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I  want to write a book
I need to make you laugh.
designed  to capture the heart
So desperate
I will do anything it takes.
Please keep me in  mind.
Before my time is up.
Can't say  what the future holds.
I dare not miss the appointed time.
So I  plead my case before I loose my sanity
Dusting off the rabbity
that squirrely tempo anxiety,
closing in with night.

The irresistible pattern
the irrational illogical fight
a battle with one’s discipline,
mirroring our might.

I make it home a fluttering
belly twirled and muttering,
I tell myself tis alright!

The damage done, and everyone,
I’m just like them and millions more
succumbing at the Devil’s door.

And the taste, the burn,
the healing calm,
the shaking and the thinking gone.

Knock one back, slam out another
night is early, rock it brother,
Tying on a swilly swirling
buzzed-out brain and mind a twirling. . .

“Ahhhh…”

I feel better now, exhilarated,
exasperation falls to stout resound;
I pour again and knock it down!

“Ahhhh…”

Spinning now, not to say I’m spun
but choosey choosing several a pun
I see myself an accomplished one!
Yes, that’s it, that is me,
look upon with thoughts of glory
yank open the freezer for glass that’s hoary. . .

How cool am I? certainly not boring
all night I’m here, pouring, pouring. . .

Buzz subsides, thoughts slow too,
lurid leering, slobbering swearing,
stupid actions and nothing new?

I lose the bottle,
I lose my shirt,
***** on myself,
pass out in dirt.

Another night of drunken hero,
time that’s wasted for kingly Nero.
But who am I to judge myself?

I’m hardly worse than anyone else?
I am a monster of my own creation, yet
Unnamed.
I'm the doctor and the beast he wrought.
My face is wan, and eyes sunken; Strong and capable, but fated
for destruction.
Come, wave your flaming rods and I'll run for the hills.
Find me a cave where I can sit in a viscous
black tar silence.
Ears to knees pulsing from
what adorns me
These fears
like trinkets, leaden filigree spell them out.

But fear is an anxious heat and a flirt.
I'm drawn into a seductive
reunion with the chilled ground.
If you're lonely you may visit and behold this undoing.
"More weight!"
I'll scream,
until my bones are white ash and my organs are muddy
puddles
and I can, at last, declare I've accomplished something.
You can see how Endorsements feed your I
That Shy Ghost whose Casper does not exist
Fare alone for Cause to swallow your Pride
Which when accomplished guides your Star at Best
Just how often do we see your Girls cheer
And Pray for Purpose very Few will get
Hymns they Sing; From Media beg you to hear
Even when such Few harbour Good Intent
I guess those Executives knew your Cue
What would Attract and what would sure Pursuade
Even at Cost your Temple lost its Due
And they cry Happy at your Virtue, fade.
Those Trunks still shrink much to Addict's Delight
So climb your Board and do your Dive in-spite.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Americans, well, at least in the media believe that the way to change behaviors is to punish either criminally, civilly or socially anyone who doesn't fit the societal norm.

Think about that for a minute,

...when someone is emotionally conflicted to the point that their behavior is no longer considered within a range of acceptance and THEN society decides, or any group, movement, political ideology or party to shun or expel, to incarcerate, admonish and thereby torture an, "emotionally conflicted," soul what you have accomplished by society's response is to create permanent anger and hatred.

Permanent anger and hatred.

American society therefore can be said to relish hatred and permanent anger as a way of life for all of it's citizens since every single person whom is inflicted with pain upon suffering will be assured to continue inflicting whatever pain and suffering they can on everyone else the rest of their life. So your only solution is to remove these souls from society permanently.

Was that the intent?

Is that the goal?

Do we need law, rules and fantasy crimes for every single thing a person says or does?

Is the endgame to remove these from society or to reform them?


Imagine now,

America arrests or imprisons one million people per year for using drugs,

...there are forty million felons alive today.

Wow! Lot of bad guys off the streets huh? Let's put that another way shall we?

America ruins a million people a year.
America creates a million 'soon-to-be' violent felons every year.
"Felons," who were nonviolent before being tortured by society and tortured in prison...forty million angry people live around you right now.

Forty million people!

America must want the nation to fail for every year we destroy a million people just because we want to be able to say at least I am not as bad as that person and point your finger while knowing there is no reason, no civil crime, that warrants bankruptcy, imprisonment, violence, ****, abuse, belittling, shame and banishment just because you personally don't like video games.

...or you don't like gambling,
...or you don't enjoy ***.
...or you don't smoke marijuana,
...or you hate Hollywood liberalism.
...you can't stand alcoholics,
...or you're afraid of the mentally ill.
...or your jealous of the *** you perceive someone having,
...angry because you think you work harder than someone else,
...because you deserve a better life so why not destroy others right?

Hatred as a virtue.

I wonder what our economy would be like if the 'fifty-plus' MILLION alleged criminals had jobs instead of listing away producing the smallest amount of productivity possible because YOU THINK they deserve to have a worse life for acting in a manner you do not agree with PERSONALLY.

That is one out of every seven people in The United States.

Hatred perpetuated.

That is American culture and that is why Black Lives Matter.
patty m Jan 2019
Yesterday China shocked the world with its experimentation
of gene editing babies.  
A prominent US doctor took part in this experimentation.  

My daughter asked me, "wasn't it illegal to do this experimentation?

Yes my darling, it is illegal here in the US,  It's very dangerous to experiment on unborn babies or newly born babies, it's a genetic cocktail, and they have no idea of the consequences.    

Yet according to some people and new state laws, they can ****
the unborn or a newly birthed child without a blink of the eye. . There's no consequence or caring, they just ***** out a life.  Then they harvest the child's organs even the skin and sell it.  Quite profitable I hear. 

God bless the babies, who knows what these darlings could have accomplished, now we'll never know.
My granddaughter Abby almost died the day she was born.  She was out of the amniotic fluid and in extreme danger but we didn't know it.  Thank god, Kelly had a meeting for her diabetes that day, she didn't want to go but Mike took her.  When she got there they saw the baby was in extreme distress and performed an emergency operation.  Baby  Abby had to stay in intensive care for weeks with all kinds of scary possibilities hanging over her head .  But she battled through and thrived, How blessed is this gift, I thank God everyday.
karin naude Nov 2013
a bad day does not mean a bad life
small insignificant victories by satan does not mean God is not present
look beyond the cracked window and see the glass is holding
God allows satan small victories to keeps us grounded on our knees
what amazing love, tough love to be correct

satan is a servant of his own ego
he hold no true power
except the power we give him over us
he has accomplished nothing, except a failed coo
we credit him
why do we not credit God alike?
Benji James Dec 2018
So many elements
Make up this man
Let me open up
Show all that I am
Take a little insecurity
Fill these eyes with some tears
Take a little fear
Sew them into this skin
If I'm gonna show it all
I need to let you see everything

Open up this heart
Cut it in half
Let all the love bleed out
Just so they have no doubt
All I've got is yours too hold
Take these hands filled with hope
Come inside my mind
Where you'll see all these
Dreams on display
Sometimes this Imagination
Runs away

There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me

Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.

Take a little anxiety
A pinch of crazy
Pour a little jealousy
Over me
All these little things
With some humanization
That adds up to this creation
I'll walk this world
Arms wide open
You'll see every inch of me
Nothing to hide
No disguise
No agenda in my eyes

There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me.

Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.

Take a little self-control
Inject some humour into my soul
Drink down some bravery
Fill my warrior spirit
through a dance
Filled with fire
Fill these eyes with starlit skies
Feel power building inside
A determination to be great
Finding a way to new heights
Through freedom, Through flight
This is so raw, This is so real
You're inheriting all that I feel.

There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me.

Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.

Honesty soaks into my skin
Revealing truths
Layed out before your sights
And it comes as no surprise
All of these acts that take the stage
Are giving there all
No time for questioning
No time for dismay
Only came to display all it is they can be
With each opportunity that came there way
With belief in their talents shown
Audiences left with their minds blown

There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me

Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.

©2018 Written By Benji James
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
The circle closes over the dead woman's space.
Family and community heal, the scar tissue
between a young girl's *******. She had
shared conversations with my father about
the holes in their hearts. My heart, the
muscle, not the spirit, flutters when a
young girl bikes by or the heron flies.

By September flies are down, we can come
out of our canoes and risk the woods. Summer's tissue
is torn each night. Space above gives perspective
to the life one had. Jesus speaks your name?
And is Beatrix now traveling astronomy's corridors
at the speed of light, aware of herself, to the blessed heart?
Durante too is moving on, wayfaring with his virgil.

Much of the family gathered. My grandfather, Bart,
it was remembered sold his house to none other than Duke
Ellington and Lena Horne lived up the block. Andrew
played with her daughters, sons. Until every Italian
had moved east into Long Island, thinking themselves
better than blacks. I find each and all --
Hindus, Muslims -- hard-earned bone and prone to ache.

We are most happy the dead one's not us.
The chosen one, the unfortunate one, the
one whose name Jesus spoke, is gone
and is no longer one of us. She is the other,
as distant and separate from the family
as a black man or Hindu's sister. Missed less
than last night's sleep or meat and grateful

for such peace. I will be too if it won't
come too soon or too often. My observation is
54 or 84 you always seem to want more
what was accomplished or never finished isn't
enough. Greedy, overweight and blameworthy
is how I've felt about every wasted day.
Summer's tissue torn by the first frost night.

Judging by her feet, Judith will be a big
woman, great granddaughter of Bartholomew,
who sold his redlined house to Duke. See how she
stands near her mother, Jeanette, who
resembles so fiercely my grandmother, Concetta.
The circle closes over the dead woman's space.
Summer's tissue is torn, the family is lace.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Stephen E Yocum Nov 2013
In ’68 Hutch and me,
Sitting at the bar drinking
Our third cold beer.
In a semi Fern Bar
Laguna or Newport Beach
Which now, I’m not sure.
It was around nine or so,
A week day night,
The place more empty than not.

She came in alone, made
Entry like the dramatic host of
A TV show. As if she were the
Center piece on the nations
Thanksgiving Dinner Table.
Over dressed to the nines,
Lots of color, heavy make up
She didn’t really need.

Her perfume scent hovered
Around her like a cloud of insects  
On a hot summer night in a wet meadow.
Kind of made my eyes water up.

She perched daintily like a dancer,
Upon a bar stool,
Three empty stools down,
Nodded the bartender her regular order.
A martini, a double it was,
With but a dab of vermouth.
One green olive on a stick.
The glass was prechilled as if
It had been waiting only for her.
She pounded that first one down,
As if the stem wear was a shot glass.
Another full stem glass appeared,
That one also quickly consumed
Two bright red lipstick stains all that
Remained in or on the stemmed glass rim.

Her main task accomplished,
She audibly exhaled,
As if tired or relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
Turned around on her stool to face
Hutch sitting closest to her.
“You boys Marines.” She declared,
More than inquired.
The close chopped hair cuts
giving us away.

Hutch just nodded, he never did say much.
A ****** just back from The Nam,
A dark scary guy of few words.

She opened her fur trimmed cloth coat,
exposing two very nice stocking clad legs,
And just a quick flash of red underpants.
Rotating towards us so we got a better shot.

She announced her name,
like as if we should know it.
Our blank stares informed her we didn’t.
Her face was to me, somewhat familiar.  
From movies in the 40s or 50s.
We were early 20 guys, she much older,
Trying hard to look younger, not succeeding.

Soon she was sitting right next to Hutch,
Two more Martini stems had come and gone,
Her lipstick finger prints upon them.
And still Hutch had not spoken more than
Three or four words.

She bought us a pitcher of brew,
Hutch grunted a short bit of gratitude.
We didn't have to say much, she was in charge.
It was all about her, she rambled on and on
Speaking volumes saying not much at all.
Beating back her crushing obscurity,
With flowery reminiscence recall,
Of glory days, long gone away.
Important for the moment, if only to her.
It was all; “me and I, I did this, I was that,
I slept with him,
And him and him”.
How about so and so?  I asked,
“No Darling not him, he was gay!
Still is.”

It was not long and she was touching Hutch.
On the hand, the shoulder, she was working him
With languid hungry looks from her big baby blues,
And the message could not have been plainer,
Had she held up a large hand lettered sign.

I don’t believe she was a “Working Girl”,
Just someone very lonely seeking to find
Herself, and some company for the night,
All to prove that she was still alive.

Looking at her, I could only think,
How sad and pathetic she seemed,
How desperate her plight.
To humble herself so,
In that dingy bar, among strangers
She did not know, Acting yet, still
On the only stage she could find,
Staring in her own bad ‘B’ movie drama.
In that dingy smelly bar.

Hutch and her left after a hour or so,
He never told me much about it.
He was unofficially AWOL for three days.
I covered for him, kept his name off the
Missing Morning Formation Reports
and the Daily Duty Lists.
No one cared to check. Our unit made up
Of mostly guys back from the war,
A pretty loosey-goosey outfit.

Once in a while now I see an old movie,
most are Black and white, Film Noir stuff,
And there she is, a much younger her,
Looking pretty **** good,
Not real big roles they were,
Claimed she was in the chorus
Of "Singing In The Rain" in '52.
To this, I can not attest,
watched that film several times,
But I never saw her there.

Had parts Playing damsels in distress,
A mobster’s gun moll a time or two,
Or unhappy Play Girls on a bar stool.
I guess it was type casting that done her in.
Or maybe she got a little too long in the tooth..
A sad ending to a short B movie career.
Life ain’t easy, even for a so called “movie star”.
Fame is not all it’s cracked up to be.
A smattering of fame, apparently worth,
Nothing at all.
True stuff from an old guys past.
She had called the Company Office
once or twice, looking for Hutch.
He told us to tell her that he had
been Shipped Out, when he actually
hadn't.

She no doubt found someone else to
tell her story to.

I saw that woman the other day on TV,
an old film on Turner Classic Movies
doing her thing. I sort of wonder what
ever  happened to her, but refuse to
Google it to find out.
Some information you don't need
or what to know.
It did inspire this little Poem Noir write.

Got a letter from Hutch in '70, we were
both out of the Corps. He was headed to
the Arabian Desert as a hired gun, to guard
some pipe line operation. Have no idea what
became of him after that. Hutch was a real hard
case, 14 confirmed kills through a ****** sight.
I hope he made it out of the desert all right,
maybe sitting on a beach someplace recalling
his back in the day three nights with a once
upon a time B movie star. Actually I doubt he
recalls her at all.
Austin Ryskamp Dec 2018
To explain art I have to start somewhere
A space to right what I was wrong about
A place to think the answers I want to know
To search out and find where my heart hides
Where my song resides
A hole existence
With a void
Or a whole life full of joy
I write to hear my pains, and see your smiles
to explain what I can't speak aloud during the miles
Traveled in this life
Boots worn down to broken souls
Souls worked into accomplished life goals
The tolls that made this face happy
Were paid in blood sweat and tears
A poem for artists.
Kara Jean May 2016
Tightly forcing her body against the clay
Scraping her tarnished skin, on its unforgiving stones
Determined
Unhinged, narrow thought became disturbed
Intention, soaking the soils energy
Becoming one with nature
Persuit, rapid decaying
No trail of life
Evidence faded
Secluded mountain peak
30 miles in, her only goal accomplished
Her pocket knife she holds over head
Pretending to cut the fluffy clouds in half
One fast Stab
She lays in her vanishing grave
A W Bullen Jun 2016
In the second hand soothing
of darkest address: frost crawls.
Having crept down the alleys
on  serpentine silvers
to pilfer the vaults of an Indian Summer,
in crystalline raiment
the malachite pavements
succumb to its covering sprawl.

On shellac returns of lamp delta falls
minutiae maraud in bitter sweet symmetry
shattering petals, encasing in glass
the Stella shot run of the vine.
A glacier tourniquet scuppers the mold
an accomplished assassin of natural device,
with icy indifference it hushes the *****:

The Moon, for the life in her eyes.
Poetria Mar 2017
She poses
as a poet
to get noticed,
to be heard-

but really,
she writes novels,
forces poetry-
absurd.

Oh, she wants to be
so many people,
she wants
to take their souls-

and if you look
a little closer
there is jealousy
in her bones-

yes, she writes
and yes, she dreams,
but she struggles
to compete-

and only when she
is the better one
does she feel
accomplished, free-

and she tries
to act innocent,
but is that
an act of innocence?

She is only
her capabilities,
and she sets standards
nobody can meet-

she's taken lives
and ran free
but she is always where
she wants to be.
edit: wrote this about my sister but this sounds much more like me at the time of writing this
Kara Jean May 2016
I thought **** this is it, I'm done
I'm honest to god going crazy
Then after a bottle of wine and a personal pep talk,
I realized I'm just a stay at home mom
Waiting on life
In otherwords, I'm failing
Failure is now the new accomplished feeling
So yes
I'm a mess
Mayhem at its best
That's ok because I'm proccessing  
One day I'll hit those goals
Today I'll just do lots of cardio, canceling out my midnight drinking
Shh!
The kids are sleeping
This is meant to be sarcastic and humorous
Please no numbers to therapists
Robert G Page Dec 2015
A Christmas Thought (short story)
by
rgpage

This time of the year,  when once giving from the heart has since melted like the snow in Spring to the meaningless demand for expensive toys and gadgets;  and Santa has waned to no more than the all-giving sugar daddy to each and every child,  and a tireless crutch to the mindless parent during the year; “Santa’s watching so you’d better be good.”

And alas,  there I stood in this huge department store amid a vast forest of toys, colors, and noises, fallen prey to this modern day hypocrisy known as Christmas.  Being of a lower middle economical standard,  and having with such stealth blindness juggled expenses and bills to afford myself the opportunity to plunge even deeper into dept.  I pondered these playful wonders of modern day technology.  All about countless numbers of people were doing as I in efforts to reward their children for their year of good service.

This was when I saw her. As fast as this seasonal frenzy had overtaken me just days earlier,  it vanished for a time as I watched her. It must have been that she seemed so out of place in this hurry-scurry festive scene of Christmas shopping that she caught my eye.  She was very old and her tattered,  worn out clothing all too obviously reflected the fact that she couldn’t afford much.  While others struggled about her almost comically laden with brightly colored  packages, this old woman had nothing more than an old purse dangling from her arm.  Slowly she moved, seemingly pained with the infirmities which accompany old age.  She appeared overweight for her stature which I’m sure added to her discomfort.  When she stopped in front of the doll section  her old, pudgy face glowed with joy.  Undoubtedly a doll for a little granddaughter,  I was  sure no more as she couldn’t possibly afford more.  I watched as she studied each doll
and its price tag,  going from one to the next.  Finally she stopped to give particular attention to one little doll adorned with colorful ribbons and big bright blue eyes.  Then putting the doll back,  she opened her purse and I watched as she counted the small amount of money that she had.  

By this time I had become so unexplainably absorbed with watching the old woman,  who with a smile closed her purse, retrieved the doll and walked slowly and painfully to the checkout counter to wait in line.  Around her the noise of parents and children alike waiting their turn to check out didn’t seem to bother her as she patiently waited, holding the precious little doll for an equally precious granddaughter.  Finally when her turn came, an all to cruel yet human trait appeared in not only the people waiting behind her but the checkout clerk as well. Their impatience to maintain a steady flow of human traffic through the turnstiles came to the forefront almost obliterating this seasonal spirit.  This didn’t seem to deter the old woman from slowly and surely counting out the correct change,  leaving her very little to return to her purse.

With this done and the doll tucked away in a shopping sack,  she proceeded through the large glass doors and out into the cold December night.  A passing thought, “one special gift for one special person,” went through my mind as I continued my own, now more selective tour of annual duty.  Looking over my shoulder for one last glimpse of the old woman, I suddenly felt as if struck by a jolt of electricity as I saw her on her back in the slushy snow, struggling like an over-turned turtle.

Bolting out the door hoping to be the first to reach her,  I almost found myself lying next to her on the slick sidewalk.  Nothing was said as I struggled to lift her up.  Once this was accomplished I asked her if she was alright.  Instead of answering  she started looking around for her package.  I spotted the torn, soaked paper sack some ten feet away in a slushy puddle and went to retrieve it.  The doll had come half way out of the sack and her little blonde curls were now filled with water and slush; and as I handed it back I searched the old woman’s face for even a trace of sadness, there was none. Instead she looked at me smiled and said, “thank you young man, it’ll dry out, it’ll be alright, Merry Christmas.”  Then holding the doll in both hands, she turned and went on her way, much slower and much more cautiously.  I just stood there and watched her until she finally disappeared in the crowd and darkness and thought to myself, “maybe Santa Claus isn’t a man after all.”
.
When I die
I'm going to sigh with relief
(And if there is no after life
then I already accomplished what I want)

If the higher being asked me what I wanted to do
I would say "too sink into oblivion"

But thats too selfish
So spread my soul out thin
like you are scadering my ashes
Throw my soul out into the ocean
I will comfort all the sunken ships
Or lay me in the dirt
I will be compost for the grass to grow

Just please let me be a part of nature
I want to become a part in something that is bigger and beautiful than humanity
Luz Hanaii May 2019
Staying in the now, a cold shower for the mind,
both bring an awareness, a newness, a calm...
Shunning escapism is like restricting the mind from
unhealthy tempting snacks,
avoiding such brings a hunger for healthier fuel,
get more accomplished in extension of time.

Returning to simplicity in a complicated world.
It's not about having more but doing with less.
It's not how much you say, but what and how you say it.
At times not even a word, but a kind gesture a smile.

Quieting the mind and reducing its furious speed,
it's when you're able to stop, and not only smell the roses
but also listen to them.  
Being present will force us to face not only good but also guilt, insecurities, fears...
Not pleasurable facing the shadow side, yet getting to know
one's complete self intimately, priceless!
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
She was probably the most beautiful,
of any woman he had ever seen.
She turned every head
and stopped time from moving
and movement everywhere she went-
His mind went woozy as he thought of her.
From what he already knew
she was not only beautiful,
she was smart and
an accomplished professional.
Was this a sweet dream?
If yes, he wasn't prepared to wake up from it,
no not yet!
Maybe she was just a product of his imagination,
which was impossible considering that she was standing before him.
She was a woman of exceptional beauty,
probably the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen!
Helping her to her seat, he was overpowered by something.
Wait,it was the scent of her perfume;
It was the mixture of something
he wanted to think he recognized,
which he didn't and something
he had never before smelled.It was nice!
She seemed so flawless,
He thought her bath was prepared
in the constellations by beautiful goddesses,
and her bathroom was the milky way galaxy.
Yes her skin was undeniably radiant,
accentuated by the presence of large almond eyes.
"Wake up!" came the weak old voice.
Bewildered by the old barn keeper's presence,
and momentarily unaware of his location,
he panicked and squinted his eyes.
Oh ****, he was asleep, this was a dream!


IB-Poetry©️
3/2/2018
A dream can give a poor peasant a chance to be with a beautiful woman, in a pristine environment, living a life of privilege.
multi sumus Oct 2018
By the age of four, like many here in the town of WetOak, i had seen my fair share of those who have found themselves placed on display, Deprived of whatever destiny they felt should have been bestowed upon them, Inching ever so closer towards their great egress, All the while regretting not only their gains but also their losses. Now it is not that the inevitable was to be in vain mind you, As the citizens here would undoubtedly find their demise most entertaining. And far from a rare spectacle as periodically such things occurred, It is rather ironic actually, to see tears of the bereaved pooling beneath the feet of those rejoicing, even more so, The fact of all that has been accomplished has brought me to this moment in particular...But such is life, or death in this case, For you see dear reader, my father, he was the executioner.
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