"...we have to stop being shocked and amazed....when men who are conquerors by nature also chase women....we as a society have got to become a little more anesthetized to this." Donny Deutsch

Anesthetize your daughters, oh Mighty Men, novocaine their conquered *****!
Man guided penises are upon their proverbial hunts!
They seek out your females; chase them from your arms
All at the damnable fault of their ineffable charms
Cast aside the garments you dress your girls within
Then forget the ravages of every single sin
And spread their arms to the world and let them hug it tight
While Weiners of every kind **** with all their might
Puritans are the trouble, religion the ******’s friend
Bend your daughters over, they’ll get it in the end.
And Natalie, when you are finally through
With this unsavory interview
Lift up your dress and spread your knees
And maybe, just maybe, we will ask you please.

'and if you were caught with your pants down literally and figuratively, come clean.'
upon the face of every woman you have ever seen.

http://newsbusters.org/blogs/kyle-drennen/2011/06/09/nbc-puritanical-americans-must-become-anesthetized-***-scandals

Beware the fleeting expressions of Man!
Allah’who Akbar is easier to shout than
an explicit examination of rights and wrongs

Honor!  shouts the honorless;  Shout!  Sings the songs

A Fire of Men and Stones!
stoked by honor and broken bones
fleeting the expression upon the face
under the blood, tears leave no trace.

Beware the sleeting excoriations of Men!
In the name of god is so easy to sing, then
the stonings and the burnings can begin.

Love! Shouts the loveless; hating the sinner, loving the sin

A Fire of Men and Stones!
Lovingly born by staring crones!
Fleeing the expression upon the face!
Gaining Pride!  Losing the Race.

“Please God help me,” the sinner begs.
Shaitan smiles and stirs the dregs.
The soul of Man spits down like stones
thrown without mercy at mercy overthrown.

A Fire of Men and Stones!
The flames a’crackle; the ground, she groans.
Fleeting, the expression, ‘Please save me!’
Shaitan names the mob; mommy.

Men and Stones afire!
Souls burn bright upon the funeral pyre!
But not as bright as truth overthrown
Virgins tremble!  ****** groan!

“Please God!  Are you there?”
Nothing answers, not even the air
that rises high in a silent sneer
from the pyre that draws all so near.

Pray not for men; they will not hear or atone
for they are the fire of Men and Stone.

They are not children long less we, mistaken,
view their charms as something taken,
something ‘stolen’ from their innocence
which is nothing real and only hints
at our guilt and crying shame
which looks eager for others to blame
for the simple march of time and tide
at whose foot we all will abide.

Look to the corpse-like living
who, to youth, are always giving
the presumption of an end justifiably reached.
When youth is nothing but a far, thin beach
landed upon; afoot or on the roll.
Landing half dead or hale and whole.

Beware the Siren song of youth;
the false virginity, the baby’s tooth
for it is not the child, we have been,
that is the gift of original sin.

‘Cute’ is not a place to stay.
Beautiful is best beheld from far away.
We are the road that leads us on.
We are the sunset that precedes the dawn.

We are not born to stay the child
Youth is for the forever beguiled.

In a dead baby’s eyes,
    chest no longer heaves, throat no longer cries,
lies, dead, the choices of Humanity;
Individual choice or Social vanity.
And, either way, the way we go
leads us to and leads us fro.

When the last grave is filled;
When the last enemy lies killed;
When the last smoke from the last fire
rises up and up and yet no higher;
When the last tear is worthlessly shed;
When the last lament is sung for the dead;
When the valley of the shadow of death is no longer feared;
When evil and good disappear into the past, bleared;
Then and only then will time beat swords and plows to rust
and leave the stage clear for whomever must
stand triumphant, Adam and Eve, upon the stage
Humanity left in a silent and useless rage.
Lost, we did, the forest for the trees,
blind to what a dead baby sees . . .

. . .
O Lady Liberty,
what will you do with me?
Your corroded, copper skin
hides steel, well, within.

O lady Liberty
too many songs sung at thee
but when the bugles shrilly blow
who will, righteous, Know?

O lady liberty
is your mate Responsibility?
For when you stand all alone
the choir of Hell begins to drone.

O lady liberty
what is your posterity;
the song of Freedom or the Fate
of the Doom of History learned too late?

O lady liberty
please wave, once more, to ‘We’.
As you fade into our mist
do you add another to your List?

O lady liberty
Freed from the chains of literacy,
your Poetry would still ring true
if the words meant more to me than to you.

o lady liberty
my children, you’ll never see,
thinking Winter won’t come again,
sing and dance in Summer’s Reign.


O Idol of Copper and Stone
who left you, there, all alone?
Who turned their faith and Ayes away
and left ghosts to remember and debris to play?

O Archaeology
What does this mean to a passing me;
a piece of copper, a chunk of stone,
an infertile seed the past has sown?


O Eternity . . .
what have I done
to me?