Who are you really?

Who are you really? short poem

Born with name to define your existing presence

Words with which carry greater in essence

The day arrives when name is your flawed deference

Mother father chained me down against poor resistance
Cultural rites manifests my primordial consistence
Ignorance of both is a formula for a wasted existence
Only when ceded to this name are you released by persistence?
A name but a statistic of a criminal offence on a child’s response to an intolerant resistance
Systematically herded like sheep to a point of insistence

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Peter Kiggin

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
I am a poet through and through and anyone that tells you different you must deny it and slap them across the face very roughly indeed. I love the normal things in life and turning them into mysterious meaningful emotionally attached fascinating object or subjects.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Who Do You See?

Who Do You See? short poem

I am talking to you. Yes you over there Looking at me with a glare Watching me, your eyes on my every move So close you seem, yet so far you feel Trying to figure me out Did I meet

Who Is This John

Who Is This John long poem

Who is this that keeps me awake all night long, Who even my pride bows down, Who fills all the gaps in my puzzles? Who my world feels so huge without them, Who is the epitome of beauty; my prince,

A Philosophical Question For Anyone Who Has An Idea

A Philosophical Question For Anyone Who Has An Idea short poem

A philosophical question for anyone who has an idea. Imagine my hands are a set of scales. In my right hand I hold this crazy little thing called love. You can choose anything you want to place in my left

Mystery Within My Seizure: Who Are You?

Mystery Within My Seizure: Who Are You? long poem

Mystery within my seizure: Who are you? Who are you? Why are you leaving? Where are you going? I uttered these words during a seizure. Imagining you puts my mind under pressure. Searching for your identity is like a hunt

Bedevil Who ?

Bedevil Who ? short poem

The pulse seems tranquil and still, But they don’t have blood in it filled. Strange, the brain is at bark within. Why this uneasiness seems like an attaching shark? I do sit and endeavour to settle it down, But for