THE RAT AND THE PREGNANT WOMAN


A story poem

BY

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)



Dedicated to;
My mother Neddy Nabisino Mayende Kuloba Makhakara
And her mother Maritini Nabengele Nasenya Mulemia Namugugu Ilungu wa Wenwa.
The story telling power of these two ladies is the primary source of my passion and love for humorous and peace bettling stories. I owe them all the recognitions.







OPENING SONG
How do I start telling this story that I got from my
Grandmothers when sited around the fire yard in the evening?
I don’t know how to start surely,
For to day I am very shy; all of your eyes
Are on me, looking at me like ocean of looking organs
But let me embolden my self with the belt
Of a story teller that my grand father gave me
And commanded me to preach peace
Through story telling in every place I go
So my spiritual service to humanity is telling stories
Is to soothe and heal wounds of humanity
By softly telling peaceful stories
Let me then cough to clear my voice and start;

Long time ago, but not very long time
Some where between the centuries of twelve hundred
And seventeen hundred after the death of the other Jewish
Story teller who died without a wife, who died on the cross
But others say he died on the stake, his name was Jesus,
There existed only two kingdoms in land which is known today
As Bukusu land found in the present east Africa or Indian Ocean coastal Africa,
The first occupants of this vast land is the sons and daughters of Babukusu
Or the ones who like selling ironsmith products
And hence the name the people of Bukusu; the people who sell,
The two kingdoms were the Kingdom of muntu and the kingdom of manani
The citizens in the kingdom of muntu were short men and short women
Handsome and beautiful, slender and not assertive in their physical disposition
But the citizens of the kingdom of manani were all cyclopic,
In their everything; the manner of walking, talking farting, micturating
Farming, breathing, snoring, smiling, singing, whispering
Their whisper was a noisy as the tropical thunderclap
They were tall men and tall women, very tall
Their young person was as short as the tallest
Person in the kingdom of muntu,
When one of the citizen of manani snores
All the citizens of Muntu along together with,
Their king Walumoli wa Muntu had no option
But remain awake throughout the night,
Because the cacophony of a snore from
The sleeping courts of Manani was not bearable,

On many occasions Walumoli wa Muntu
The conscientious king of the muntu kingdom
Had arranged to talk to Silinki wa Namunguba
The ostensible king of the Manani Kingdom
About the cacophonous sleep robbing
Snores of daughters and sons in neighbour kingdom of Manani
Only to cow and chicken away in a feat of prudence
Lest Silinki wa Namunguba will suspect him for being
A night runner or a thief of *** perhaps
Who roams his compound during the wee of the night
In hunt of any of Namunguba’s wife maybe
Perchance having gone out for a mid-night *******,
This is how legendary snores of the sons and daughters
Of Silinki wa Namunguba the king of Manani
Has remained unchecked for ever till today,

One time an ugly passer by happened to be seen
Traversing the kingdom of muntu
In the early afternoon some two
Hours after Walumoli the king
Had just cleared the last plate
Of the mid day meal from
His last wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikaha Nobwoya
He always eats her food last in the afternoon
Because it comes on the table steaming youthfulness
He loves his Khatembete wife, the wife of his old age
The wife he married by use and show of the royal regalia
The powers and dignity of the king of muntu
He married her when he his a king, the scepter in his hand,

Going back to the ugly passer by
It was never known where he came from
Not from the east where the Indian Ocean is
Not from the west where the vastness of the land
Of black people of Baganda and Bacongo
Baigbo and Bayoruba or Bafulana of Nigeria
Or the sons of Madiokor Ngoni Diop in the Senegal,
Not from the south from shaka the Zulu and Mandella the wise one
Not from north in the land of Dinka and Nuer, Ethiopian Jewish and the Egyptians,
The passerby was ugly and from no where, in a dress and
A very ***** dress that fumed out a malodorously stenching reek
He was a man in attires of a woman; this was a taboo in the land of muntu
He was left handed and a heavy weight stammerer, with an appalling
Protuberation of   a hunched back, an enormous hunchback
Enmassing entired of his masculine shoulders,
When the wind blew his loose dress followed it
Leaving the man’s thighs and then bossom naked,
Leading bystanders to a strange discovery; he was not circumcised
He was old like any other father, he had beards
But not yet circumcised, his ***** ends in corkscrew of a sheath,
This was a taboo in the land of muntu, in the kingdom of muntu
Which Walumoli wa Muntu the son of Mukitang’a Mutukuika ruled
For the spirits, gods and ancestors as well as foremen of the kingdom
Behooved that all male offsprings of the kingdom of muntu
Whether born in marriage or out of the wedlock
Born the blood or born as a ******* must and must be
Circumcised in the early teen hood
They must be circumcised before they grow the hairs
On the face, on the chest, in the scapula and on the areas
Surrounding the testicles, the **** and the endings of the backbone,
The man again had six fingers on the legs and on the hands
He walks slowly like a porcupine, his dress was in tartars
He was violent to every one he met
Insulting old people and old women with words
Of bad manners not used in the kingdom of muntu,
He terrified and beat young children, including the royal children
And grand children of Walumoli the king of muntu
He again had to beat and chase nine young virgins
Who had come from the palace of Walumoli the king of Muntu
Away from the forest when they picking fire wood
As well as playing a game of hide and seek with other palace lads,
The ugly passer by then chased to get hold of the
Nalukosi the first born daughter of
Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikaha Nobwoya
The beloved last wife of the king of Muntu
All other virgins ran home, but Nalukosi remained behind
In the inextricable grip of the ugly passer by
She screamed with hysteria of a hypochondriac
She screamed and kicked with her wholesome mighty
The stubborn passer by never left her alone
She gnawed the ugly passer by with
Her girlish claws of her fingernails
But is like the passer by was mentally disordered
He was a ******* of some time
He derived some pleasure and instead
Enjoyed the girlish scratches of his captive,
Before the eight running virgins reached the palace
Together with their companions, the playmate lads
The shrilling scream of the captive Nalukosi
Was sharply heard at the palace, first by King Walumoli
Who called his wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo Khakhalikha Nobwoya
To come out of the hut, the kitchen and help to listen,
Immediately Mukisu wa Mujonji the palace keeper surfaced
His face displayed genuine askance of an adept military man
Whose martial arts have rusted for a week without usage
He confirmed to the king that the cry from the forest
Is of the one from this royal home of your majesty the king
And none other than the ****** princes Nalukosi Mukoyonjo
The pride of her father, the eye of the palace,
Without hesitation the king permitted the wallabying Mukisu ,
Permission to run in a military dint and find out whatever that
Was eating Nalukosi Mukoyonjo the familial heart of the king,
Mukisu wa Mujonji who was clearly known in the kingdom of muntu,
For his swift running like a desert kite, he already twice chased
And gotten single handedly two male gazelles,
Without aid of a dog nor aid of fellow hunters
And delivered them to the king as a present to the palace
Which he achieved because of the speed of his legs,
On this royal permission he unsheathed his matchette
And went away like any arrow from the bow
His shirt trailing behind him like mare’s tail
Or like the flag on the post on a windy day,
Not a lot of time passed.
Mukisu wa Mujonji is at the spot of struggle,
Between Nalukosi and the Ugly passerby
There was no question or talking,
The first thing was Mukisu to sink the Matchette
With all of his mighty into the tummy of the ugly stranger
The bowels of the ugly stranger opened puffwiiii!
He breathed and gasped twice then succumbed to death.
His grip still strong on the leg of Nalukosi Mukoyonjo
The ugly passer by reached the rigor Mortis
When Nalukosi was still strongly gripped in his
Beastly hand, Mukisu wa Mujonji with all the skills
Used a Sharp matchette again; chopped of the hand
Of the ugly dead passer by off, from its torso
At the point of the muscular elbow,
Now Nalukosi was extricated, but not fully
From the grip of the dead ugly stranger,
The chopped off hand is still knotted at her leg
Around her leg, the dead hand also grips.
Nalukosi jumped here and there to throw away
The leg and the dead hand, but it was not easy to throw
The hand still stubbornly gripped around her angle,
*** time passed, each and every one of the kingdom came
Including the king Walumoli wa Muntu himself
And his nine wives, Khatembete Khobwibo Khakhalikha Nobwoya
Came last, as she was energyless due to rudely shocking tidings
Which the escaping virgins and lads had given her
That the ugly passer by had turned into the ogre
And had swallowed her daughter Nalukosi
That he had swallowed her piecemeal without chewing,
People of muntu came and found the ugly passerby dead
The left had chopped off its torso
But still hanging loosely on the leg of Nalukosi
Nalukosi jumping, kicking, screaming
Screaming away the dead hand from the grip of leg
But nothing had forthcame her way,
Walumoli wa Muntu could not afford to see
The hand on the leg of her beloved daughter
What could he tell his wife, is your all know
Dear reader and audience to this song;
Even the mighty and the wise ones
Generously bend when under the pressure of love,
Out of this dint, even before Mukisu wa Mujonji
Could display his next military card
Walumoli wa Muntu grapped the dead hand
That stuck of the leg of her daughter
And pulled it with another force that
No man born of woman has
Never used since the creation of the earth
By the gods and spirits of Muntu,
The hand come off, he throw it
On the cadaver of the ugly stranger,
He clicked and clicked and hissed
With anger like a wild turkey
In the African thorny forest,
He ordered the dead one to be buried
Their without haste, nor ceremony
Mukisu wa Mujonji buried the body
Quickly in a brief moment with precision
As if he was taking notes
From the lines of the poem
OF Pablo Neruda on how
To bury a dog behind the house
This time burying an ugly stranger
Behind the forts of the kingdom,
After all these women, children and men
Of muntu plus their king Walumoli
Went back to their houses hilariously
Broken into a song and a wild *** dance;
Makoe eehe! Makoe !
Nifwe Talangi Makoe !
Talangi!
Khwaula embogo sitella
Nifwe Talangi!
They sang up to midnight before
They all retired to their beds
Respective beds with panting thoraces
From heavy singing and dancing.

There is connection and disconexion between
The living and the dead, the living fear the dead
And dead loves the living,
The dead want the company of the living
For the living to accompany in the land of the dead,
When the ugly stranger was killed
And buried uncircumcised with the hunch
Not plucked out of his back
The gods and the livings dead
In the realm of the ancestors
Of the kingdom of Muntu were not happy,
They never wanted uncircumcised old man
With a hunch back to join them
And worse enough with the six fingers,
The gods and ancestors really god annoyed
That Walumoli wa Muntu has done them bad
He is only caring for the living, the pre-mortals
Especially his last wife and the daughter
But he has neglected the ancestors,
Why trash to ancestors a stark humanity,
They communed among themselves
And resolved to sent Namaroro
The god of dreams, dreams as messages
From the ancestors and dreams from the gods
Namaroro visited Namunyu Lubunda the palace
Prophet in the Kingdom of Muntu to pass
The message vesseling unhappiness of the ancestors
And gods in a blend of gloomy read to execute
A vendetta;
This is when in the wee of the night that Namunyu Lubunda
Dreamed and had a vision of a old man from
The east is warning of the coming long spell of starvation
That will befall the kingdom of Muntu for ten years
                                      That Namaroro told Namunyu Lubunda
As for ten seasons of foodlessness
Behold a begging kingdom
Behold a starving throne,
The scepter of Muntu is a disgrace
To the holder
Then Namunyu Lubunda set forth by dawn
To the Palace to meet Walumoli wa Muntu
In his, palace before any other royal chores come up,
Both good and bad luck combined
Only to have Namunyu Lubunda to get the king at the palace
He got him fresh and relaxed chewing the cup of fortune
In his full ego, all his wives had submitted to the morning dishes
To his dining hall in the palace, he moved his hands from
One plate of food to the other.
Namunyu Lubunda entered with a submissive salutation
To the royal, He bowed and declared the glory of the king
In typical standards of the ethnic composition of the house of Muntu
Walumoli wa Muntu Mukitang’a Mutukuika
Majave Kutusi Mbirira Omwene esimbo ya
Kumukasa,
Walumoli responded with a feat of dignity to Namunyu Lubunda
The palace prophet, as he roared to him; come in
Come in son of Lubunda son of our people,
He did mention the name of Namunyu Lubunda father
As he fears his words may escape with the power
Of his kingdom the scepter of Muntu
To other insignificant families in the kingdom,
Let me announce what brings me here; intoned Namunyu
Go ahead and announce my holiness
s the prophet of this kingdom; responded Walumoli,
Misfortune is awaiting the kingdom
It will eat this kingdom away
Like a ravenous hyena on the ewe’s tail
The ancestors and the spirits of this land
This kingdom of yours the son of Muntu
Are immensely offended with your recent behaviour
In which you commandeered all villages
In your kingdom; from east and west
The **** the innocent passer by
With your owner hands that handle the scepter
You killed and lay to rest the foreigner
A pure omurende to the kingdom of muntu
You buried him uncircumcised without contrite
In the cemeteries of our foremen who asleep and circumcised
Why did you lower the dignity of our forefathers
Who never share a roof with uncircumcised person
To share the ancestral realm; our emagombe
With hunchback foreigner not circumcised?
This kingdom is condemned to all spell of curse of death
Ceaseless hunger famines and starvation
Women dwindle in their reproductive capacity
Rarely will you come across a pregnant woman
Food will be difficulty to put on the table
Even the sweat of your brow will go to naught,
You will not be buried with insignia
Like a pauper you killed will you be buried
The house of your wife Khatembete Kho Bwibo
Khakhalikha no bwoya is a house of no consequences
For even your daughter Nalukosi stands cursed
She will not mature to be wedded into a marriage
She will hover the earth under heavy agonies of hunger,
My assignment is done and over
With or without your permission let me go.









THE FIRST SONG
Our song continues dear brethren
Come join me in arms we sing
Joyous singing of these songs of peace
Telling the world peaceful stories
As we enjoy sitting together around my grandmothers fire yard
Warming our selves to her lovely fire inherent in her good stories,
These songs will sing the glory and success of the king of Manani
It is an irregular Ode to Silinki wa Namunguba the son of Mwangani,
The son of Tunduli, the son of Wajala Njovu, the son of Welikhe, the son
Of manyorori, the son of Chumbe, the son of Kajo, the Son of Mabati, the son of welotia,
The son of sikele sia mulia, the son of Toywa,the son of siruju, the son of Mango, the son of Mulwoni sinyanya Bakhasi, the son of Mbakara , the son of Makhakara wa Nambuya, the son of Mukoye mulala kukhalikha w0nga, the son of Zumba the son of God.
Silinki

Days pass, my love, and I'm afraid of t'ese feelings,
Which at first startled and surprised me,
Solidified but threatened me,
Hastened my heartbeat-and lingered stubbornly, at my wit.

I was treading down in my stilettos;
And all, today, had been silent hitherto-
Whenst I but caught about thee;
More charming than the breezy day itself, and more free.

Ah, thee! How I longest to silence thee forever,
Thee to whom delights my shelter;
Thee to whom every lie shalt be truth,
and to whom all dreary ages shalt be youth.

How I longest to ****** thee;
to strangle and behead thee,
so that thou shalt no more haunt me-
just like these feelings that twitch, and dazzle me-
forever and ever; like a bewitching, yet sadistic misery.

Shalt I hate them, my love?
Shalt I depict but mock all them?
Ah, tease me-o, tease me, my love!
Catch me about those rippling grass,
Which like a bucket of green water,
Bloom and flirt with the startled bush in mass,
before autumn greets, and their brightness shalt alter.

Alter to falseness, and die in paleness;
Before they scramble up again in vain,
And retreat to my dreams like a dizzy villain;
In a wail of discord, and its lake of cold madness.

Ah! They hate me! And whenst thou seest not,
They seethe at me, they floweth in my brain;
they corrupt me vilely, and ruineth my restraint;
And my loving heart shalt they never defend,
for instead of hate, they grant it love;
and tempt it to kiss-t'is tiny heirloom of mine-
of thy picture, all repeatedly; over and over again.

Ah, thee, to whom my heart shalt only be a burden;
to whom the bleakest of winds only bounces, and goes;
to whom that this earth seems to have no throes-
Just like all those ****** birds who chirp about in yon garden.

Oh, thee, who looketh pristine in whichever garment,
and looketh still a darling atop whatever mute soil,
but safely comeliest amongst t'is Thursday night's infallible moonlight;
and altogether stirring to every glance-whilst inviting to each lurking sight.

Ah, thee, whose heart still, that lucky lady possesses,
and whose smiles she salutes and gladly welcomes;
I wonder whether thou shalt ever know how my heart is obsessed-
and that how thy love for her is my karma, my devil,
and the most undesirable-yet resentful, total sham!
Oh, for the gracious is ungracious indeed, in her eyes,
and peace is but to her a mere tempest of fights;
for to her, immortal are her shallow rights,
And eternal are her breaths, and thus, her tidiest lies.
I hope she shalt be soon swallowed into this earth,
and bludgeoned to death, within its eternal, whining hearth.
She shalt be sent to Hell, for all her discordant sins,
poor creature, as poor she was, whenst alive-to her kin.
But still poorer, poorer me who adoreth thee like this,
Who forever longs to taste thy sweet breaths-and kisses,
I am like an infant who seeks to walk and drink of the stars;
Without knowing the sky is indeed boundless, and strenuously far.
I am who never grows, but stupidly screams, and urges for the most
I, myself, who shall always be strangely desolate, and lost.
Ah, t'is poor self of mine! For canst I only dreamest, and seekest, and whine
Whilst her hair is in thy arms, smelling like sweet-and dreamless sleep,
Buried deep in thy charms, with her heart engaged in thine,
And unawakened by the night, as to one delight so deep.
I am envious, envious, envious-and for thy know, t'is envy is perilous,
and should I die, my spirit wouldst remain awake, and forever curious.
I shalt be wand'ring voicelessly like a fishy ghost,
Be unseen foliage in autumn, and be winter's plodded frost,
I shalt be confined in my own confinement,
and flustered away, in my own unblessed, refinement.

Yet still, nothing is more stately than my feelings;
and this picture of thee-ah, as always, solemn and so honoured in my arms.
Ah, thee, let me invite thee here-and show thee how tears are in fact, the truest charms;
and how pains are undeniably our breath-though faked, and dried away-
by unceremonious adoration and hate-
but still alive like we are, among th' very livings.

Ah, and so my feelings are dangerous-
for they have no soul; are bound not by wings.
As thou smileth to me-they smile not, but groweth serious-
and their seriousness, in return, bringst not one single uttering.
My thee, my thee, but if thou art not my fate,
how couldst I call thee always, my salvation?
In my heart thou art not merely my mate;
thou art worth all my warmth, regrets, and thus holiest temptation.
How am I to procure advancements, my sweet lad-
Should we hath been 'lone, had we never met?

With thee I hath been in love,
and for whom my feelings are tough.
Still I believe loyalty is in thee,
and honour in me-is whenst I loveth thee only.
My thee!
O-my thee, by whom these long-living trepidations
shalt no more be meaningful,
as how all other's admirations
shalt become unfelt, and sorrowful.

Feelings, feelings, o my incarcerated feelings
My tears are thy soul; that shape and form thy whole
To live and love whilst these flames are strong,
to whose lips only, I am insane-but clearly belong.

I've always had complicated Thoughts
Side by side they fight and against one another they fought.
Fifth graders shouldn't be ready to die.
No one should hate them self.
Ready to torture and degrade their self.
I knew I needed help.
Yet.
No courage was there, my courage was theirs.
To do what they want and say how ever they wish.
Loneliness was bliss.
Yet
I wanted to fit.
I always wanted to belong and get along and sing a song about how joyful life was.
Well life wasn't well and I couldn't even get along with my family so I never belong.
Yet
I had love.
I had people that cared
I always had that "weird" friend that made us a pair.
I had fun moments and great teachers then I got to church to listen to good preachers.
Yet
Nothing change.
I was still that student who was suffering and no one ever knew because he could lie in the way he behave and show a slave to good faith when really he was a beaten bag on the inside.
Yet
There was no yet now,
not in this moment till later came,
till later was the new now,
till I could look back and smile.
Yet
I am proud.

(Reply of the Pythian Oracle to Philip of Macedon.)


Oh! could LE SAGE’S demon’s gift
  Be realis’d at my desire,
This night my trembling form he’d lift
  To place it on St. Mary’s spire.

Then would, unroof’d, old Granta’s halls,
  Pedantic inmates full display;
Fellows who dream on lawn or stalls,
  The price of venal votes to pay.

Then would I view each rival wight,
  PETTY and PALMERSTON survey;
Who canvass there, with all their might,
  Against the next elective day.

Lo! candidates and voters lie
  All lull’d in sleep, a goodly number!
A race renown’d for piety,
  Whose conscience won’t disturb their slumber.

Lord H—indeed, may not demur;
  Fellows are sage, reflecting men:
They know preferment can occur,
  But very seldom,—now and then.

They know the Chancellor has got
  Some pretty livings in disposal:
Each hopes that one may be his lot,
  And, therefore, smiles on his proposal.

Now from the soporific scene
  I’ll turn mine eye, as night grows later,
To view, unheeded and unseen,
  The studious sons of Alma Mater.

There, in apartments small and damp,
  The candidate for college prizes,
Sits poring by the midnight lamp;
  Goes late to bed, yet early rises.
He surely well deserves to gain them,
  With all the honours of his college,
Who, striving hardly to obtain them,
  Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge:

Who sacrifices hours of rest,
  To scan precisely metres Attic;
Or agitates his anxious breast,
  In solving problems mathematic:

Who reads false quantities in Seale,
  Or puzzles o’er the deep triangle;
Depriv’d of many a wholesome meal;
  In barbarous Latin doom’d to wrangle:

Renouncing every pleasing page,
  From authors of historic use;
Preferring to the letter’d sage,
  The square of the hypothenuse.

Still, harmless are these occupations,
That hurt none but the hapless student,
Compar’d with other recreations,
Which bring together the imprudent;

Whose daring revels shock the sight,
When vice and infamy combine,
When Drunkenness and dice invite,
As every sense is steep’d in wine.

Not so the methodistic crew,
Who plans of reformation lay:
In humble attitude they sue,
And for the sins of others pray:

Forgetting that their pride of spirit,
Their exultation in their trial,
Detracts most largely from the merit
Of all their boasted self-denial.

’Tis morn:—from these I turn my sight:
What scene is this which meets the eye?
A numerous crowd array’d in white,
Across the green in numbers fly.

Loud rings in air the chapel bell;
’Tis hush’d:—what sounds are these I hear?
The *****’s soft celestial swell
Rolls deeply on the listening ear.

To this is join’d the sacred song,
The royal minstrel’s hallow’d strain;
Though he who hears the music long,
Will never wish to hear again.

Our choir would scarcely be excus’d,
E’en as a band of raw beginners;
All mercy, now, must be refus’d
To such a set of croaking sinners.

If David, when his toils were ended,
Had heard these blockheads sing before him,
To us his psalms had ne’er descended,—
In furious mood he would have tore ’em.

The luckless Israelites, when taken
By some inhuman tyrant’s order,
Were ask’d to sing, by joy forsaken,
On Babylonian river’s border.

Oh! had they sung in notes like these
Inspir’d by stratagem or fear,
They might have set their hearts at ease,
The devil a soul had stay’d to hear.

But if I scribble longer now,
The deuce a soul will stay to read;
My pen is blunt, my ink is low;
’Tis almost time to stop, indeed.

Therefore, farewell, old Granta’s spires!
No more, like Cleofas, I fly;
No more thy theme my Muse inspires:
The reader’s tir’d, and so am I.

Its seems that where ever i go people are fooling eachother

Its like we all live in a big illusions
controlled by science media and religion
And everyone is misstreating one another

Multinational companies getting richer every second funding the world's wars death and hunger

It really seems like that nobody cares about what we( all livings , planet) need
They only care about personal needs
Money is destroying everything
Its the reason behind all the bad things

Sure it could be great sometimes
WRONG!!!

Thats what they only want you to think about
Money, buying, selling,
it doesnt matter
The economy is a big lie
Fabricated to keep us enslaved, limited and entertained.
In a way that we never reach our potentiel
Its seems that the world i've been taught about is FAKE

So i plan to run away

Living FREE

Running away from CONCPIRACIES

Words Of Harfouchism

Feeling blue today
The truest blue and slew of good wishes
And feelings
And moods.
All is clear in my field of view.
Better than borrowed
I feel new.
It’s true
I’m blue.


She’s livid
A shiver of silver
Livings and fear of what mother will say
When she see slivers of shining silver
Shattered on solid floor.
She’s shaking
Scraping silver slivers
Into shaking, sweaty
Palms.


A rotund belly
Yellow sash orbiting
A loud yellow suit standing outside
A back door bordello.
A cello’s titillating echo
Feeling mellow
Look at that swinging yellow Othello
What a fellow
Those midnight secrets he’ll never tell, no.


He is orange
And no one much cares to rhyme about him

Smoking a cigarette, she slowly opens her eyes. I wish not to see, if here's what it must be presented to me. The bathroom is steamy and warm, but the water is running cold in the hot tub. She doesn't remember how long she has been here, she doesn't remember what had happened before, she doesn't remember to remember. As she murmurs to herself -
  I hate God.

  The wonder of life could be faded so easily, the
scent of her skin, the touch of her smile, the loss of
  one family's forever beloved, our family.

  A daughter, a sister, a piece of out heart.

  It's what you live on, you know, mother can't stop
crying, the agony, the emptiness, father hardly speaks,
  life goes on, I still feel her, after she's gone.

  A tragedy, a mistake, a hole in our soul.

  No, it has nothing to do with bad luck, it's just death,
you know. She stops breathing, her body gives in, and she
  watches herself leaving the room, the world -

  as she's sailing to the other side of her eternity.

  It all began with a piece of bread, she never lates for
school, a beautiful morning, and the radio was playing,
  we never heard her, she loves music.

  **** this, now what about the livings?

  Now, what about the livings? We moved, not necessary
delightfully, from the home of our heart. It would be easier
  for mom and dad anyway, I've never meant to leave.

  "Don't be afraid, be free, you're now our only."

  I was sent away, along with a part of my sister, who was
supposed to be a part of me too, and started a new life.
  That's how they call it anyway, it's really cold -

  in this side of the country, this side of my life.

  It doesn't bother me a bit, I wouldn't let it, I have my way
to remember my sister. I've talked her back to life, she's just as real
  as she used to be, in school, at home, anywhere.

  In life, in death, in the coldness and the stillness.

Look, it's snowing! Yet my heart has never been so warm, maybe, I
  pray, we can seek back our happiness after all. Maybe it has never
left, just like Martha, as I am watching my parents skating through
  the ice, and remembering -

  *She's gone, but not forgotten, she's only one breath away.

I am off again.
Off to enjoy the dead livings
of old civilization.
If you wish
you will find me in the woods
up to my neck in mud and sweat:
smiling.
I will pan for gold
at the banks of untouched river runs
and the bottom of gushing waterfalls.
I will hunt
beautiful beasts
with black coats and empty bellies from a winters sleep.
I'll sit huddled around fire
that dances in an iron bellied stove
warming my hands and drying my rain soaked feet.
I have no wish to leave this kind of life.
I will return with heart uplifted by accomplishment
and my hands covered in scars.
I will have made my mark on the land
the hawks circling above for the creatures smoked out by the fire in my lungs.

Though it be'st the twenty first of centuries,
Yet may still exists these beings burdened by worries,
Of capturing moments onto a single page,
To share to the mass of moments enrage,
Blame'st the notion of capturing hands,
Thats yields false livings of those living a'land.
For a moments time do these beings live not,
But think'st about the footage that may be caught.
Draw'st the lively heavens that present thyself to thee,
May thou'st most swiftly to thy camera's hand a'flee.
Live not the beauty of the mighty river and its current a'flow,
But captures the facade of being and living as a falsely whole.

Shall thy'st live not by the beating heart of thee birthly gift,
But live'st life by the value of those admirably swift,
And live'st the facade of both false moment and dear,
For false truths accompanies false happiness here.
Then surrounds thyself with greatsome fierce crows,
That caws to the desires and facades like wholesome hoes.
So shall tis century be defined by two simple notes,
Of those who live not and those unknownly false denotes,
Of beings that cling to the facade of endearment of falsely vows,
And seeks for the acknowledgements of the surrounding crows.

I canst stand this wretched hell called home no more, tis this place that shalt be mine death. For what shalt i haveth left? When the grotesque night walkers **** out mine last of all energies. Tasting blood again, past sin turned misery! Easily spoken for a pastor to say he knoweth demons. Hellion of teething bandits unearthed from hades. Sadistic babies. Continuous madmen of killers delight. For maby ill take a flight wherein those varmint  canst scratch nor bite. Where all is right. And repleneshing wilt come by gods own fiery sword. A place of highest compassion, shrined amour'. No earthmade door. No grocery stores to search whats all needed. Just pureness wherein no goblins nor ghouls are hatched, maintained. Nor breeded!

I need a vacation.

Maybe a trip to Italy.

I gotta revitalize.

Maybe, Pompeii.

I am feeling starved of my vim and vigor.
My words are lukewarm.

There is only one option:
rekindling my virility.

I could vivify myself vicariously:
the sensuality of the city's verve,
all the daily livings of people,
venerated in an intense blaze;
might make me vivacious again.

Input daily routine.
Output socially valued norms.

My vivid, vermillion passion
has been layered with ashes.

I am desperate for veracity.
Did my igneous, poetic life temper
to an obsidian verse?

The beat in my heart
has felt industrialized,
monotonous,
a steady assembly line of chaste gray;
a vexing variance of my vitals.
Revive me: my virtuosity
will ventilate me with
venereal voraciousness.

What is left to me,
a choice of perspective:
a plunge in to the devouring,
a dive in to the radiant;
both, a swim through a viscous sea of wildfire
in Mount Vesuvius.

death is
just

cold.

not the fading memories
leaching, lost, into the soil,
and warped as jaded speech
woven through the livings tales.
death is seclusion from the sun,
to stall, to stop, to lose ones way,
forever left at last breaths point,
as time continues on its way.
a coldness deep, to lock in place,
persona lost, caricature replaced.
unknowing darkness keeps
the new unknown,
as coldness claims
the final home.

(for Kiwi - 06/08/2009)

Say there’s a boy that has two dreams,
One concerns business, one fishing in streams;
But which is the more real my friend?

A wolf licked an Eskimo’s blood-covered knife,
Licked it till it cut-up and bled out its life;
But are wolves’ impulses wrong my friend?

I saw a terrible play with a terrible end
And horrid lines no writer could mend;
But do you think I missed the point my friend?

Upon a time a boy loved a girl,
Loved her like a casket locked upon a pearl;
But what is truest love my friend?

Someone opened a door and let a dog in,
Unaware of where most strays have been;
But what is real kindness my friend?

One hundred slaves wept at their fortune,
United, killed the tyrant, and began to run;
But don’t they still work for their livings my friend?

I found a pocket watch in a patch of tall grass,
Hoped selfishly, watched centuries pass;
But weren't we told time heals wounds my friend?

Behind a curtain
Blind to the eye
To this I am certain
The Dead Land resides

Watch with my soul
I seek thee
I stare into the scrying bowl
I see thee

Crying these diamond tears
Screaming your name
It falls to deaf ears
Darkness you remain

Knocking on the livings door
You want to be known
Your heart beat, no more
Like a bad call through a phone

You're fading in and out of life
The light no where to be seen
Shadows impale your being like a knife
And you're silent as you scream

O' amour
How radiant thy petal's art;
O' galore,
For what's in store
Shalt be noble
In novel art's.
Statues to tower
The children we
Create; none minutes
Nor hours, an empyrean
Place, a tribal face times two.
Restored, renewed. Amour' tis
True. Gushing water's of life-ever-
Lasting....
The ripples art ourn soul's, exploding
Chalices of old, expertise is awe-striking
In the deathly livings over-passing.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication

People of color
Aren't we all Humans
Who are striving To do better
Who are harmless
Aren't we all Innocent
who are livings for there ever after
Aren't we all believers
Who are excited to bring newborns
In this WORLD


A World?
        


A world that is full of violence
A world that is so beautiful
Yet corrupted
In every way
In every direction.

i

As the wartorn baby lied down on the middle eastern battlefield,
The tanks rolled in, the bombs struck heavy, as poured out sin,
It seemed for the young girl no living was as this was to be dreamt, her night-mares becameth real, her spirit of her hath left

ii

The sunshine was eclipsed, as the sarin and mustard gas blimped
The grenade's made servant's, out of the gentle and innocent,
And hatred was spread between the lies, of the media outlet's channel, terrorist rolled their eyes, as burn's smoked the flannels

iii

These brute's woreth green in verdant camouflage grass anger
Were friends before their war, now rebirthed as killing strangers
Yet there was one soldier who put down her exploding bomb's
An saidst "I want war none more" , as was a girl of holy god

iv

She screamed to her lung's, (" canst thou all seeith this is of the devil? I am not one to **** mine brother! I am a messenger of the celestial levels") as the death bringer's heard this, their eye's began to run, they've forgotten of their lovers, and their own love



v

As this girl who was a terrorist, not by her own hand was given
Remembered she was forced, by the men of evil torture and livings, Though she abandoned the war, the evil man hath put upon her, her soul overcameth, with God in the those wartorn flames, for that girl remembered at that moment, she being gods daughter.....




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

How's the Earth looking from up there?
I bet you wouldn't even bother about the livings anymore,
I bet you couldn't wait for the Heaven; the eternity

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

Forgive me,
For every time I see a butterfly perched on my window I always thought that was you missing me
Forgive me,
For every time I see a cat around the backyard I always thought that was you visiting and checking up on me

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

Now I'm at peace, realizing that you are free from any physical pains;
As you are no longer burdened by your glaucoma or sudden heart attack
As your fragile skins won't have to be bruised when you coincidentally knocked on the table
As you won't have to feel headache each time you're overwhelmed by the thoughts of your family

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

Still, it doesn't feel right for my brain to comprehend that
My childrens won't ever get to hear the warmth of your voices;
Tasting the overburnt eggs and noodles you used to make;
Watching your favorite old movies in the afternoon;
Playing with the wrinkles on your hands;
or making fun of your white hair

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

I know you will never know about this
But I'm down on my knees
Silently pray inbetween the night and the dawn;
So that the angels will not be too harsh on you
In hereafter

If you've had a drink
If ya had a few
Or if you had to think of what ya knew
It's on the brink
Tounges of youth
Indistinct
Tons of truth

Oh where the wayward go

If I had to guess
What would it be
If I had it dressed
in nothing to see
It's on the desk
Naked physically
Caressed tears form
Each one a nominee

Oh where the wayward go

If I found my ships lost
Where do i invest my lumber
The goods have been tossed
Livings the new plunder
I belong to this boss
Calling out my new number
Tithe to the cross
Counting sheep for an exponential slumber

Oh where the wayward go

If I heard your song
If it made me cry
Would the captain be strong
Would you know why
The best & worst wrongs
May deserve to die
But the rest of this route's long
We deserve better inside

Oh where the wayward go

If every page turned
Another plot thickens
False casting endures
Another old man fishin'
Into the depth of the pure
A well of wealth made for wishin
New babies insure
An old one is sickened

Oh where the wayward go
Where one dreams it will
But desires to never know
Happenstance will
Have it's dance
You will have your horse
You will have your show
You will have a friend
You will have an end
Please understand
The wayward just want to know home

My friend,
When you were born,
Life cast you into this dream
While giving to you love
To remind you of waking Reality.

As surely as I love you now
And sit beside your final bed,
Not soon to sleep, but soon you´ll awaken
From the dream from which Destiny calls.

Ahead of you Death has always walked
Showing you your fated path
And giving love in those precious moments
When the dreamer dared to lift his eyes.

In death your truth foreve finds you
When love reaches its Eternal Source
As the Reality with which it soon will meld
In the harmony of one´s mortal end.

The love we felt for you in life
Has touched us all beyond its close
Leaving memories in the livings' minds
And something deeper that we sometimes find:

In future moments of conscious grace
When Present's joy meets open hearts
We will be following You through love
More strongly than any memory.

If our recollections of you fade
-Though for me they never will-
Take comfort in your destination
That calls you clearly even now.

This solace I now try to hold:
Trapped in memories of your love
Which soon will leave this mortal plane
And leave me sitting here without you.

Your impending absence brings a rift
That keeps me from the words I preach
And casts me from God's loving arms
Into the abyss of this black dream.

These tears that I shed for you now
Fall on unforgiving floors
And force me to the recognition
That more than ever I feel alone.

Remember when we used to play
With boxes and dolls all day
Making up stories with ridiculous names,
And never getting tired of this game?

We took ourselves to faraway lands
Where our fortunes were in our own hands,
And we could be the richest clown
Or the poorest chump in town.

Our worlds were rich and thick with lore.
Because nothing else mattered to us anymore
Except for the things we could dream in a day
Before we had to go in and stop our play.

Oh what times of great fun!
The imaginary worlds and tales we spun!
And when the moon rose through our windowpane,
I knew even then I couldn't complain,

For though as sisters we fought and battled,
And at the time, we may have seemed frazzled,
There was a certain unity we possessed,
Though it's existence we've never confessed.

We are very different people today.
We don't go off in backyards to play.
We work for our livings with measured stress
And sometimes in the midst get a bit depressed.

But what I'd like to change right now today
Before our adult lives get too underway
Is the forgetting of what used to be
When we needed each other terribly.

I may not need you to save me
Or fix me or change me
But I do still need you
For the occasional rescue.

Just like you used to take me away
In our backyard when we would play.

Say there’s a boy who has two dreams,
One concerns business, one fishing in streams;
But which is the more real my friend?

A wolf licked an Eskimo’s blood-covered knife,
Licked it till it cut-up and bled out its life;
But are wolves’ impulses wrong my friend?

I saw a terrible play with a terrible end
And horrid lines no writer could mend;
But do you think I missed the point my friend?

Someone opened a door and let a dog in,
Unaware of where most strays have been;
But what is real kindness my friend?

One hundred slaves wept at their fortune,
United, killed the tyrant—ultimately won ;
But don’t they still work for their livings my friend?

I found a pocket watch in a patch of tall grass,
Hoped selfishly, watched centuries pass;
But weren't we told time heals wounds my friend?

Nature's music
Calms me smile
It's okay she says
The trees smile back

Green
Red
Grey clouds
Cover me

White blood cells
Are friends with peace
Red cells- they live
In me with life

Creation is all
Around It's here
Does it matter
How? Now.

Why ask how
When here is the now
Beautiful sounds
Earthly grounds

All I need is here
Now. Don't ask how
Don't ask why
Let your life live

Living is not life
Unless your life is alive
Beauty is only beauty
If you open your eyes

Music is everywhere
Sounds of the morning
Afternoon night
Open your ears-harmony

Society is big
On what is natural
Nature is natural
Open your senses

Slowly you see
Gently you hear
Softly you breath
Touch carefully

Open up
Worldly doesn't
Have to mean
Negativity

The world isn't ours
We are hers
She's naturally at peace
Never a mistake

Natural disasters
Aren't misfortunes
We invaded them
Choosing to be naive

Learn from her and
Live freely
I've learned my best
Chance at being fulfilled

Is sleeping outside
With clouds as warmth
Stars shine light
Sounds are my lullaby

Nothing is more
beautiful than the earth
At night natural free
No rules just be

Livings no longer hard
When sleeping beneath
The stars the moon
The comfortable clouds

Breathe her in
Welcome her senses
Make them yours
Grow into one

We have so much to offer this earth
If only we could be alive as she is.

how is it that you enter my life
and then without looking in my direction
no heed nor warning
seasons pass
ice falls
and the sun prevails our sensitive eyes
but we know of the departure
and we know of the return

how is it that you can leave within the twitch of my hand
and I can wait decades and decades for a return that
will never happen
until the sudden twitch
and I turn to dust
and I my soul finds its place underneath
the livings feet
hidden deep in the earth
until our time comes

so many of you have left
and it was always so unexpected
life and all it is shorter than my words
how moments pass so undetected
and I am frail
when I find acceptance hard to manage

when I think of the love and how its now hidden
under so many different surfaces
in a different world
blood runs thing
and pain creeps
at the thought of loved ones who have passed
most of us humans have someone
whom at one second of the day
thoughts retreat to
needles flow in your veins rather than blood

life comes and goes in sublime sharp ways

Maxwell House jars
To punches traded for a planetary
Mars of all cleaved rock and desperation!!!

All sarcastic inspiration
Commemorates the deeding mobsters!!!

Hogger's mincing
Cahiers tinting
Grocery bag giveaways!!!

Make it tomorrow
Soldier
And thou might make it today!!!

Enjoy thy livings
Enjoy thy stay

For vacation is noones attire!!!!

Shelter in stormy lands
What is thy quilt?
Thou sheriff of sheen filth!!!!

Serene sessions
Cometh quickly and go,

Receiving to know one
In all and all in one!!!

Trigger fingers art ready to squeeze
Closer we gasp into the sun!!!

Earthly breeze
Middle earth ones!!!

How damning it is thou extorter....

Thou loiterer
Of pale grey cold nighted sweets!!!

Nose of fire
Deckage of wires
To fathomed Kodiak's
Of ink jets !!!

Wake up call hast finally sounded
Panther eye's wait to swindle!!!

Release knowledge
Release power of the toes
That fit in the sandal!!!

The giants of industry
Reaching upwards
To pluck the stars from the sky
And blind the moon
Cast a glow
Unnatural
And poisonous
Where livings are made
And lives are lost.
A town built around the chimneys.
A town destroyed by the smoke.

Extern and intern
From the prowling death itself
(like an afeard mouse into the hole)

Still heating,
You will be to a woman escaping,
For protection at her arms, laps and knees.

Not just the fire,
That calls with ease, not just the desire,
But you are also pushed there by the must -

For this, you'd hug,
If you were on her drug,
Hugging her till the whiteness of the mouth.

A double burden,
'n double treasure is the must to love.
For the one who cannot find a simple mate,

So homeless,
As so suportless
As the wild animal doing excrete.

There's nowhere to hide
No resort; even you get a knife
And as a brave, you aim at your mother!

See now, it happened
A woman who understand'
These words, but she pushed you away.

I have no place,
In this way, among livings. Pains,
In my head' to flourish my troubles;

Like a toddler,
Rattling the rattler
If he is left all alone.

What to do
Being contra or pro?
I have no shame to find out,

Since gets castaway
Even the poor who is a prey
Of the sun's and night's nightmares.

The culture's
Falling of me like costumes
While from others, they fall in big love -

But where it is written,
To be tossed by death hither-thither
In fact of that I'm suffering all alone?

The baby
Is also in pain, being born by the lady,
Since the shared pain is eased by humbleness.

But for me
My painful chants bring money
Enjoined with disgrace and more sorrow.

Help me, guys!
You, little boys, let your eyes,
Let them burst where this woman goes.

O' innocents,
Scream under the boots of dissidents
And tell them, please: It hurts so much.

O' faithful dogs,
Get under cars' wheels and smogs,
Then bark to them: It hurts so much.

O' women with burden,
Abort your half-living *****,
Then cry painfully: It hurts so much.

O' healthy men,
Fall down and ******* then,
Just to mutter: It hurts so much.

O' men,
Fighting each other for a woman,
Don't keep it silent: It hurts so much.

O' horses and bulls,
For the yoke loosing your *****,
Don't miss a moo: It hurts so much.

O' dumb fish,
Getting a hook to become dish,
Gawp and articulate: It hurts so much.

All who's alive,
Join the life-long strife,
Let burn the forest, the house, the hutch.

And then, at his bed,
Mortified, slumber-near, almost dead,
Gibber with me for last: It hurts so much.

So, she can hear while alive.
This is what she denied, if worthwhile.
She did restrict it by her own pleasure

Extern and intern
Escaping from living itself
That was his last resort.

Crinkling anhydrous
I contort to shapes described by Pythagorus.
My shell collapses
Livings a burden heavy to break the camels back
Words for me are needles in needle stacks
You can't get out with out cutting your throat

Every time you leave I'm wringing my hands in my car
Every time I see men I reach towards the bar
For another beer

I'm sitting in my own belly full of bile and I need to ***** out these tears
And I need to cleanse my spirit
And I need to shine my gears

Cause I am rusting shut. My mouths left in the forest and the tin mans oilcan hands cut

Back in my truck I tuck and hide the thoughts yet want a concrete wall to spill my mind upon
And make a canvas out of the windshield of glass covered in grey mass

The endings more poetic then a **** with a crown extending.

My soul crys yet another day ..feelings so near so far away
turned that corner that turned on me ..made my life ones life away
yet i want so more to see a life of livings destiny
ropes of chain surround my whole waiting watching bait the cold
one day soon i'll see the light ..all lifes future life begun

The difference between us
Is seen as
What keeps us
Divided, united
And trying to hide it
With notions of sameness
Partitioned in races
And paychecks to rub it in
Spite-her-nose faces
Despite whether on
The excesses of luxury
Porcelain thrones
Do we trickle down waste
Upon those without homes
Or we find ourselves
One of the billion
Have nots
Minding only our businesses,
Tending our crops
We depend on it always to be there
To make
Livings off of
These lands,
As their claimants we stake
And it takes us a lifetime
Of filling it with
Any worth we convert
To devaluing it
But in each of us lies
An identical pit
Of despair in disparity's
Wealthy abyss

For only hope of a better tomorrow  can take  away the stitches sewn in the beating angry heart and deliver one from the everlasting mud of despair which one is sinking fast. America through  our politicians has said unto us,''we do it all for you,voters elected us to serve ourselves." We have sacrificed American sons to the exploding bullets of war in faraway lands.boys from Philadelphia, Texas ,California,Arizonia, taken away from their budding lives and sacred dreams to fight for another's freedom when freedom is still elusive to our native  daughters and sons.we are those with broken nails and scarred hands,work-ruined backs,who give the most but take home the least.some of us are young or old  and worn down in spirit,found in city doorways or hooking for livings in alleys or hugging ***** pavements in pain.our hands  might form  together in nightly prayers  for more bread  and higher checks,less taxes  that slowly  wash away human life.lady of liberty,what are you staring at?don't you see the people suffering in this great land? what hour is  the best to be poor, if any? we are  at the crossroads of human existence, trouble in our  lives is like barbed wire  strung at intervals, like dark stars wherever people wander. wake up America,save us from slowly dying in your electric cities,for you America,  through our  politicians have said  unto  us , we do it all  for you. i've seen and heard old men with  white socks and canes their memories fading like yesteryear's scrapbook pictures,buy dog food for the evening meal.the  middle class have s new change of address  closer to the poverty line. here we all  are caught up in the stillness  of time ,watching  our politicians  seal our  fates  with  heartless intent  and cunning minds  as they  earnestly say,''we do it  to you and for you.''

It's october, the time for thrills
the time for kills, the time for chills.

the spooky skeleton rise from thine grave
to steal your bones, to make you pray.
mercy you begged for, none be granted,
stripped of your royal skin, now a slave.

Whom must I obey? you wondered,
the headless knight, or the pumpkin Queen?
The Skeleron King, or the Devil within?
it doesn't matter, it's a time for fun,
even in death, it'll all be fine.

Punsih all those who doth not obey,
Trick them all, and heed my call.

Treat is a myth, it doth not exist
even if candy they give, you trick them, insist.
Halloween is a time of horror,
being merciful is certainly not the answer.

go out in the night, do not be scared,
the darkness IS your silk protection.
grab a pumkin, the screaming latern,
by the end of the night it'll be filled with skeletons.

But speak no more of the spooky world,
and gaze into the life of the livings.
instead of spooky they made it joyful,
plenty'o candy is what they think for.

theres no skeleton, no headless knight,
none of the pumpkins are even alive.
to them, we are corpse;
to us, we are the living.
and only on the 31st
can our spooky hunger thirst for hunting.

After the 31st is the 1st,
and then it's time to rest.
lay down back in the ground, a corpse,
filled with sorrow, the living remorse.
But that is fine, for I shall move again
in 364 days, just you wait.

For love that mourns


The news parks over me
an uncomfortable silence,
such pity, void of reasons
and the worst comes as
all the cracks get filled up
with smile and modesty

Just this afternoon, I
was preached about the
beauty of mortality, the
peace death bestows upon
life rippled by chaos and
choas piercing inside us the
needle of silliest phobia-
of dying, of peace that is
eternal, for real.

The breezes denies its movement
The sun hides behind clouds and
her smile still peeks at my silence,
which fails me under its gravity
I wonder mourning upon the real loss
If this is beauty of death, tears
hidden under cracks of helplessness
smile that lies of things being Okay

okay! such beauty ,the death
leaves for the livings, to kins
and friends who will still deny to
carry that breathless corpse..
thesilence won't speak up
this is just circle of life
ending nowhere but just here
right here under tears
burning down to ashes

With the smoke rising up, I
pray and hope its true, all
soul that rises up turns to star
they will never leave us and this
particular soul, do watch upon her
forever and more.
But still those stars that shine
burns hearts which beats

For Her,
As it may seem its just you
You may have chosen the hard way
believing you are on your own
I offer you my silence and me ,
who won't mourn but hold on
The star may seem to have fallen but
it will be eternally gazing upon you

With every loss, a new kingdom
of peace is founded
I am not grieved more than you
But the cracks dripping tears will still
be more beautiful than plasters of smile
Let the heaven sing for eden he will find
Let you be what he truly desired

(This is sad but this is how it is)