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Aster 2d
cursed gods,
don't make blessed humans
cursed devotion,
doesn't make a conscientious society
cursed patriotism,
doesn't make a great nation
cursed community, though,
does make a great solidarity
                    a great humanity
                    a mighty
                         revolutionary
                         collective consciousness
iff (if and only if)
         the cursed motherland
         blesses it's children
         drives wedges between
         the hostile oppressor
         and the devoted native

a cursed community,
   doesn't need a God
                      or a hero
   it needs devotion
               unto each other

your land will take care of you~
I am my mother’s son,
Born of her blood, her breath, her fight,
A cord cut but never severed,
Who dares strike the root of me?
I’d burn the hand that bruises her,
Yet cowards in red caps cheer the blow.
Grinning, hollow men led by a swine.

I am my sister’s brother,
Shield to her storm, her echo, her kin,
Her voice a storm they fear to hear,
What man stands proud to choke her out?
Not one with a spine, not one I’d name,
They root and crawl, their bellies in mud
Marching blind, in red and orange shame.

I am my wife’s husband,
Vowed to her soul, her strength, her choice,
A bond they’d cage in rusted law.
Who spits on love and calls it right?
I’d shred their banners, topple their lies,
But they strut, grinning, pigs in ties.
Let their orange master squeal as it dies.

I am my daughter’s father,
Guardian of her dreams, her dawn, her infinite skies,
A world they would shrink to fit their palm.
What beast would claw his own child’s wings?
None but the vermin parading as men,
None worthy of the air she breathes,
Yet here they squeal, orange and obscene.

I am a man, not a blade to wield,
Not a fist to raise against my own,
My mother, sister, wife, daughter,
All women, all roots, all mirrors of me.
To wound them is to bleed myself,
So why do these men not cringe to see?
They march with pride toward their own ruin.

Shame should choke them, silence their roar,
Every man’s a mother’s son,
And no man’s soul survives the sin
Of striking hands that shaped his core.
MAGA swine can squeal and preen,
They’ll reap the rot they’ve sown in green.
Their ruin the debt to the women they’ve torn.
Man 4d
Honor your ancestors, yes?
But some take that to extremes.
Even going so far
As to apply it to themselves,
In the physical sense & mental.
That being the oldest of them,
Instinct & emotion.

For to them the mind is wasted,
For them the body is nothing.
For them the mind is nothing,
For to the body of it is wasted.

In the sense that they are anymore
Man than any other kind of animal,
A concept so tiringly clung to.
So thoroughly discussed is mankind
That its philosophies are disgusting,
Unrecognizably distorted.
Those in actuality & reality,
Cloaked by sick games of telephone.

For to honor pridefulness,
For to shame modesty.
For from pride is derived honor,
For from shame is made modest.

If by death die the lies,
Then execution is the only honesty.
Then dying is the truest mercy.

For therein, what is just?

If in the journey of life
We have neglected to have collected
That of the mind;
If in the path of destiny
We have stalled not to have gathered
That of the soul:
To have connection to nothing,
Free from attachment,
But not to have been liberated.

For three are the siblings.

Yet, thee are siblings;
How shamefully you treat family,
How scornful you are of relatives.
Friends? No!
Acquaintances? Not!
Neighbors? Get lost!
What fields you salt
With crops you allow rot,
Clipping the stems of the spoiled
And smashing in the ripened.

Countless leaves of these branches.
Think it's political, but it's really spiritual;
Think it's spiritual, but it's really political.
Culture like a series of judgements & verdicts.

I quite like the concept Moirai.

If it isn't one thing, it's another!
Man 4d
In the boastful, casual manner you portray,
You betray your actual lack of ruthlessness.

The act is a fun game,
But the consequences are heavy.

If no one buys what you're selling,
Suffice to say you're starving.
If it causes greater harm or grief,
Suffice to say you're swinging.

For others yet are playing,
But play not.

For behind many faces hide wide smiles,
By many frames are different the pictures.
For the floors all are dusted.

Be ruthless in gentleness & kindness.
Kai Mar 4
Maybe I’m not strong enough,
To carry man’s weight. My back wasn’t made
For empty promises, lack of understanding.

You feel no attraction to me. Yet,
You yearn for me. You tell your father about
Everything I do. You break chains
For me.

Where are Stonewall’s bricks?
Thrown in windows, wooden
Doors.
Doors that mean nothing,
Because my heart is elsewhere.

Maybe God is not strong enough,
To carry man’s weight.
You use his name in vain,
To carry out your warfare on
A peaceful race.
I am new to this website so feel free to follow me or message me or anything!!
K E Cummins Mar 2
Evil is a man in a suit who has no face.
He wears mine, he wears yours -
He keeps them in a book
To select ego-mask disguises.
He is the man who runs the trains.
He is the man who strikes the deal.
Who stares back from the mirror?
External devils are poor scapegoats,
Useful fearmongers for the preacher-kings.
Look within. Delete your disguise.
Evil is a man in a suit who wears your face -
Do not let him control your hands.
Man Feb 15
From the minute you blast off,
You get blasted off
From this plane of existence.
Try to run,
We've already fixed the coordinates
And we're coming for the restoration.
Try to hide,
You will find no refugee
Under any rock or in any log.
The lock's come off,
Here comes Pandora!
Man Feb 15
Dabble in travel duel citizen?
Come from the land of elims?
Most are not from Rome or Turin,
Berlin or Bavaria-
Most don't speak Italian or German.
Likewise with Russian, Mandarin,
Arabic, the King's English, Hebrew.
No winding Rhine,
No rushing Niagara,
No swelling Yellow River.
All the ponds & gulfs left behind
Like Aden, Bothnia, Carpentaria.
No more Urals, no more Himalayas,
No Alps, no Andes,
No Atlas, no Pyrenees.
No more blackcurrants,
Going without papaya.
Put back that whiskey,
Send back that bourbon.
No more Jarlsberg cheese,
No more bottles of champagne.
Cut out the list of avocado,
No more palm or olive oils extra virign.

No more fancy foreign fruits,
No more spoiled rotten vegetables.
Right?

This is nationalism
As it's being directed,
You'll get to watch the film.

I'm sure it'll be inaccurate,
But I doubt it.
Give me a minute,
Just a moment,
Where I can sit and breathe,
And there isn't doomsday on your lip.
I pray for happy days,
I wished, I wish, upon a star,
That someday the uproar and hatred,
Will be washed away by ocean waves.
Nobody will win this war. Not if we're fighting our own.
Man Feb 9
I challenge you to broaden your views
If you are one who is adversarial,
But should you shun competition
I welcome you to engage in cooperation.
That we may learn from each other,
Sharing our personal perspectives.
If I had ventured to say
That there is no such sturdier foundation
From which upon to build on,
Would you call me crazy?
Perhaps, in a pitiful way,
You would refer to me
As an optimist
Or as daydreaming & faraway.
It's just not realistic, not here or today.
Cooler heads do not prevail,
Safety leveraged over risk is gay,
Precaution is something for *******.
What bullish nonsense and pigheadedness,
Are you not freely disposed toward exercising
Those of your most sacred rights & liberties?
Is too heavy the weight of vulnerability?
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