Calamity is a storm of icy rain and striking fires.
Casting you about in a boat of your own design and build.
Preparing for the approaching storm with a firm rutter.
And you will survive, only if though willed.

Calamity is a renegade goat of raging fury and slyly forte.
Hammering its way into you aiming for the throat of your own girth.
Heat and eat hearty meals to be able to retort.
And you will survive, and be of worth.

Calamity is a surprise, you cannot see it’s approach.
So be prepared and well-equipped.
Stomp it out like a fire or upon a roach.
And you will survive, through your own wit.

Dear Mister Splee, I have a story for thee.
A man of humble attire, went fo’ a walk on a dull wire.
Skilled he kept balance, with nothing but a lance.
With a great long stride, he made it to the other side.

Back he went from one side to the other,
he grabbed nineteen polar bears and a ladder.
He carried them across just for fun.
Amazingly it was all at once not one by one.

The whole audience,awed with just a glance,
While monkeys surrounded and began to dance.
He dropped the ladder down, until it reached ground.
And the monkeys climbed up, pouring tea in a cup.

The polar bears climbed down with elegant ease.
I swear one of them sneezed.
But skilled he kept them balance, with nothing but a lance.
The acrobats were on the trapeze, they looked humbly appeased.



Thirty elephants all whiny and giddy.
Climbed the ladder all silly nilly.
Rhinos and Tigers performed ballet.
I hope you might get to see their performance someday.

The monkeys now on tightrope now hung,
By their tails they now flung.
The humble man on tightrope did sat,
collecting the teacups into his hat.

The elephants dove from the top,
into a pool, splish, splish, splop! splop!
O how I wish fo’ you to see the Tigers dancing.
O how I wish fo’ you to see the Rhinos prancing.

A lion or two just fo’ show,
Jump through hoops caught on fire
And a smile caught my eye from the man on the wire
He jump off, down the ladder.

He walked up to me, with glee
and told me to “tell this to Mister Splee:
Come visit me O’ Mister Splee
This circus was designed just for ye”

I told Mister Splee
And a tear rolled down his cheek
Sadder than he could be
He said: “That circus has long since been dead.”

Foe of several eras, why do ye love?
Dirt is ruinous to be here, near sky.
Get out, get out, O temptress, you’re no Dove.
You’re a scourge to the eye.

O sweet Lady how is thy temper now,
Be it troubled, malicious, or relaxed?
Do ye not see my love? My love aloud.
My heart belongs to the sky as it’s tax.
Melted by love’s pure heat as candle wax.
O sweet Lady please be ye kind to me,
My heart belongs to the sky, not to ye.

O sweet Gentleman do ye prosper now?
Thy strong love is true, please don’t take it back.
Do ye not see the true love I allow?
My heart is to the ground, to nature, a tax.
If ye go, I will follow in your tracks.
O sweet Gentleman be ye kind to me
My heart belongs to the ground, not to ye.

O sweet Love do ye torment the shallow?
They forever last long, when love they lack.
Love does not base itself on selfish Tau.
My heart belongs to the sky and attracts,
The ground is tormenting her in her tracks.
Oh sweet, sweet Love why do ye kind not be?
My heart is working always against me.

The man but now long since passed.
A friend to me and a brother dear.
He worked long and hard without let up nor fear.
Hell is not worse than a friend whom we loss.

My sadness causes me to weep and to fast.
A brother to me and a friendly peer.
We worked side by side with no fear.
Hell is not worse than a friend whom we loss.

Patience and kindness to the mass.
This feeling is no short of queer.
I will not give in, I will not fear.
Hell is not worse than a friend whom we loss.

Death takes, we cannot last.
We together, far and near.
There’s no need to fear.
Hell is not worse than a friend whom we loss.

Work harder as he have wanted.
Stay in love as he were here.
Hold up courage and not fear.
Paradise is closer than a friendship daunted.

They keep on talkin’,
but the circle has spoken.
There’s no recession, no progression.
just inevitable repeatin’
Repeatin' repeatin' repeatin'

You run away to not be like your parents.
all the relentless vents
but they did the same.
and now you have the worst of names.

It’s inevitable,
Inevitable.
It’s Inevitable,
The Circle.

Dubstep has no soul,
punk and rap has anarchy as the role.
rock is about ***, and so is the slow songs
why can’t we right any of these wrongs?

Now, your mess on your drugs
buying useless things like your Ug’s
lost in a calm that is perceived as bliss.
When in reality it’s not caring at all. tsk. tsk.

Well, we will do this,
we will get out of the pit.
Rise to be with kings of eden,
just to keep inevitably repeatin’
Repeatin' repeatin' repeatin'

Dubstep has no soul,
Punk and Rap has anarchy as the role.
Rock is about ***, but so are the slow songs
why can’t we right any of these wrongs?

It’s inevitable,
Inevitable.
It’s inevitable
A Circle.
Cut it, cut it down,
Break it, break it now.

Clashing at gold, is a folly surely,
As bashing at skulls; is a scarring thing.
Turmoil for those who weep but rarely,
ye have set aflame the fiery king.
He burns those who persecute under his wing,
Whom he reflects with a tornado flame.
His realm expands and as his subjects sing:
“Ye King Of Fire triumphant your reign.
Forever may you stay as king and all be tamed.”

He pardons all who try to be godly.
And he destroys those who are not trying.
The King Of Fire Singes the unworthy.
And protects those who are under his wing.
He commands the skies and the one sighing.
He always protects his queen just the same.
The flame he controls mirrors the stunning,
The force he utilizes reveres his name.
The force of ground, and fire and sky is his fame.

Take your time, spend it wisely, do you see that there is no ramification for the shrewd?
We spend day by day for ourselves, set our time to the future, and see that good is always the result. We speak as kings and queens with no result for our effort.

The people look towards the podium, for their political support.
They do not know of any king aside of that of politics.
I am king, the king of my own realm.
You’re the king of yours.

If we choose to war and slaughter, let us war with our minds and slaughter nothing but belief.
We’ve acquired the ground, now we spend our time in the sky.
We know the systems are ever changing, we can change it for good; manipulate the cogs.
We can build our sky, temper it, so that we can acquire our better kingship.
Love shouldn’t hurt anyone but me.

Faith shouldn’t hurt you at all.
I do not need anyone to guide my own steps for me, for I understand who is evil and who is good.
Listen you are all but children to me, O children, O sons, and O daughters, listen!
My word is legend, my name is glorious for I have conquered the skies, and I am coming back to conquer the ground. My rite and will is to ****, I will burn the Tundra, I will cut the Earth, and no one will oppose the occupancy of my army.

A garden will never exist in my realm without your help.
A morning will be unsettling but the night will bring terrors beyond belief.
I will be here to help, I will help you, O Queen.

My mind is ecstatic,
as I try to organize it.
Plentiful, a full attic,
men and women, animals and plants.
What use is it?
If not as a Physicist.
I look for skylight and I look for lamps.
The Ignorance is looking for truth.

There is no care for future children.
We all come from sea,
We all come from sand,
People war for Peter Pans.

Men die for other Man’s hands.
A strain of man is my pain.
The Sky and The Earth in my hand.
Forever I be in the age of Aquarius.

For a child we all are, we all are Ignorance.
The borders are our limits,
The ponds needn’t separate our spirits.
Nations rise again and again

But the world keeps on turning.
**** for belief if you wish,
But I will die for mine.
The Ignorance is looking for truth.

The hated is looking for love.
He takes but does not give,
He receives but does not plead.
How can one man see,

Without raising his eyes to the sky?
(and the Sky does not see at all).

Lady from deepest dirt, deeper than the ocean, denser than Marianas Trench, speaks so proper, in a sweet subtle voice: “I do.”
Gentleman from highest sky, higher than the clouds, brighter than the morning star, speaks so assertive in a firm and quiet whisper: “I do.”
No hesitation in either of their voices, as always they give off the radiant atmospheric glow of love. In their lives, long lasting is his proposal, long lasting is her gaze.
The greatest of events is this wedding, greater than time itself.
He is a ‘gift from God’ to her, and he forever ‘excels’ to stay by with her.
He dreamt of her before, but never like this, she fantasized her wedding but never dreamt of him.
Can there be anything more right than the love of husband and wife?
Can there be anything more right than the pact they have formed?
Can there be any place more special than the familial bond?
If there is than by the magnitude of heaven, it should be destroyed.
Hope is so well-founded, faith is so assured, joy is so abundant, but love creates them all.
He never lost trust in her, she always felt rested in his arms.
Kisses always tenderly embraced, a long ogle at all times; every coming together.
He stands always *****, never bended to one knee, she understood as the love they share together was and is always never traditional.
They understand each other with little but a gaze, they care for so little else but their love.
No necessary dreams of the future anymore; fantasies are now their reality.
Dreams exist outside of the head: the nightmares will be fought together.
The dragon is far from slain, but together they ward it off as one.
One flesh, One soul, One mind, One heart, all fighting together.
The battle will be forever, but Love never fails.

I had no time to waste,
Everything I knew would hinder me.
And she kept following with vigor
More friendly than enmity.

Nor had I time to eat, but since
Some timely hare is ye
And a little mad hatter of thought.
Was slow enough for me.

The passion thy self does give for phenomenal proportion and hue.
The riddle of life does leap apart and the colours of temper askew.
Thou majestic brilliance is worthy of the utmost of praises.
Indestructible violet, unfathomable reds, and when lamentable blue; the celestial bodies sum up thou radiance

Thou light brings sight to the blind.
Thou brightness is a key to creative minds.
Thou purpose is to give us ours, thy structure is to give us beauty.
Sky so vast, sky so eternal, you canst leave the world in darken state.

The gray skies of storm, thundering loud, lit up with fires of lightning.
We canst describe how fortunate we are to learn of the sky.
The mov’ment of Earth is thy survival.
Do not leave the Earth, do not leaveth us.
The sky is eternal and we praise thyself for remaining.

The blue sunny skies with discerning truth, we see the sunlight.
No longer the brilliance is cloud-covered.
We deserve less but the sky is much.
Much to be anticipated, much to be received.

O valued sky, the World does not see you as so.
I see the World climb higher just to be ye.
That is why I write thyself an ode.
I write exalting thyself in humble abode.

In long lasting fortitude is the fight of the astute.
A lot of effort is made towards the war of the moral.
And a race towards life is the route.
Preparing the endless fit of strength of all.
There is he who is choosing his fate.
Working hard despite all opposers’ bait.
There is he who is choosing life.
Working hard despite all opposers’ strife.
Lost in the dirt, seeking out of the ruse.
Forced towards the light, brighter and rife.
No letting up despite the refuse.

Clean is the proud, and happy, the player of the flute.
A rite of passage for all is the praise of the immortal.
War is the only dispute
Death is not fatal.
The renegade does not enter the gate.
He is stuck outside the city, and left without state.
The renegade does not know his wife.
He is stuck at heart and can’t even play a fife.
In the dirt he is and is with a lot of abuse.
He cannot escape the knife.
Cut, cutting up despite the accuse.

Reality is but the face of cute.
Subjected to falsified doctrine and the immoral.
It is callous and as rotten fruit.
Moxie exists with everyone no matter how small.
Can the one who is happy learn to hate?
Only he or she can solve this debate.
Finally the long absent sky above the Alewife.
Can’t say that I have seen such teeming wildlife...
Swimming in a sea of its Muse.
The lowly continue their sighs
But I do proudly diffuse.


.This plight of mine is hard to toot.
Exemplified by my emphasis on the astral.
With which I dress in an armoured suit.
So my enemies do not mute my oral.
and the skies do tell in high rate,
How esteemed they are on time and ne’er late.
But giving ever virtuous despite
All those dead or dying, without prospect of afterlife.
It is their way to choose:
The dark abyss of guise,
(or) The gentle river of blue

For now I do keep silent, But still I commute,
With those of higher propositions and goal,
So I do instill thyself a deeper root.
In the waterbed truly formal.
Those who truth ‘I do navigate’
and those of lies ‘I do alienate’
At a loss O’ man or mesmerize,
Work harder on thoughts than just plagiarize.
The foes of old are still and sleuth
I show them love and they in lies are baptized
Tradition is there with purpose, don’t misuse.

I see to it the wise stay wise,
For better they will strategize.
And the unwise, wisdom they will pursue.
Giving them their much needed paradise.
And the lost I will use.

Puppets on strings, seeing the sky isn’t straight.
They don’t cut the strings but they try to relate.
If true love isn’t a choice, but fate,
Then I truly hate.

Are we marionettes with no purposed roles?
The only option is to control who controls.
Good names are better than good homes.
Upright morals rather than good fables.

Gardens are beautiful, where the skies are right,
and a flower is lovely in the right light.
Refuge is better when you seek inside,
and the night is better when you’re alive.

My strings are jumbled, and scrambled,
Tangled, and puzzled.
Cutting the puppeteer’s strings will **** me now,
So instead I will join the crowd.

Root truth, so not to be played by lies.
There’s this, that, and baradatat.
Avoid the fakes and the disguised.
So, not to remain in your trap.

Rise, rise up to that cross bar,
remover of strings,
and we will know who we are.
Who we are.

Are we marionettes with no purposed roles?
The only option is to control who controls.
Good names are better than good homes.
Upright morals rather than good fables.

Puppets on strings, seeing the sky isn’t straight.
They don’t cut the strings but they try to relate.
If true love isn’t a choice, but fate,
Then I truly hate.

The dirt is of beautiful colour.
Brown is pretty enough.
No need to look for any other hue.
We can stay in our house, in our parlour.
Ignore anything not rough.
Laughing is all that’s due.

Let’s Stay focus on one thing.
And ignore all others.
Embrace nothing and care not for ere.
That shine is no king.
We’re not all brothers.
Laughs is all that’s fair.

How ‘bout we act kind to whom we choose?
No need to be unbiased.
No truth to find.
Let’s keep playing this ruse.
Fight for the plate that’s finest.
**** all of them whose of right mind.

The dirt is of beautiful colour.
Brown is pretty enough.

The final breath is entreated by the breaths of wind,
the sky returns again as the stormy clouds depart.
Droplets of water, from seas all over Earth
Puddles of mud which use to be dirt.
Centuries of creation all about,
Weep as fast as the swimming trout.

The morning birth of the turtle doves,
peaceful and sad to see the dark night.
The atmosphere of peace in might,
As it pecks its way out of shell.
Beneath the bone of its mother,
She nurtures without a bother.


The evening loss of dogs of war.
At last the threat returns,
****** turned out of sores.
Teacher sick of burns.
Fire of skies tormenting,
Precipitate of dirt fomenting.

The freedom of the snake is not so seditious,
It feeds on the nest of the turtle dove.
Protect O mother-bird your love,
Jettison the hatred deep inside,
And **** the snake with severely brutal guile.

The final wind is shakened by the quakes of ground.
Hurt is one dove but there is three.
Enough to go around,
Eaten as food by thee.
Hurt I'm, Hurt I be, nature you sicken me.
Nature you sicken me.

The quest through skies,
Is as the quaking ground,
So hard to bare.

Firstly the sun must rise.
And then you must: Westward bound.
The quest through skies.

Toward the sun, the airship flies.
Despite the troubling winds and echoing sounds.
So hard to bare.

Daunting shrieks and eerie cries.
Baring until the North star at night is found.
The quest through skies.

Instead of your worthless demise,
You must set the airship on hard ground.
So hard to bare.

And the quest is complete, a great prize.
Had you looked all around.
The quest through skies,
So hard to bare.

Ye of fairest width, why sleep when the sky is bright?
There is a single star in the sky.
Wake up, stay alert, it is your rite.

The World is dimming, dull to the eye.
There is rules to abide.
Rules we need to abide by.

Pick a side.
There is light and there is darkness.
Whomever to ride?

The dirt thirsts for brightness.
I will not give it, without the price.
The dirt stays in starkness.

I sow it out to the dirt thrice.
But they will not grow abit.

The years go by me, as alone I weep.
My strength escapes my eyes, water bled.
My clothing drenches and turmoil deep.
She lives on and I? I crave to be de’d

The years go by me as comfort I need.
Love is a force for good, yet it hurts me.
Love is hazy, crazy - a cause to bleed.
I wade my life behind me, try to be.

The years go by me, as lost I become.
Sight wounds me, everything reminds of past.
sight is a plague, I am trapped in a dome.
She bereaves me, for out of shame I fast.

I live on and the years keep going by.
The years go by me, the years go by.

I have to say the canvas has been painted over yet again.
Can you not decide as to what is pretty?
Skulls bashing for a piece of flesh is not a picture worth painting.
Sir,
If you were to paint with the fire of the sky, people will still find reason to hate you and your art.
For you see people are selfish and believe what they want to believe.
A painting of blood looks beautiful to a lover of bloodshed.
A painting of flowers looks beautiful to lovers of serenity.
Fine art is dead; people look at the Sky and laugh at him despite his beauty.
Meanwhile, those who don’t find humour in the sky, laugh at the ground because they do not see any beauty in dirt.
Be in love with the dirt, appreciate both the dirt and the sky.
For a true artist makes the dirt beautiful and the black of oil he cherishes; for you see:
Both at one time were your forefather and your fore father's father.

Break away from the chains of rationalism,
Follow your heart or die mortal man.
Keep going, pressing ever forward,
Calamity lasts but one moment unless in peril.

Pressure is nothing compared to your wants.
Fancy the girl, go after your wants not her needs.
Love all that is good for you.
Hate all that is bad for you.

Carpe Diem!
Carpe Ador.
Treat yourself for you only live but a day.
Hold yourself back for no one but you, yourself.

Spend your life in heated arguments, heated passion, and heated rage.
Enjoy the love-life of the *****, and vile
For you only should marry once, and are never tied down.
Speak your thoughts as profane and as loud.

Rock the mild, ignore the wise,
victory in love is care for only thyself.
Love is a lie and mortal.
Love is nothing but ecstasy.