"befits" poems
In his monochrome home
Postman Pat
Has a black and white television
To colour co-ordinate
With his black and white cat.
As well as
Secret love children
Who also match.
He christened them all Foam.
As befits an autodictat
With a comprehensive
Collection of
Black and white combs
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
Maybe men labored under a yellow sky
bent under barley sheaves they’d cut,
returned behind limestone walls and leaned
to splash water on each other at the well.
You can see its crumbling curve today, in one
city as old when Cheops' pyramid was built
as pyramids are to us right now.
Jericho, not so far away from Egypt and,
our archaeologists tell us, likely really didn’t hear
the blare of Joshua’s trumpets shuddering down
old Canaan-cursed by-Noah, coaxing walls
to shudder, teeter, list from Israelite raids.
You see one barley-bearer shaking dry,
descend stair-tunnels to his flat to kneel
before his hungry daughter, hungry wife,
waiting for evening’s barley bread to cool.
He joins as they resume their business of the day
to gently set the cowrie eyes in Grandma’s face,
two priests removed the rest of her last year,
but left the precious head to decompose at home
scented in the wall with sweet Netufian herbs,
And now the family gathers near small fire,
desert nightbreeze filtering through the cracks
tenderly to soften Mother’s bony head
with daubs of plaster re-create her nose,
and gaping eye sockets, softening too
those black orbits with white plaster.
Slowly her death’s head touched tenderly
by younger finger tips becomes
something like a human head again,
If not quite living, cowrie shells complete
this vision of a vacant queenly stare
befits a family shrine. When things are done,
small granddaughter now squeals with delight
her own dark eyes reflect the fire-light.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
493
The World—stands—solemner—to me—
Since I was wed—to Him—
A modesty befits the soul
That bears another’s—name—
A doubt—if it be fair—indeed—
To wear that perfect—pearl—
The Man—upon the Woman—binds—
To clasp her soul—for all—
A prayer, that it more angel—prove—
A whiter Gift—within—
To that munificence, that chose—
So unadorned—a Queen—
A Gratitude—that such be true—
It had esteemed the Dream—
Too beautiful—for Shape to prove—
Or posture—to redeem!
2.4k
*(Blackened tissue beside debris of bleachd cocktail
Power pundit in cubicle
A ship in shadow-pieces passing by, unnoticed*
smoking water.. now costs getting kickd out ur xafe
Your blood lies in a high-account and all the stampz areMelting
Crawling in a desert, accusations shave the top off my black land
Did failing the test lead to a power-packed punch in strands
No time for treagedies clogging up the freeway
Twenty watts up the waterfall and your ride is here
Befits a ceremonial decapping
Catch ur vogue latte on the way out
Come aboard by jet and then expect a red carpet, soaked dry from the spoils of erstwehile-smugglers
Let em bleed green notes till the moths all come round the flame
Wait for it… the flame grows hugher… and int it all…………poof!
That was easy.
Don’t chuckle out loud when expletives slidie down your back
Like champagne off the shoulder of your ne-xt planet’s ride
Duck in time cos the butters hard and the toast is dry
Four friends over six decades carry grudges heavey enough to pump oil to lakes
And the unexpected happens.. the one they didn’t watch, wwent missing
All eyes on the little one.. no, you didn’t catch them all.
You became immunes to the skills you advert-tarted and sqeueamish set in
you didn’t know casn host violence in a putrid-robe?
One finger pointing out, makes at least three in.. to the pointer
How can one planet swallow so wide a dichotomy in plasticky degrees?
It’s too wide this time to make that jump – we will ingest what weve been giving all along
And some end up well-funded while others simply dwell.. as frogs in a well.
sun can climb in sometimes, but for half an hour
their fingers are small for the mine, keep small the issue
don’t cry when it rains in expectorata
I think frogs can swim.
*when do I ever learn that..
I am simply a frog in a well
near craxks )*
21feb
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope.
Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope -
She casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope,
And stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope -
The stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire.
Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire
Where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
Where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
Whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
Though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: “her age? a sweet 16,
With child, ***** her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.”
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
In limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
And all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
Which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
Neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade -
“She’ll burn in hell and sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
But Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire -
Beyond the nave, a gravelled grave, the final Rectifier”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
It's true that they belong together
Freedom is just another word for fetter
To have it all and have no better
That is life's eternal weather.
It's true that meaning is lost in translation
Because no one cares to hear your explanation
As they hear the words that befits your station
And you've learned to speak as befits your subordination
It's true that there is nothing to thought
Poring out without a clot
Yet will never reach the point it ought
Instead used and swayed as they are bought
It's true that pain is just a stern friend
While hope just leaves you in the end
Pain's **** is the advice he'll lend
Which you should heed or another he'll send
It's true that there is fault in truth
Like beauty blunted by its youth
The horror of it was its proof
While a fraction of it still lies aloof.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
As its social phenomenality
Grows with zeal and verve
Humanity of love befits
Beautifully Elaborate explanation
To enable both young and the elderly
To have clear and useful
Knowledge and insight
Of what is love;
Shakespeare in the prime
Of his bardness decried it
A foul protégé of individual beholder
Christ confused it for self-immolation
In the succor of the universe
Leo Tolstoy thought that
It was minimal ownership of land
Umberto Eco in his scriptorium
Declared it man’s impaired judgment
Kenyan cubidmaestroes deem it human foully
To create a leeway to keep change of a Casanova
Mahatma Gandhi called it caste blindness
Mandela called it zero apartheid
Both in Luther King sang the song
Of nonviolent revolt
But me I will boldly clash
With the precedent civilizations
To call love foolishness of a man
And shrewdness of a woman
As for both man and woman the very love
In un-fangled in truth that it can’t pay bills.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
i think the
irony
befits such an
ending -
you,
settled
me,
altered
permanently
unsettled
a trace of
you forever
running through
my veins
Apr 18, 2025
Apr 18, 2025 at 9:39 PM UTC
*canst poor smile
amid world in bad-shod fit
writ's a-fire
pardon season's ire*
bring'st forth jollity and smiles aplenty
ne'er plaintive be of the sad woe of man
lift high-sky the bless'd, one and seventy
mind scant the fo'c's'tle head in deadpan
floweth into desires flowers of merriment
push upon life gladness; poem of joy-bright
exult all forms of joviality and rejoice on
cheery-heart to amuse and glide to skylight
be curs'd with melancholia; fry all the frowns
ring in goodly-humour and make-it-all-bright
drown dips of despair and banish the downs
expel the heartbroken-ideals; deport skint-lite
what befits the real-feel to true equal-match
face with beck-n-call smile belies wake-latch
(fake)
S T - 29 sept
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
Time disappears silently like the cryptical fog at dawn!
Reality twisted for a moment without feign;
what seemed to wait for ages is now drawn
closer!
Flanked by an overwhelming urgency
Glossier!
To give and to share this flash of fragility
Were tomorrow...befits a charming after-tale of yesterday;
With summer blossoms kissed by the mild long awaited reign
Of the dusky aureate nobleness of men and women,
spellbinding-like a magnificent gold plated gemstone
Sealing this moment of a sweet clandestine
sparkle grinning in the lonesome orchid garden;
Wooing Romeo and Juliet like the equinox sun........
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:55 AM UTC
Better days were in the past
For the bar and all inside
Windows broke and lights burned out
The bar had long since died
Carpets gone and floors all worn
Scorch marks on the wall
Smells of stale beer in the air
the bar had it's last call
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
Good Food and Cold Beer Too
Live bands every single night
And it's air conditioned too
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
A bar befits it's name
We'll take you the way you are
And we're mighty glad you came
The stage was now an eyesore
As was most of what was here
Way back in the corner
Sat a woman with her beer
Hair was streaked with boot black
From a time, who knows when
The bar was dead or dying
As were most in this old den
A few nights folks would still come here
To see the towns old jewel
What once was gold and glistened
Now was just no longer cool
The lady way back in the corner
Hadn't danced since eighty three
Ten times a night she'd go and
Play the jukebox tune 5B
A song about the devil
calling him silver tongued was her pick
She'd hit the worn out buttons
While giving her chapped lips a lick
Sitting in the back and nursing
A beer as dead as the bar
On a steady diet of Winstons
That had made her voice as thick as tar
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
Good Food and Cold Beer Too
Live bands every single night
And it's air conditioned too
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
A bar befits it's name
We'll take you the way you are
And we're mighty glad you came
Maybe fifteen people came here
When the other places were full
You could see the worn out tiles
Where there once was a mechanical bull
Trends were never big here
Though they tried a few to survive
The bar was dead and dying
Housing folks who now were barely alive
The last band that they had here
Was a cover group from down in NC
They didn't last the evening
Getting out done by old 5B
The woman in the corner
With the boot black streak of wild
closed her eyes and listened
To the memories she had compiled
If you ever choose to come here
I don't think you'll stay long
But, I know you'll hear a singer
Talk of the devil in that 5B song
The door is always open
At the dead and dying Stagger Inn
A place that still lives through the ages
And the folks remembering what might have been
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
Good Food and Cold Beer Too
Live bands every single night
And it's air conditioned too
Welcome to the Stagger Inn
A bar befits it's name
We'll take you the way you are
And we're mighty glad you came
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
Verse 1:
Why am I so disconnected?
My soul is screaming out to me in a passionate furor.
Sanguine and red hot flames are running down my spine;
I’m blazing through misfortune with opulent eyes.
I see death all around me but in my heart there is hope,
Time has healed past welts now the Lord shall cleanse me once more.
In time it has been revealed to me that the Lord has the sinew,
to fight off the eternal of death and the Cimmerian.
Eternity is all around me, your flames scorch me whole;
I lie on the bed covered in anxious goo.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has granted me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul.
Verse 2:
My spirit lies in front of me separated from my soul;
I’m an incorporeal being who no longer has a definite form.
You’re the one I long for and I know that you’re all I see,
“I truly wish that you would take to time to actually notice me!”
Why can’t you see that I would lock your heart away?
I’d store it in a chest full of my sacred and cherished dreams.
You’re my goldmine, the apple of my eye;
You’re that mellifluous melody chanting in my ear.
You’re a divine masterpiece and I love you with my eyes;
I wish I could eternally gaze upon you and make your beauty my muse.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has given me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul
Bridge:
Holy and pure is that pearl with your name inscribed,
Your name inscribed upon it and it befits my enamoring crown.
I want you to adorn me with your brilliant and glimmering gems;
Please complement my apparel with an extravagant diadem.
I love the eyes you possess, those diamonds that seem to gleam;
I desire your magic spells to fuse me with your soul.
I went insane for but a moment but to me it has been revealed,
That sanity belongs to the one who cherishes His dream of love.
Chorus:
High on octane, I float above cloud nine,
I have a heady feeling, and then I’m lifted into the Sun.
God has given me the will to move on,
The Universe imparts to me an elixir to your soul
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 3:11 AM UTC
If black is a curse and white the Cause;
Then blank is the page of rationality in a God that’s white.
If a pest fixed pies in the past;
Then its taste lists lies in the cast.
If the bulk lifts a tool and dies;
Then luck befits a pool of dice.
If a kith licks his kins like a broth;
Then the mouse clicks and nibbles like a crook.
If a thief runs away with the loots;
Then our chief grunts with harps and lutes.
Then our land wakes up with hopes and heals;
If the lost takes all the dope on his heels;
And if the thief never comes back to steal our wealth;
Then the land ever in bliss rests from the West.
amazon.com/author/odosimonagbo; for more of similar poetry.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 6:01 AM UTC
Face to face against a predator
It isn't glory I fight for
I fight in animosity and defiance
Against the shackles wrought by a Creator
I have neither belief nor any Faith
in any Lord; I do not say Grace
I am my own King and my own God
And I run my own race
Life is War
Pick your battles wise
I pick the biggest beast
Because my rage befits its size
I will sit on my throne
and glare at life in the eye
But I will never bow in weakness
Though I might let out a sigh
Feb 13, 2022
Feb 13, 2022 at 1:48 PM UTC
She was like a broken mirror
Anything beautiful, she would reflect
A reflection abnormally distorted
Her perspective could not connect
She could not see the sparkle
Of the sunset sprinkled on the waves
She couldn't share the happiness of others
Because her feelings weren't quite the same
People's smiles were always crooked
Compliments were always misheard
Acts of kindness were disappointments
Expressions of love were just words
She was tired of being broken
Constantly blinded to beauty
She gave up holding her pieces together
Loosening her grip more than slightly
Her broken pieces then fell apart
Into a pile of shattered looking glass
She laid there with her hollow frame
As she could finally rest at last
Her self destruction symbolized
Her innermost desire for rebirth
Her lack of knowing what was beauty
Did not take away her worth
She realize her vision's distortion
Only showcased her perception
Her definition of beauty
Was different beyond interpretation
She arranged her shattered pieces
In a way her beauty befits
On the ground where she laid
Was a beautiful mosaic
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Your fate was woven in the silence of time.
Embroidered with dread and pain.
Made bearable with bonds of friendship and love.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Disrobed in the darkness, the sky freckled
with the light of stars, shivering.
Never will we forget the undying.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
For fate is something twined in a misty veil.
Ignore the flute that sighs a sweet melody.
For you, Noctis, will be bound to your threnody.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Born with the Storm's Blessing,
in all it's strength and might and glory,
all that will be left for you is a ruin
of crying waters, deathless flames, and
flooding song of the Oracle's lyre.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Her hair of spun gold; a primose in white,
and pearls around her slender wrists.
In her hand, a sylleblossom, bent low
in your final kiss.
Your final promise.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
She stands strong, her trident in hand,
knowing that she is a phantom of
transient life.
She looks at you.
In a field of flowered ice.
Standing as days of harsh sun and rain pass by.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
It haunts you.
The memories of where you dare not
tread.
Yet.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Give yourself into the song of the sweet summer bird.
Give yourself to the Oracle - the Morn's Star who
fears no sun in her wake. For she was born
to die in the light.
As are you.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
No need to be afraid, Noctis.
Your corona is a crown that befits no other.
For all shall witness it's splendour and glory
as the Chosen King.
The days are waning.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
The nights are burning.
Alive with daemons and weeping plagues.
The Sun and Moon reap pain sown
from so long ago.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
It's alright.
Because you will be beyond our world.
Where you will no longer be weary.
Where you will no long be pitied.
Where you will finally be free.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Where Love is sweet and Sleep is kind.
To you both.
The Storm was always yours.
It blessed you for good reason.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Where the moon is full and the sun is high,
Where the mountains stand so strong in vain,
Where the meadows chant and greet the light,
Where the roses bloom and sylleblossoms cry dew,
Where the wind carry joy and not whirls of sad.
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
There you are,
The King of Kings,
Noctis Lucis Caelum,
and his consort,
Lady Lunafreya,
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
I see you there.
Swaying and drifting off to the sound
of sweet chimes.
Under the Sky of the Light's Night...
~ ☾☀️☽ ~
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
you can never under-estimate the humanity
of one example,
as you already exampled undermining
the humanity of "you", or whatever choice
of pronoun that befits your idea of superiority -
as said Japan attacked, China retaliatory -
Mongol kept apart - bereaving Scandinavia
bereft due to the European ploy fancy;
you can never under-estimate the humanity
of one example,
as you already exampled undermining
the humanity of "you", or whatever choice
of pronoun that benefits with your idea of superiority -
as said Pearl Harbour: war against war
rather than war against society - indeed modernity
with the man in the high castle rather than
i'm the king of the castle - whereby the softened
consonants rather the hardened vowels -
ð adjacent of j - verifiable ðe- or -dje,
dje - or thus extreme English definite articulate of θη -
i won't give you answers, forget it ****
i don't have a lifetime or likened vein of thought -
variations of f and some vowel, θ- e-i -φ - gobble up
a blah... due to η we endow θ with a calibre of vowel necessary,
fully... eta is like a missing diacritic on emicron, shortened,
ah **** epsilon - one and the same...
still involved, softening, duck-quack-and-feather cushioning,
i admit it's regardless of being 90 years of age
skipping rope and boa entanglement to myth
in memory of a life actually lived -
the stink of my great-grandmother's apartment
the coal-set-piece of what could be a baking oven...
the whole place was scented in ferns...
i don't know why, ferns, it was just ferns...
it wasn't Parisian perfumes, it, was, just, ferns...
it was't the next trend of clothing, it was just fur,
you watched your neighbour's television because
you didn't have your own... ferns! ferns! ferns!
the myth told to children about a golden fern leaf,
the myth of Gutwin and the bee that stung my shin -
it's so long ago, i wish it remained,
all i have is America i'll never see, ever hear,
ever touch, America is just an advert, it's nothing,
all i have is America i'll never savour, ever feel,
ever know, it's just abstract, all i'll get from America
is Apache alcoholism as worth writing about
rather than taking a selfie... and that's about it...
otherwise i'm left with kardashian celluloid -
globalisation really has made London a village
and Abridge a capital.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
Why can't I have it?
Why?
Why can't I have that joy,
When I can see her have it?
Why can't I hold my smile firm
The way she is able to dodge the grit?
Why can't I have that resting queen face
When all I can see is that she befits?
The way she holds him close
Like a cute little kitten
A purr in her voice as they rub noses
As he gazes at her looking smitten
The peace in her eyes (called love)
The grace in her smile (called acceptance)
The contour upon her cheekbone (what is she made of?)
His hypnotized gaze on her being, her very existence
Why can't I have it too?
Why?
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
When you know it's not you
Then you’ve known another
But is it friend or foe
For you or against you
Your saviour or jailer
Your master or helper
It may oppose but it's not enemy
It rather flatters for pride leads to fall
Perhaps it's neither for you nor your foes
But for itself as it befits its own
If asked it will say it is what it is
And what another may say I don't know
Aug 8, 2024
Aug 8, 2024 at 1:04 AM UTC
*This sunrise is very beautiful
With a hue of pink and a rareness which
Befits the weariness of red eyes
As slowly over the Catskills she
Rises and resides
Until she can be seen within the sky
Pure as almond and ivory
Backed by the dawn and the day alike
Who am I to stand here in her way?
Who am I to say that she shouldn’t try?
I can only trust and occasionally wish
That she would honor me with a simple kiss
Of morning dew, and a smile wide
For that, in this, my morning eyes
Would bring great joy to me in my life*
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 2:25 AM UTC
Of nature's pairing hearts that love renowned
shall I compare the depths of those duets
to virtues won, betrothed and then have bound
this noble cause and gift, that none forgets.
As doves through ether, we ascend delights
no frost shall haze the wings on truest path
tho' wind and rain befits the winter nights,
near maple leaves we warm; as singles bath.
The Swans devout will glide the lakes unknown
we two abound, prevailed by mantras vows
and when apart in bevy we have flown
shall wait till night when lovers dance allows.
As rare as diamonds forged for cupids' stone
is love we found alike - the emblems own.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 12:55 PM UTC
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won;
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed;
And when a woman woos, what woman’s son
Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed?
Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth:
Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.
1.1k
After the rain, just as the sun came,
after light years of planning and 9 months of travelling
- after the rain,
Herbie came
and landed fully formed, fully loved,
full of laughter, a master of light
a gifter of aromatic delight
- after that long night,
Herbie came.
He’d waited, biding his time,
timing his arrival beautifully
bang in the middle of the lunacy,
the happy family being built at Conolly,
(number six)
fitting right in, applying his tight grip
on the mum and dad who just don’t know when to quit.
Yes, Herbie befits this Butcher-family-mix.
After the rain
this Ray of grace,
this pilgrim,
this loving warrior from heaven
this beam of radiance came
and entered a place Herbie-shaped
in the heart of the Rob & Rachel space
with a seasoned, full of flavour Herbie taste
that will forever linger
here in the embrace of family Butcher.
Yes, after the rain, just as June flamed,
Herbie came.
Jun 5, 2021
Jun 5, 2021 at 5:30 AM UTC
I do not walk in measured tread,
I cannot spare the time;
And steady pace is better suited to the dead
Or projects more sublime.
I see them dressed in garb of green
As best befits the land
That harbours jihadist and others more obscene
And not their native sand.
They bear allegiance to no state
That may have sheltered them,
But spread instead their ugly message born of hate
And anxious to condemn.
It would be easy to cast blame
On perpetrators of
The outrage that most freshly has induced our shame
And dissipates our love.
But this would be to hide our guilt
At similar events
That other so-called freedom fighters have but built
And empty rage foments.
The question that we must address
Is why these souls should choose
Defection from their lives of love, and thus aggress?
Why do they not refuse?
What is there that holds them in thrall
And draws them to a place
That their forefathers chose to leave for freedom’s call?
Is it a search for grace?
Is it the hope of paradise
Should they in jihad die?
Seventy-two-virgins is perhaps the promise
On which they then rely?
They claim that Allah is their lord,
that Islam is their life.
They spurn the pen; relying solely on the sword.
The Quran is a knife
with which to cut the Gordian knot
that engirdles their guide.
The jihad route to paradise, the unbeliever’s lot.
But we are mystified.
What must we then on our side do
that hold freedom dearly?
I just demand the freedom that I give to you
Car moi, je suis Charlie.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
A simple ray of sunlight spread by time
Dodging through the white clouds;
The simple crusade that a breeze
Causes on the white clouds
Make me smile.
For a while I was hostile
But the artless white clouds,
As white as white can be,
Make me smile.
Drinking sensations and drawing vibrations,
Swallowing them as a death star
To the point it befits bizarre
To the point it suits dark
To live is to suffer
To get rougher and tougher
To live is to sin
To discern I’ve been
Witnessing for an exemption of redemption
In this nontoxic home
I can breathe for a while,
I let sensations and vibrations roam,
I write. I smile.
In this nontoxic home
I can see the artless white clouds,
As white as white can be,
I dream. I smile.
Oh, this nontoxic home
Make me smile,
Make me live.
While I write the dark folds
And the smile unfolds
Existence is not a decoy
To live is moreover to enjoy
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC