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The Romans taxed by auctioning off the right to collect taxes to the highest bidder . Then the tax collector  would tax enough to cover his cost and
make a profit .

These were the toll-takers , custom-takers for the Romans , and most of them were greedy grifters . They were hated by the people . They were called Publicans because they took up publica , the goods of the Empire .

Publicans are still here today collecting taxes but they like to be called by their new name , Republicans .
Please be kind
Have patience with others
They may not be like you

Please listen
Take time to understand

Please be careful
It’s a difficult time
Your actions may affect others

Please don’t harbor anger
It doesn’t help a situation
Step away if you have to

Please have an open heart
Instead of a closed mind

Please offer love instead of hate
It lifts us all up
Offer someone a smile

Please stand in the light
Instead of the darkness
Lift up the world
With your special light
They say that you can hear them as they're rattling their chains and they'll tell you each and every one of those old soldiers' names,

I go blank, but say thank you,
a response that is automated
regurgitated
for everything that seems outdated.

But the wind doesn't whistle for everyone
this is the time to get your glad rags on
and forget it all, have a ball
beacuse
it has been and gone.
i was never fond of hugs
even when i was crying my heart out,
even when i needed comfort,
i never asked for one,
for i never wanted somebody’s warmth

but i keep reminiscing that night
when you hugged me so tight
—it was my first time
feeling someone else’s heart
and everything felt so right
that now, i keep wanting to do that
again and again, and again,
i loved being held in your arms
for it was so gentle and warm

and if it’s you, i won’t mind
doing it millions of times
for my suki na hito—himaru kun
El tiempo se escurre
de entre mis manos.
Pienso infinitamente en ti
mientras el sol ardiente
persigue a la luna bella,
dando lugar a días calurosos
y noches inacabables.

Tengo recuerdos sempiternos
del loco amor que vivimos.

Tu sonrisa. Tus verdes ojos.
Tus besos ardientes
con intenciones lascivas.
Tus gestos de cariño
y picardía en la cama.

Tu desnudez convulsa.
La carnal concupiscencia
a la que la noche incitaba,
mientras tu cintura inquieta
me enfermaba de ti.

Mi brazo de almohada
y un te amo a continuación.

Todo es un océano basto
donde zarpan tus memorias
hacia el horizonte de la melancolía.
Yo un marinero con miedo a naufragar
buscando la luz de tu faro.
Tu ausencia
es el retrato
de la melancolía.
Una piedra atorada
en mi garganta.
Un espejo hecho pedazos,
que refleja cada astilla
de mi demacrado corazón.

Tu ausencia es el árbitro
que sentencia
mis batallas perdidas.
El eslabón perdido
de alguna cadena perpetua.
Un perdón en silencio.
Un invierno sin causa.

Con tu ausencia
incineraste mis sueños.
Y si al vivir tuviera un motivo,
sería recuperarte.
A familiar smell
Brewing from the orange sky.
A cup of tea.
Leaves start to dry.
Felt on me -
A breeze - so shy.
Stained are teeth, and fingers yellow,
Softly whispered lies we keep.
Smoke unfurls in breath so mellow,
Promising but sinking deep.

Coiling tendrils, soft and clever,
Lull the mind in fleeting grace.
Cinder ghosts that warm, yet sever,
Leave their embers on the face.

Every spark—a pledge unwinding,
Every drag—a weight we bear.
Sworn to comfort, yet confining,
Clinging to a thinning air.
Nicotine is a tightly structured, lyrical poem that explores the tension between fleeting comforts and the greater aspirations we often neglect. Using nicotine as both a literal and metaphorical device, the poem examines the small indulgences we cling to—despite knowing their cost—drawing a parallel to the broader human tendency to accept self-deception for the sake of temporary relief.

Through vivid imagery of smoke, stained fingers, and fading embers, the poem evokes a sense of quiet resignation, underscoring the slow erosion of will beneath a comforting but insidious habit. The rhythmic AB meter reinforces the hypnotic cycle of desire and consequence, mirroring the way these comforts lull us into complacency.

At its core, Nicotine is a confrontation—a mirror held up to our daily rationalizations, asking whether we truly seek change or merely the illusion of control. The introspective tone invites readers to reflect on their own vices, however small, and consider what they may be sacrificing in the name of fleeting ease.
How can I unmake indignant hands,
rolled, into fists?
If I kiss the fingers, will they unfold,
like celestial doors,
and beckon me in?
If I traverse your lifeline,
with softened eyes, and lips,
will we time skip,
Into a time, and place,
that's better, than this?

Even in thunder,
you dwell
at the center, of me.

I wonder,
would you melt...
with my hand, on your cheek.
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