"bringers" poems
[Hashtag]MeToo
Here it goes again,
trending on Insta and Facebook.
Where real awareness stems.
Mind the sarcasm,
social media’s a powerful tool
not knockin’ that.
I wonder though,
does the mind of the follower
understand the context of the hash?
Do they get it should be a call to action?
Not necessarily at the keyboard.
More like on the couch with their children,
Giving the conversation of consent.
Most people do not even understand it by definition .
The meaning of yes and no convoluted by scenario.
Bias boils over like milk and water over full flame.
The posts bubble out and stick to the side of the pan,
quickly drying; leaving their mark.
Until the soap and warm water flows over them,
and the steam evaporates the confessions.
Until they are again whispers we all hear and know.
It’s whispers from the alley ways,
and from married couples bedroom doors.
The woman is the property,
the man is the proprietor.
We refuse to address the real problems,
the failures of our up-bringers.
We point fingers and slay names
yet the statistics provide the truth.
One in four for females, one in sixteen for males.
We all have been violated, slandered, and forced to say
[Hashtag]MeToo
Not going to say I did not share it,
I know the touch of unwanted hands,
the invasive ***********
All for the sake of the insanity,
in repeating a useless gesture.
The only difference is
My hashtag went to my Senator.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC
Up early as usually but this time with a mission to complete Halloween Costumes.
Not a pain free day most definitely, but have kids who rely on me to be a good mom.
Everyone has haters; the two faced, "your girls" wanting your guy or envy clothes style,
or randoms you never met, desiring your life, home or new car bought with hard work.
Most days what's posted on sites about me makes not a bit of difference in my world,
I ignore and move on with my life, know haters have nothing better to do than gossip.
No news is good news and nothing from my usual "Town Criers" saying "Guess What?"
One day got messages in text, "You have been labeled Babylon's ***** by Craiglisters!"
Not a "lol" nor "Roflmao" situation. Thinking, What in the world? and How in the world?
Me, Ms. Abstaining and they, who love assuming and posting drama without thought.
Their world; small town America and believers of truth in "all" internet rumors and media,
not willing to give benefit of doubt, once minds, so limited in thought, have been made up.
E-mail inquiries from potential employers I never met from destinations far far away,
asking and informing that person with such low morals shall never be part of their world.
Drama finds me and neither welcome nor do I seek it out, way too emotionally draining,
believer in live and let live, authored "Celibacy" poem to stop jokes made to my kids.
Who knew that trying for your dreams could bring forth bringers or illogical pure hatred?
Who knew that emotions of my children whom I love, would be affected by narrow minds?
After family conference and with full support, by the way, had to explain ***** to son,
this mom carries on and still on second journey pursuing dreams and making realities.
If I give up dreams it will never be because someone posted bold faced lies on open forum,
it will be because I choose to do it with good reasons and those reasons are mine alone.
Pitfalls? Have been numerous. Will? Strong and still determined to see this through to end.
Tomorrow isn't promised and hear my dad say, "Daughter, go forth and let haters be fuel!"
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 4:01 AM UTC
hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take
a break
and take
a breath
digging holes
taking pills
sliding down
murderin'
fillin' hills
the chills
my thrills
no bills
countin' kills
ten fingers
smell lingers
hell bringers
not singers
give me that...
bring me there...
–
shovels
the troubles
my doubles
be bubbles
black moths
white veins
no money
hopping trains
you blame
the rain
for pain
insane
to think
a drink
of water
taught her
brought her
to the edge
nothing left
to take
so...
give me that...
underground....
hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take
a breath
ahhhhhhh
give me that...
bring me there...
we're going underground
–
your games
my flames
the names
we tame
the light
breaks night
we slide
we hide
in
the
dark
so take
a breath
Underground...
hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take
take me
bake me
shake the dirt
from my bones
love's
no longer
got me
in a
choke hold
feeling bold
stories told
so grab
a hold
as we unfold
underground
no longer bound
by fear
my dear
the present is clear
growing and sprouting
underground
–
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
The fallen, bringers of light who died and became angels of the night, they are the air that man breaths; chaos.
So fourth, I was light born in darkness with the healing of the light and the desires of evil. I roam the night in search of withered souls; hearts once made of gold tainted by dark tar. I feed off their darkness, I crave it like a child craves a mothers love.
And so I consume their very darkness, as I removed their demons and make them my own I free them of the suffering and shed light upon their eyes, the shackles now removed they realize their full potential. While I lay here battling their demons and my own; forgotten. As they went on to greatness I was left in the shadows; no one ever bothered to save me.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 11:50 PM UTC
I love you to the moon and back, yet on earth, I hate you back and forth.
I am happy with a suppressed sense of agony. So ecstatically vibrant, yet miserably tormented.
I live day to day, walking and “maturing”, yet move no further than beyond the grave of a past, long dead and gone.
I’m awake, don’t you see?
When I wake, I open my eyes in a helpless sleep. Outside my tiny being, I see nothing but me.
I call myself a mother, or a father, but never gave birth to a daughter.
We call ourselves a “family”, but exist so disconnected — wavering and dislodged, apart and separated. Smiling resentfully, painfully, excruciatingly.
All for the cameras of course.
I am respectful — to be respected! I shower in lies, and cover you too, so I need not see any offensive residue.
I am a strong person, cowering and contracted to the slightest sight of error.
No vulnerability.
I’m brave, don’t you see? A plastic rock, standing impervious to the sea.
I love you, I love you, I love you. But I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
I understand you, of course, “I understand everything!!!!” But I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
I know you, I know you, I know you. Yet I don’t see you, nor hear you, don’t know you.
You’re crazy, poor child! Why can’t you lie like we do!?
Why can’t you NOT feel like we do!?
Why can’t you NOT see as we do!?
Why can’t you just “forgive” and “accept”? Take it all, all our objects in their entirety and forget the emptiness of your soul. Sacrifice yourself, for you need not forget, we gave it ALL.
Don’t you know yet? This world is OURS to own. A “truth” to be known.
Your perception; a mere fallacy to be shown.
Don’t you know yet?
Everyone agrees.
We stand before an army of validation, against your small speck of reality.
All memory, all harmony, all said and done -- buried beneath.
We are the bringers of truth, the proclaimers of wisdom and sound guidance. And you, our poor child, just a little voice to be silenced.
A lost soul, drifting outside the “right” path.
Reach for our direction.
You’ll travel upon a dusty, well-trodden track, and with feet now imprinted with scars. Rest assured though, for we travelled there too; feet too ***** to bear and too numb to care.
Take our confident hands, our dearest child. We’ll lead you through a clear path with tainted feet.
You’ll fall and we’ll rise in disbelief.
You’ll scream and it’ll only echo our fears.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
The first great war took many people
But it was just a start for worse
It took the best of us, the livers
To revolution's ****** horse
This war erased aristocracy
This war had eat my own home land
Kurmysh was town at Sura river
Untill they came, soviet's undead
A part of us was pushed from home lands
Another part had shot in head
They called themselves a freedom bringers
But that was thing old Lenin said
While winners write the history
The truth becomes a mystery
Then bandits become heroes
And heroes gone to dust
And now, the robbers, killers
Are called a freedom givers
In part of lost empire
Ukraine, which now are sold
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
a shake weight table steak
powdered sugar cigarette
break burning in alcohol
and corn flakes
a big ********* cluster-fuck
of broken noses and carefully
crafted poses posting pictures
of processed hipster's and blisters,
shit-stirrers and culture twisters
jockeying for a spot
all melting in the ***
quiz show **** beads and
fleshlight teenage dreams
soaking through entitled
suburban screens choking
on plastic screams
chocolate dipped cancer fingers
city bus exhaust lingers
prescription bottle salvation bringers
and underneath it all the bible
belt girdles the gurgling masses
of glazed diabetes and frosted
faith pooling in the belly of
America
a fat flabby mess of
snake oil boiling
in stomach acid
and pesticide
"welcome, honey! grab a seat
anywhere you'd like --I'll be
right with you!"
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC
We have a thousand poems for
Every one of your bombs.
With each act of bloodthirst
And slaughter, we respond with
The force of volumes on peace.
Heaven; a holier word than Hell.
One birth overshines a
Hundred deaths.
Cowards wound.
Heroes heal.
Poets create. You cause
A thousand tears with every bullet.
Well, we compose oceans of comfort
In your wake.
Our ink overpowers your lead.
We have a thousand poems
For every one of your bombs.
You are the bringers of death to
The flesh. We are the armour
Of the soul.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like hells bells miss ringers,
Like bringers miss takers,
Like ******* miss fakers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the good fellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
I miss everything.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
flashes of the past crash into my mass
blasted and scratched, hide chapped,
I clap and shout at the memory
I approve of myself –
Old images of self-worth re-birth
And my fading girth is better for the earth
Large ***** pass gasses collapsing the greenhouse, but
I approve of myself –
Internal health and immeasurable wealth
As if the Delphi oracle imparted me
with love for self
growing stealth
with approval of myself –
affirmation nation retaliating against
infatuation with concentration camp
regurgitation
my patience wears thin and yet still
I approve of myself –
Granting panic stricken epidemic victims
Injections of insulin and bicarbonate soda
So the right wing harm bringers
Will no longer harbinger orangutans
Oh! the will of man…
Planning to land a dodge ram on the spam factory
Rectally cramming grandfather clock hands
Scamming bands of Ayn Rand fans
I approve of myself –
Derailed writings without direction
Making up things like “latterly”
…..better to just end it----
I approve of myself
And much of this message
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
Warning of an attack
The people scream out loud
Warnings in the sky
Of what's coming
Appearing on the horizon
a threat on a planetary level
Demons in the sky, cast shadows on the ground
Bringers of destruction, are ravaging the land
Fury of Khorne's servants, a force to reckon with
They set the world on fire, the turn to **** again
Flames are burning higher, the bodies keep falling
Khorne's servants on a rampage as the sky is turning red
Better run for cover, you'll be quick or be dead
Burn, Burn!
Rage of the Blood God
Burn, Burn!
Blood for his throne
Die, die!
Merciless killing
Burn, burn!
Skulls for his throne!
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 2:21 PM UTC
COVER me over
In dusk and dust and dreams.
Cover me over
And leave me alone.
Cover me over,
You tireless, great.
Hear me and cover me,
Bringers of dusk and dust and dreams.
1.2k
Distant as the far-off maritime state,
undeniable as the endless mismatch
of rock turmoil in the centre of the Earth,
and as vital as the pound of flesh, pulp
and lung, tired bronchiole, wasted lyric,
and cancer's ever-present weight
upon your mind.
Familiar as your lover's intonation,
as she asks of the breadth of your love,
attractive as the modest celebrity,
with legs splayed in bronzed celebration
of this, her life's affirmation.
Bound as the pages of your old journal,
full of misdirected sorrow and old, old love.
Curtailed as the dance floors abandoned
at request of the lights, sugared, spilt drinks
to rot the wooden boarding, now devoted
to misery-cleaners and the bringers
of tomorrow.
Firewalled as the world is to debt.
Cardboard shop-fronts, straw-men hippies
and bent products, cash out at Christmas,
then a haemorrhage in the New Year of
old floods and foreclosures. Covered up
as is the rusted kettle to stifle flame.
Lost as flavour is to ketchup, as winter
is to hope of heat, to desire of spring
and the end of forever-night. Thin as
my wrists, as hands hold the banister,
gaining small balance in life's rare incline,
long stripped of exercise, of enterprise.
Unutterable as the soul-sounds
I feel when I pick up the guitar,
as unattainable in this life,
as is beauty once my knotted fingers
press consciously upon the strings.
A truth legacy found in blood and
distortion, found in intuitive drives,
warped by consumption. Dismissed
theory of Atlantean ties,
of old Babylon
and Reptilian lullabies.
Luring, luring, luring to distraction,
into the night and the plight,
into the absence of Arcturian light!
Keep close to me, please,
oh, feeble recollection,
please take me to truth,
in this, my meditation.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
Dust lies on piano, its lust to play a tune
Powder upon ballet slippers, in mansion ruin
Come light through weathered window
On chair, on table, on letter marooned
Contents never read, her fear what it reads
Years it sits unopened, as felt be no need
Come light through weathered window
Causing illumination, on doubts, indeed
Music echoes through its musty lingers
Memories enchanted; his long dancing fingers
Come light through weathered window
Onto keys, sprinklings particle bringers
All this sifting silt, effervescent in the air
As her heart was so jilt, and left without a care
Come light through weathered window
Untouched slippers, feet dancing bare
Turning up dust, each and every day
Lady of this mansion, dancing her cares away
Come light through weathered window
Forever in swirls of doubts, she stays
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
I see so much Light-bringers here , bless you all.
I see true Hope through you my friends thank you.
For it shines so much brighter coming from you.
Ordinary people with such an extraordinary gift.
Drawing me into true Hope and True light from Christ.
This is his gift to each of us, to see the Light in others.
Thus giving us each true Hope through you , he uses.
To reveal life and the Light to others drawing them in.
So I may say thank you to each of you for this gift to others.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
Imagine
Imagine a world where we all live as one
Where people walk hand in hand and don’t live by the gun
Where a man can be a man because racism is gone
And the evil deception of politicians are done
And the freedom from freeing my soul is met by the rays of the sun
And I stand on Mount Sinai
And wait for people to come
As they turn they back on corruption and start to run
And the power is handed from the words
And we can once again have fun
Imagine a world where we all live for today
Where yesterday is faded in time and in space
Where every gender, color, creed and race
Announces to the world
That peace is here to stay
And then the Messiah no longer has a reason to wait
Because we’ve destroyed power, corruption, greed and hate
And we stand here united along the same fate
Bringers of words to articulate
Imagine a world where we do not run from our ways
And we pound and we pray that we don’t stray from our days
And we show them what we know
Because knowledge can reign
And the point of the main game
Is not to be vain
So I strain and I drain till all the blood from my veins
Show you my love and the reason I’m praying
And my shoulders no longer feel the heaviness weighing
And we tell evil it no longer has a reason for staying
Because we no longer have a reason for waiting
Imagine a world where hope is the word
And the beauty of men
Is destroyed by the herds
And evil and hate can no longer learn
And men aren’t shot for the use of their words
Imagine all this without all the verbs
In sight of your own eyes
Soaring like birds
United by the heavens, clouds, skies and earth
To live in peace without concern
Imagine-
Thank you JL
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 5:28 PM UTC
Looking deeply into the densest black, no light to be found save a tiny little crack. The fracture that harbors a minimal piece of light, holding a tinge of fear as a battle rages in the night. Champions of the bright stand battered and bruised, a war against the dark we cannot afford to lose. Many tactics has the dark to destroy leaving broken shining beams, yet the light holds tight inside us as we strive towards our dream. Of a world that will only ever live in the light, and the only darkness we see is that of night. A war that eternally wages on, so no matter the victor...the tiniest crack of the dark...lives on, in us. We are the bringers of both side of illumination, one without the other, never balances the equation. For oneness is all that we seek, the inner battle of the strong and the weak. A source to which we are forever tied, we merely live to choose a side.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
Don’t write me poetry
It’s never worked before
Vanity, all of it, vanity
And I don’t want any
More-words, just-words, nothing-but words
I don’t care for
The structure
The way
It is so easy to steal
Phrases
lines
Automatic sigh-bringers
Used a thousand times
By history’s pen and
Those more worthy to hold it
than you
All you did
Was take the bag
Of scrabble tiles
Rattling and clacking together
And shake
Once
Twice
Thrice
Forced
Farce
Until you were satisfied with what it gave
And you threw away the rest
That’s not art
That’s strategy
It’s too neat
Neat like summer
Neat like children’s books
(not the good ones)
Formula following
Empty and hollow-ringing
Give me something real
Instead
Give me the ramblings, twisting
wanderings of your mind
give me the dark places
the secrets
the mysteries that lurk in the depths
like sea dragons
like the ocean itself
there is so much more
so much wilder and deeper
so
grab my hand and pull me in with you
don’t flatter me while dipping our toes
because why
why would we choose the ship
the safe little dingy
bleached wood, branded logo on the side
when underneath
lies atlantis
and
the depths
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
Stomach Churning Mankind, Dizzy spells over the Human Race.
I question and turn, "the top of the food chain."
Creators of technology, bringers of pain.
Yet I see small weakening cracks all over their face.
Attention seekers, stalkers and unwanted love,
psychologically misguided, socially excluded.
small secrets and whispers, where one always intruded;
gossip carried into the skies, like feathers light, above.
Ripping at one's defined thought, ruining it with paranoia,
Pushing one's life aside, focusing on obsession,
Wishing nothing but a pair of eyes, some sort of detection;
a heart leading nowhere, lips quivering with question.
Women are 'weak' men are 'pathetic'
children barely bear name aside ignorance.
teenagers with morality that is of absence.
And the old are useless, eyes bearing something synthetic.
I sit here and give myself every insult; I belong to the Genus.
I feel feebleness grip my heart, that is when purpose diminishes.
I question if old power was real; Caesar, and Dominus!
And I realize, "Every story can be made," And that is where thought finishes.
- N.C
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
Precipice hanging
Red rock dwellings
Hiding under the sandpine desert
Freeing me in the process
Tribal seeking
Falcon knowledge to leadeth me down road highway
Noones way
But the freeway
Riding the cool gypsie wave
Moral decay hath abounded me
With the naysayer's and no bringers
Wolves cometh by swarms
Mastered by scorn
They scorn another with boiling hot heat....
Trampling feet..
Dance to their own tune,
No rhythm and blues
But jazz gone punk!!!!
Raccoon turned skunks
On lonesome highway to hell...
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 8:55 AM UTC
Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket’s lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.
For every person looking to preserve life,
There are four others looking to destroy it.
Though compassion is our signature tool,
Oh, only a handful of us ever employ it.
There is no neutrality when our conscious hearts fail.
If our better angels remain silent, our darker halves prevail.
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.
Everyone has a two-ton war machine.
Festering in heat,
Moral fabric unweaves.
Desecration,
Denigration,
Desiccation,
The remains of a sacred bond left tattered by deceit.
The sound of a stained glass window shattered by thieves.
Oh, somewhere our better half grieves.
The enigmatic future inches nearer,
An ambiguous choice becomes clearer,
The sound of rattling, an empty heart,
Battling, an empty mind.
The sound of hurried footsteps…
And there are others not far behind.
The blind guiding and seeking the blind,
Oh, somewhere our better half searches to find…
A shelter from all of these two-ton war machines.
Everyone has a two-ton war machine.
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.
The pain lingers,
Morality rests in tatters,
Miniature death-bringers,
The sound of a bigot’s daggers,
The sound of a depressed man’s gun facing backwards…
After he decides that nothing else matters.
Oh, somewhere our better half staggers.
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.
Everyone has a two-ton war machine.
The temperature escalates,
Morality thrown out with the spoils,
The sound of tension as it elevates,
The sound of blood as it boils,
Oh, somewhere our better half recoils.
Because everyone has a two-ton war machine.
A guilty conscience, a burdened soul, a heavy heart,
And a two-ton war machine.
Society in peril,
Morality on the fringes,
The sound of a bullet leaving its barrel,
The sound of a casket lid closing at its hinges,
Oh, somewhere our better half cringes.
Everyone has one ounce mercy,
Three pounds sympathy,
Angelic grace,
Godly uniqueness,
Divine understanding,
And a two-ton war machine.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
The darkness spread fast..
The fading glow made me sad a little..
But from the darkness I heard new sounds and tones..
Sounds of something that was hidden in the light..
The more darkness there was the clearer the sounds became..
They reminded me of whale songs back at home..
We were all walking toward the light mountains..
The light storm had passed. We continiued our dark journey through the light forest toward these majestic and beautiful light mountains. There were many mountains the ranged in the same size all except for one. It stood higher than my eyes could see. I dare say it stuck out of the planet. At times it looked like a pillar of light.. We were a group of dark walkers, shadow touchers, dusk bringers, I tried to come up with a cool name to call our group as my mind wonders about in my head. We then come upon a pond of light water. It shined with green light rather than blue like the river.. I then heard the voice speak to me.. " They keep her here, we cannot enter these waters, but you can.. Go and free her please." Without hesitation I stepped into the green light water. The water is deep as I am completly submerged. But to my suprise I do not see light. I see complete darkness. For the moment I begin to panic. But then I see a small speak of light at the center of all the darkness. It begins to grow and spin about itself. I then realize that it was a heartbeat. What I was seeing was a beating heart in the darkness. I cannot begin to tell you how beautiful it was. It grew brighter and brighter with my presence. Then a body started to take shape around it. Only in darkness could I have seen this...
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 2:29 PM UTC
Harvester of words gathered in the
Trenches of life between
The dawns early fire
And the dusk of our gathering,
A reminiscent corridor that takes
A reader and places them in
The belly of your understanding,
Digestive reading.
And we become all things
All at once
To find a meaning to the wonderful
Chaos,
The stubbornness
Of the human condition
Gazing at broken things and finding
Light in the void of humanity.
You poet
Armed with a language unique
To the written word of your being,
The benevolent ruins of time
Assaulting the moments
Gazing into melancholic skies
Bringing them to read our hearts.
Bringer of wisdom from our own
Stupidity,
Spinning the compass to one another,
Bringing closer the faceless
Soul breathing in words,
Syllables like embers raining
On the angels watching us suffer,
We compact the understanding
Into a small requiem of experiences,
Ripping the face off of the world
And giving it our own touch:
I, you, We,
Poetry the birth of ruins
And dissolves into forever,
Poets, bringers of languages
Never spoken like dictation of spirits,
Time before time,
After and before collide
Birthing the momentous inkling.
Take it,
Its yours,
Poets living in the dream
Suffering the expense
Of the reality,
Constellation of our suffering....
Poets, living martyrs.
Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
Please, let us be
The bringers of Light
Under one banner
Of those befallen of night
Though the way may be blinded
Locked by our fear
Our apprehension telling us “Please, do not go”
And suffer more comfort full of past woe.
Bringers of light,
What you have will pass
And change being the only
Thing to last.
So love it, know it
And advocate change
Since the in vogue attitude
IS to keep it all the same.
Never suffice, oh,
Bringers of Light, all of you,
With things as they are.
Yes, you go, necks out for change,
Change everything, since there is
Need for change,
And change that change
So the change is changing
And every changing change changed
Is best
Don’t settle (so change!)
For what’s better than change
But change, changer, and changest.
So raise high your banner
And herald in the change!
But before we step first,
We pause for mantra
“It seems so stupid
To risk your life for a cause.”
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC