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Does any fragile spring flower,
Not welcome the lengthening day?
Does any young wide-eyed puppy,
Need to be told when to play?

Does any green sapling not want,
To aspire to become a tree?
Does any blind person not dream,
That one day they’ll wake and see?

Does any spider turn its back,
When its web vibrates with a fly?
Does any sleek eagle not wish to,
Claim mastery of the sky?

Does any wild cheetah refuse,
To chase dodging prey at full speed?
Does any farmer not work hard,
To ensure that his crops succeed?

Does any river not seek to
Meander its way to the sea?
Does any hurt not some day heal,
Could you one day please - forgive me?

Does any dry garden not wish,
To be moistened by morning dew?
Does any heart yearn more than mine,
To be loved forever by you?
I found a home
in rough arms
and delicate touches.
In the smell of cologne
and bright roses.
I found a home
in wide shoulders
and tiny hands
both my asylum
keeping me safe
during the darkest nights.
In sharp stubbles
and blood red lips
marking my skin
as if it was a canvas
painting it in the best work of art
the world has ever seen.
I found a home
in the long locks of an awesome boy
in the short curls of a beautiful girl
tangled between my fingers
as we intertwine our souls.
I found a home
in the intergalactic being
of a lost soul
who heard the call
of my empty one
and decided to make it its own
in the purest, most natural love
that has ever been.
Come ye ruthless winds
Carry me atop your sleeve
Serenade me
Let me

Kiss the yellow daisies in the field
And see them flail in bliss
While their sweet fragrance
Seeps in my breathe.

Possess the verdure and bamboo trees
Play with their mellow fronds
As they breathe upon the world
And give life to thee.

Roll with the clouds
In the glassy blue sky
Subtle and smooth
Pine in their grief
Until they burst upon my brow
Saccharine tears
Emboldened in seven colours askew
Making the sky a portrait
As i breathe in the rainbow
Gusts of freedom.

Fly upon the calm arcane ocean
Wondering the wonders of it's depth
It's never-ending soul
A heavenly parade
As i forgot the troubles of land
For a while.

O ye majestic winds
Steal me from my reality
Hark! Make me your reality
So i shall taste nature
the intoxicating
Soul of the
World.
It's been a while since i have written something. Thanks for reading.
when Merry Clayton
sings "Southern Man"
i think of all of you
and i think *******

and if i was Neil Young
i would start a band called Hateful Bigot
and Mike Watt would be the bass player
and i would write a song
called "social justice warrior"
(in all lower case)
and dedicate it to all the children that have been ***** by the gay mayor of your tiny house town
and Merry Clayton would sing that song

there is a parade in tiny house town
for everyone who's arrived 50 years too late to the civil rights party
and the  mayor is coming round
to shake your hand

all your tiny houses coming down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
tiny, tiny houses get smaller and smaller before blowing down

everytime you shake his hand
you have even less to say
about all the children he *****
than the NRA

even less to say than the NRA
everytime the gay mayor rolls down the windows
before he rapes the children in his hot car
everytime he's comes around
to shake your hand
he's got ten dollars in his other hand

tiny, tiny houses blowing down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
i can't wait til they come down
all your tiny houses coming down
tiny, tiny houses coming down

(nothing to do with the fact
he's a gay democrat
nothing to do with the fact)
ed murray is the gay mayor of seattle. he ***** children and is likely still ****** them. one of them was his foster son. he denies these allegations in the manner of a text book lying child ******. he lied about ever knowing his foster son who he ***** (and who was later then proven to be his foster son). he also had wanted to be a catholic priest but left the seminary (probably got kicked out for child ****).   he was not forced to resign because it is not convenient to ask a gay, democrat mayor to step down, which is why i will always refer to him as the gay mayor who rapes children.  he gets a free pass on ****** children. this poem is dedicated to everyone who turns a blind eye to child **** and excuses it (especially ***** like sally bagshaw), and sadly that includes organizations such as glaad.

ed murray, gay mayor of seattle who rapes children, attended the gay pride parade and shook hands with the parade goers, who were delighted to shake the hand of a child ******. only it's not ****, since he is a gay democrat who gave the children $10 to **** them.

seattle has become unaffordable because of amazon, high levels of taxation (by a city cuntcil who supports a child ****** as mayor and the child ****** mayor himself), a housing shortage (caused by amazon and citizens of china who make money on slave labor and then make inflated all cash offers on the real estate here so the people who actually live here can't afford it).

something tells me this one won't go over well, but that's ok with me, since people who turn a blind eye to child **** are the **** of the earth. my next poem will be about what a **** sally bagshaw is. she loves our gay mayor who has done nothing but lie, flounder around like an idiot, allow amazon and comcast to **** us over, steal money, waste money, increase homelessness and **** children. ed murray also loves sharia law, since it conveniently has no laws against ****** children.

the NRA had better make some sort of public statement of support for philando castile and his family and  should have already done so. that man and his family were not shown any justice and neither were the children that ed murray *****, not to mention the children he is still ******.

we live in ******* times and the ones screaming the loudest are the ones who need to shut the **** up the most.


from ed murray's twitter page:

Ed Murray‏Verified account @MayorEdMurray  May 19

It's finally warming up, which is great - but not for all. Beware of the danger pets and children face in hot cars!
Moulded with fine clay and sand
There my beauty ebony princess stand
My epitome of beauty, a symbol of perfection
An enigma worthy of my adulation

Your beauty a mystery even for the gods
Almighty  Sango, stunned by the spell of your grace
Pelts the sky with thunder; your beauty a source of wonder.
Son, crucified and forsaken by his father
For mortals fall and all seems asunder

Your ***** sways, and ravages the earth like a crazed tornado
Melting the hardest rock, your smile a consuming volcano
Leaving clusters of white diamonds, forged in an African furnace.
Saint turn sinner, lusting after your loveliness
First turn last, ****** by the medusa of your shape

You open your mouth to speak and,
Pharaoh with his army fall under your feet
Gazumped by your red lips, together with his fleet
And Venus watched from olympus your beauty at its peak
My Black diamond
If you have something to say,
say it with conviction
believe in the words coming
from your mouth
because once they're out
they don't go back in
and no mouth to mouth
will resuscitate
a bridge that's in flames
and as long as you
meant every last word
every last volley
shot over the walls
built from years of
friendship
then no blame can be sent
your way
but do not be alarmed
when they come back around,
a little crispy around the edges
all shrieking like demons
faces black and sooty
and eyes red from the smoke
that rose from the fires
that only tears could put out
and they've got a hot coal
in their hand that they
don't feel and they
want to see you burn.

All that makes our demons
scary is who they're
throwing fire at.
Would it seem presumptuous, perhaps impertinent,
of me to invite you for a cup of tea on a sunny Sunday
morning at a small shop on a well- trafficked street?
And, it you were to agree would you question me,
over that cup of tea, or before, as to why I wish
your company on a sunny Sunday morning?

I might answer, before that cup of tea, that your interests
interest me, and given what I see, you seem quite shy (and
I have heard this is true) and I think you might be more
inclined to reply over a cup of pekoe brew on a safe and
sunny well-trafficked street on a Sunday morning.

And, what would the object be, you might ask, of meeting
over a cup of tea and what would a pertinent question be?

The why and why not of what you know and what you do,
the who and why and what of you  cannot all be explained
over a cup of tea on a sunny Sunday morning, but a small
answer, say a cupful, with one who takes pleasure in
interesting conversation with one who seems interesting
is all the question and answer needed on a sunny Sunday
morning and a cup of tea.
Your cat told me that
in your sleep you said
when the time comes, you
will kiss me goodbye.
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