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You snort at the sword, at the sabre’s grace,
Turn from the art of the strike, the feint—
Call it pretense, call it restraint,
but some beasts grunt where men engrain.

A boar’s tusk slashes, crude and mean,
quick as a thrash, dull as a scream.
It wins mud brawls, not campaigns,
leaves gashes, but never names.

You think the sword takes patience, fear?
That form is shackles, weight severe?
But steel that sings was forged to last,
and skill, not slop, makes deep wounds fast.

See, butchers love their brutal art,
blade to sinew, meat to cart.
A tusk, it tears, it ruts, it chews—
but lacks the hands for sharper use.

So charge fast, strike low, gore deep—
but tell me, when your blade runs steep,
did you sever thought from bone,
or only flail where swords are honed?
They never strike the blade from your hand.
They never meet you where the blood pools.
They only grant you light, gilded and empty,
a gift too bright to argue with.

A kingdom of suns,
where silence is spun into gold,
where thrones need no defense—
only a gesture, a coin, a radiant nod.

What is the cost of a word?
Too high, it seems, when silence is cheaper.
Too high, when a favor is weight enough
to press down on the voice that dared.

Not all power is steel.
Some is mercy so thick it suffocates,
a kindness that quiets the inconvenient,
a hand so gentle it becomes a shroud.

And so, the poet is honored,
draped in warmth,
wrapped in reverence,
buried alive.
You can keep your sun

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4985305/good-poets-are-cult-leaders/

A Kingdom of Suns is a contemplative and subtly critical poem that explores the dynamics of power, silence, and the ways in which authority dismisses dissent without direct confrontation. The poem delves into the notion of praise as erasure—how symbolic gestures of approval can sometimes serve as a tool to neutralize critique rather than engage with it.

The poem’s central metaphor, a "kingdom of suns," represents a realm where discourse is not met with counterarguments, but instead with golden, untouchable acknowledgment. This suggests a form of power that is less about outright suppression and more about strategic indifference—a recognition so grand that it becomes a dismissal in itself.

The piece questions the cost of words in spaces where silence is more convenient, highlighting how a well-placed favor, rather than an argument, can be enough to quiet a challenge. The poet’s intent is not to attack any single individual but to explore a larger pattern in artistic and intellectual discourse, where perceived generosity can sometimes function as a passive form of control.

Through restrained yet piercing language, A Kingdom of Suns challenges the reader to consider:

When is approval a genuine act of support, and when is it a tool of disengagement?
How does power respond to critique—not with resistance, but with a smile too radiant to oppose?
What happens when the most effective way to dismiss a voice is to praise it into silence?
This work stands as an exploration of authority, artistic validation, and the subtleties of rhetorical power, asking whether true engagement can exist in spaces where gestures replace dialogue
They will tell you there is a right way.
They will hand you a torch and call it the sun.
They will roll their words in raw linen and whisper:
"This is what poetry is meant to be."

And you will nod.
Because they have made it so that not nodding feels like blasphemy.

But listen—
the ink does not check your credentials.
The meter does not ask if your suffering is organic.
A line does not collapse because it was crafted instead of bled.

They will tell you a poem must be naked, barefoot, aching—
as if there is no beauty in a well-cut suit.
They will decry the temple and build a pulpit in its ruins,
preaching freedom in a voice that allows no dissent.

Good poets are cult leaders,
and the first rule of the cult
is that they are not one.

So write the sonnet, carve the sestina,
sculpt the page in iambic steel.
Or break it, shatter it, scatter its bones—
but let no one call your wreckage untrue.

And if they do,
smile.
Because poetry does not kneel to priests.
A counter-point mirrored in style to:

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4983752/good-words-are-clickbait/

The morale of the story is:

try not to dictate creation and by extension freedoms.
He knew he wasn't perfect
But he always did his best to get under the surface
Not a saint, not a serpent
He just wanted everyone to be impressed with him as a person
So when she came along with the sunbeam
Self-esteem stopped making nothing outta somethings
Leaving the scene was unseen, I mean
It was the first time he ever felt the need to keep the gun clean

Do the math
He knew he had to choose a path
Gotta get that girl, gotta make her laugh
Gotta shake the past and move forwards
Gotta make this last, it feels gorgeous
But she had a lover in the mid-west
Never figured out how to get him off her thick chest
Just like that everything is gone
He didn't wanna but he had to learn the words so he could sing along

Everything is all I have to give you
And I'm afraid it ain't enough
And you're not so young that you believe me
Just because I say it's love
And even if they come to steal you tomorrow
I'll know my smile was yours
Go ahead and chase your dreams and your freedom
Run, run wild wild horses

You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses, no
You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses

Sometimes it can be so nice, right?
Sometimes she feel herself turn into the wife-type
And when it's dark, sometimes is the nightlife
But most of the time she doesn't even feel lifelike
She got a man but he thinks he's a star
And it feels like she has to compete with the bar
She keeps up her guard but it seems so hard
Momma never told her she would see those scars

Every night he's out doin' who knows whom
While she cries along like a new show tune
Last call past, is he comin' home soon?
Or is he gonna run away with the dish and the spoon?
She'll realize she don't want that clown
Leave those shoes at the lost and found
He wont catch on until she's not around
After somebody else already locked that down

We sing...
Everything is all I have to give you
And I'm afraid it ain't enough
And you're not so young that you believe me
Just because I say 'it's love'
And even if they come to steal you tomorrow
I'll know my smile was yours
Go ahead and chase your dreams and your freedom
Run, run wild wild horses

You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses, no
You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses

He didn't want her to see him leave
And he couldn't keep sittin' there watchin' her sleep
Cause he knows if he hangs out for a few hours
He'll dig another hole tryin' to plant some new flowers
But the sun don't shine under the table
He's tryin' to hold his life together with staples
No investment cause he's incapable
And he's on the outro of being labeled available

The word on the street is his girls comin' back home
No more alone, no more sad poems
No after-bar calls to the cell phone
Its time to walk a new path and grow a backbone

Shoved into the big book of just friends
Wondering how he would look as a husband
And everyone of 'em he ever allowed to love him
Now watching from the crowd tryin' to be proud of him

They say...
Everything is all I have to give you
And I'm afraid it ain't enough
And you're not so young that you believe me
Just because I say it's love
And even if they come to steal you tomorrow
I'll know my smile was yours
Go ahead and chase your dreams and your freedom
Run, run wild wild horses

You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses, no
You can't tame these horses
You can't tame these horses
Wild Wild Horses by Atmosphere

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXa0HxMzRHE

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/

You can't tame these horses
I swore myself a roving man,
A tempest, free of charted sand.
No port, no queen, no claim, no chain—
Yet still, she called, and still, I came.

Her hook was quick, her lure was keen,
A siren’s snare of silk unseen.
She whispered myths of wicked gold,
And so, I knelt—was bought, was sold.

A single patch to shade my sight,
To blind the wrongs, to frame the right.
Then two, then three—by my own hand,
Till all the world was black as land.

Her parrots perched upon my back,
Squawking truths I’d not attack.
“Loyal hands should grip the mast,
And take the keel both first and last.”

I took the brace, I took the blow,
I let her mark me down below.
A willing brace, a wooden stand,
A peg well fit to her command.

I’d tell myself I’d steal away,
Yet still, I’d bow, yet still, I’d stay.
For even now, I taste the brine—
And miss the rope that made me blind.
Step right up, take steady aim,
A practiced throw, a flickering flame.
The prize? A plunge, a gasping breath,
The sudden loss, the sweet unrest.

Your lips, a whisper, a coaxing sound,
Soft as a ripple, breaking the ground.
I’m steady, poised, in perfect form,
Aiming to raise the storm.

The waters churn, just a hint, a sign,
A teasing dance, a taut, thin line.
Each drop of rain, each thundering sigh,
A signal that I’m reaching high.

With each breath, the air grows thick,
The thrill of control, the rhythm slick.
A shiver runs through trembling skin,
As I guide you to the brink, within.

The crowd, they murmur, none can see,
The weight of this quiet, sweet decree.
But I feel it all, as you begin
To quiver, shake, and let me win.

One last step, the waters rise,
Your breath a flutter, heavy sighs.
I tilt my aim, a quiet grace,
And you, my prize, fall into place.

A splash, a gasp—delicate, loud,
A crown of liquid, sweet and proud.
The game is done, the stage is set,
But neither of us will soon forget.

And as you rise, the eyes avert,
A soft, red flush, a sweet dessert.
I stand, content, my work complete,
Your shame, my triumph—bitter-sweet.
In The Dunk Tank, the writer crafts an allegorical journey through a playful yet charged carnival game, where control and surrender dance in delicate balance. The piece unfolds with an almost hypnotic rhythm, as tension builds and the stakes rise, until the inevitable plunge into the unknown. Through layered metaphors and careful wordplay, the work navigates the line between dominance and submission, hinting at the potent forces at play beneath the surface of this seemingly innocent game. The closing moment lingers with a bittersweet satisfaction, leaving the reader to ponder what was truly won and lost in the course of the performance.

The B-side:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4981956/splash/
badwords Feb 11
Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset
Swiftly go the days
Sunrise, sunset, you wake up then you undress
It always is the same
The Sun rise and the Sun sets
You're lying while you confess
Keep trying to explain
The Sun rise and the Sun sets
You realize, then you forget
What you've been trying to retain

But everybody knows it's all about the things
That get stuck inside of your head
Like the songs your roommate sings
Or a vision of her body as she stretches out on your bed

You raise her hands in the air
Ask her "When was the last time you looked in the mirror?
'Cause you've changed
Yeah, you've changed"

Sun rise, the Sun sets
You're hopeful, then you regret
The circle never breaks

With a sunrise and sunset
There's a change of heart or address
Is there nothing that remains?

For a sunrise or a sunset
You're manic or you're depressed
Will you ever feel ok?

For a sunrise or a sunset
Your lover is an actress
Did you really think she'd stay?

For a sunrise or a sunset
You're either coming or you just left
But you're always on the way

Towards a sunrise or a sunset
A scribble or a sonnet
They are really just the same

To the sunrise or the sunset
The master and his servant
Have exactly the same fate

It's a sunrise and a sunset
From a cradle to a casket
There is no way to escape

The sunrise or the sunset
Hold your sadness like a puppet
Keep putting on the play

But everything you do is leading to the point
Where you just won't know what to do
And the moment that you're laughing
There is someone there who will be laughing louder than you
So it's true, the trick is complete
You've become everything you said you never would be
You're a fool, you're a fool

Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset
Sunrise and the Sun sets
Sunrise, sunset, the sunrise, the sun sets
Sun rise, the Sun sets
Sunrise, sunset, go home to your apartment
Put the cassette in the tape deck
And let that fever play
Sunrise, sunset, where are you, Arienette?
Where are you, Arienette?
Sunrise, Sunset. by Bright Eyes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1aSXYNt8udc

Check Out My HePo Mix-Tape:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/135545/badwords-music-lyrics/
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