There is no glory in bloodshed
No honor is death and decay
But in a little town near Georgia
From away from this bloodied land

A girl by the name of Linda
Has my son in her arms
And a hand on her hip
And planting little vinca's

Is waiting for me.

There is no glory in bloodshed
No honor in death and decay
But my husband is waiting for me
In Petticoat, Maine.

And even though we fought before I left
He's expecting me home
A kiss
And for my head on his chest

There is no glory in bloodshed
No glory in death and decay
But I'd give my very life for you
For I Have grown to love living
In the US of A

The snowball effect,
Connects four snowflakes,
A ballerinas tiptoes evades footsteps
On the game board,
A perfect pirouette.
The overtures prologue,
Mother tongues twisted in specific syllables,
To emphasise the divide in culture,
the closeness of nature.
The bubble in a spirit level bursts
And disrupts the axis of the world as we know it.
An Easter egg made of woven hope.
Sweet and septic,
A dangerous connection.
There's electricity in the thunder clouds,
A storms reform,
No prisoners in the matterhorns scorn.
But we must climb to reach the pinnacle of desire,
and grab the bull by its horns.
Torn between the torqiunet,
That restricts our true colours,
The blood seeps through like the Matadors tools.
Only fools would make light of those we share the earth with,
Ma whirlwind changes the landscape,
It can never be the same.
Underneath the terrain,
A lesson remains,
Statuesque,
In the mystery of history's gifts.

an afternoon surfing
a whale pod is near
the whales are warning
'tis me they fear

i try...i wonder
at just what we've done
tearing pacific asunder
to be so shunned

The colours of life all seem bleached out now.
At the edge of euphoria, we deepen our curiousity.
Our need for fresh evidence and knowledge is the river from which the liqour of drive is fetched
And the sands of time are the canvas on which our deeds are etched.
Life births curiousity which in turn births passion, then purpose, drive and accomplishment chronologically
Adam must, however, remember not to forget to keep his feet grounded and not get swayed by the swift tides of this river of knowledge for it is a never ending one that flows into an ocean only swam by the dead and supernatural.
For the ones that matter the most at death are given at births.
It is then, when we've circumvented life and must leave it behind, when we boomerang to the dusty point where it all started, that we have a full palette of rainbow colours where our *** of golden knowledge is found
And not a single shade shall be missing from the crayon box.  
This is fulfillment.
This is Legacy

I think I want.

I think I want sunlight.
I do want sunlight.

I think I want sunlight more than you.
I need it.

I fight for light every day.
It's in my nature.
I can't explain it.
I need all of it or I will die.

I do not have words
to explain.
I don't want to explain.
All I want is light.
And when it comes to light, I will fight.
Stay out of my light.
The fight for light gives and takes life.

Yet, I am alive because I fight.
I hate my neighbor
because she wants my light,
but I cannot move to another spot.
So, I climb, here, towards the light above
not knowing why or how.

I will die in the fight for light
because light is all that I live for.

i.

What occupies thy soul and being? Worldly knowledge, book's, gold, material thing's; Diamond's, jewelry, ring's, automobile's, weapon's that ****, Poison's that we put into ourn spiritual bodies.

ii.

Where is thy heart? Into plastic, stuck in a casket, pulling apart?
Art thou striving to a life of just surviving, or actually living life;
What cometh first? God, family, friend's, or earthly trend's?

iii.

Whom doth thou serve? The thought's of the devil? The grave and the shovel? Art thou on another level? Or dying to get rich; Living as a slave? Choked in a cave? Giving all, as all the lord gaveth thee.

iv.

What doth thou fearest? Mankind? With bomb's that shineth, and gun's to smoketh? Or thy creator whom hold's the key to life and death, art thou like all the rest laying thy treasure on men's step's? Or in Jehovah's kingdom? The great architect's ringing the doorbell at thy being; ding ****...... Ding ****... Ring. Ring!!!!

Wilt thou let him in?
Or serve the world and men?




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Candide
with his mind full of optimistic thoughts
appeared before God with his arms held forward,
palms up.

God,
the large black man that he was,
leaned down to Candide,
his throne shaking the heavens.

Candide spoke softly
as to not upset the almighty powerful God,
"God," he said,
"I have lived my life to the best of my ability.
I have hurt no one and keep a faithful and honest mind,
may I enter the heavens?"

God,
having heard Candide's words
appeared very angry
and slammed his large fist against Candide's head.

His strength was so
that it plummeted Candide past purgatory
and into the pits of hell
where the Devil had been anticipating his arrival.

Satan,
the small white man that he was,
walked over to Candide laying on the ground,
hurt and bleeding from his fall and said,
"Welcome home."