts are cross circuiting my morality, I’ve started a mental list of targets,
The Chemistry Stays No Matter
Other things scramble our thoughts, Things that don’t matter; Pop the cork, sip the wine, The chemistry stays no matter.
Rage Against The Apathy
When I wake up I ask myself one question, Who do I want to be today? Who do I need to be today? Do I wear my extrovert face,
Twice As Hard
Grown up in the business, Like their father and his father before. One was a natural, but the other bled sweat. They longed to shake off the halo,
Director Of My Own Life Story
I’m the writer of my own life story, But making up the plot as I go along. I’m the only actor in my own life story, No scripted lines, I’ll improvise.
Comments about Vincent Topp
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Every little red riding hood
Walks into the forest unprepared
Who would expect the wolf
When your heart is the unstained innocence.
He lurks here in reality, not in legend, not in folklore
In the place where innocence is raped, stolen, buried
The soil is crying and whimpering if you listen close enough.
She knew where she was going
But did not feel the eyes of envy on her
Didn't notice that for every step forward
The forest was spinning on its axis
Where she thought she was going was not where she was headed
‘Princess run, run’ She thought she heard ...