--------
Man's gotta do to be, no se?
Who tried to contain your little mind, conserving things,
when America was great, like in Disneyland.
Take me aside for a pep-talk, exactly
as one might imagine, no lolly-gagging …
Peace in patient repose, supposing your
prepositions are herein, exposed to the air
we breathe, and can, by common POV, see,
from ground level through eyes located half way
to the moon,
Alice, to the moon, a social reflux
from the drunk juggernaut's dream… typical crass buffoon.
Mensur proven class.
Given a taker's disciplined mind, a priest can form a king thing.
S'true construed to seem the way the rules is writ.
Hell been formed by men with ****** scars, long before
Victorian mores,
let holiness be declared, ratio
to rank in the time of the Magne Charta, nicht wahr?
Heads held high, stiff upper lip, think like a stone.
- or be as happy as a pearl in petrified pigshith,
kings are imaginary things, built, not born.
But the taste of the order in battle, earned.
For the might to rule, the feeble folk
submit, allow the lie to tie your children, using
chains you forge, being either really you,
or are you spirit, come to guide the guardians,
to holy sacrifice, seed of Nathan Hale, taken to
total AI universal soldier in a New York minute.
Inspiring first principle, lad, proud to be
an American,… got me 3rd place,
behind a future Major, 2nd place,
and a future Nuclear sub Captain, good Mormon.
In real novel events, universes where Miramar,
belongs to the Marines, who practice East Mediterranean
Air War tactics, around Yuma, semper fi, and always ready.
Sad state of mind to pretend to hold true, in the instant,
its your trigger to pull, or your turn to die, it happens,
all the time, life's not worth killing for, really,
the mind of the soldier can so easily mime Bismarck,
and hear Stonewall Jackson sing, "every puppy's got it's day"
- squint, and put the sun at y' back, what better way.
Charge.
A royal burden being discipleship, the lieutenants,
at least the lieutenants, then the sergeants,
all the little plastic men, lay down to pave the way
for the tanks, and the tanks took Tinnanmin Square
Tit-toks of the looks on the faces
of the entire race of kings and priests and servants
of the temple guarded by the most loyally conditioned,
the Devil Dogs, they proudly call them selves, semper fi.
Fi, is faith used to tie us to our task, are we not the few,
the proud, the brave, or
are we mere hewers of wood,
and drawers of water, oh lad,
without any noble pedigree,
become the athletic supporter,
who has not vowed, if given the chance
to stand firm for God and country,
with the boy standing on the burning deck, in values deep
enough to stink
of underlying rotting bodies of brave enough lads.
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 8:56 PM UTC
--------
Man's gotta do to be, no se?
Who tried to contain your little mind, conserving things,
when America was great, like in Disneyland.
Take me aside for a pep-talk, exactly
as one might imagine, no lolly-gagging …
Peace in patient repose, supposing your
prepositions are herein, exposed to the air
we breathe, and can, by common POV, see,
from ground level through eyes located half way
to the moon,
Alice, to the moon, a social reflux
from the drunk juggernaut's dream… typical crass buffoon.
Mensur proven class.
Given a taker's disciplined mind, a priest can form a king thing.
S'true construed to seem the way the rules is writ.
Hell been formed by men with ****** scars, long before
Victorian mores,
let holiness be declared, ratio
to rank in the time of the Magne Charta, nicht wahr?
Heads held high, stiff upper lip, think like a stone.
- or be as happy as a pearl in petrified pigshith,
kings are imaginary things, built, not born.
But the taste of the order in battle, earned.
For the might to rule, the feeble folk
submit, allow the lie to tie your children, using
chains you forge, being either really you,
or are you spirit, come to guide the guardians,
to holy sacrifice, seed of Nathan Hale, taken to
total AI universal soldier in a New York minute.
Inspiring first principle, lad, proud to be
an American,… got me 3rd place,
behind a future Major, 2nd place,
and a future Nuclear sub Captain, good Mormon.
In real novel events, universes where Miramar,
belongs to the Marines, who practice East Mediterranean
Air War tactics, around Yuma, semper fi, and always ready.
Sad state of mind to pretend to hold true, in the instant,
its your trigger to pull, or your turn to die, it happens,
all the time, life's not worth killing for, really,
the mind of the soldier can so easily mime Bismarck,
and hear Stonewall Jackson sing, "every puppy's got it's day"
- squint, and put the sun at y' back, what better way.
Charge.
A royal burden being discipleship, the lieutenants,
at least the lieutenants, then the sergeants,
all the little plastic men, lay down to pave the way
for the tanks, and the tanks took Tinnanmin Square
Tit-toks of the looks on the faces
of the entire race of kings and priests and servants
of the temple guarded by the most loyally conditioned,
the Devil Dogs, they proudly call them selves, semper fi.
Fi, is faith used to tie us to our task, are we not the few,
the proud, the brave, or
are we mere hewers of wood,
and drawers of water, oh lad,
without any noble pedigree,
become the athletic supporter,
who has not vowed, if given the chance
to stand firm for God and country,
with the boy standing on the burning deck, in values deep
enough to stink
of underlying rotting bodies of brave enough lads.
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