"civilisations" poems
(For Harry Clifton)
I HAVE heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie bearen flat.
All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
On their own feet they came, or On shipboard,'
Camel-back; horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.
Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instmment.
Every discoloration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
3.4k
Premeditated Amnesia 1
For nothing here is old, save for deep layers
Of moss and muck and mouldering remains
Civilisations lit by visions and fire
Now lost beneath a Wal-Mart Parking lot
Incuriously the tentacles of Now
Slither more deeply into the pale past
And churn up yet another housing estate
At the corner of Kingsford Lane and Heather Way
Near the Motorcycle Church, for piston prayers:
For nothing here is old, save for deep layers
1”The U.S. is probably the contemporary world’s purest example of a society which is perpetually trying to abolish history, to avoid thinking in historical terms, to associate dynamism with premeditated amnesia.” -Alexander Woodside quoted by Susan Sontag:
https://bostonreview.net/susan-sontag-interview-geoffrey-movius?utm_source=Boston+Review+Email+Subscribers&utm_campaign=b581739691-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2018_08_17_04_17_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_2cb428c5ad-b581739691-41080789
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 4:19 PM UTC
they always seem to ascribe the stone age
with inventing the circle,
dinosaurs and the loathing of
x-ray via Archaeology -
ᛟ, or an ancient egyptian manuscript...
got the ******* wheelie on that ***** boo yah!
this is even weirder than Wittgenstein's observation
of late Copernicus... ᛟ-ray... huh?
you've been a peasant and you're still
curating a chance sharpening edit?
where's the ******* wheel with romans after
ancient egyptians and the babylonians
and for fuck's sake Hindustan!
O... where's O in Sanskrit? so who got the cartwheels?
the romans? huh?! a.d. b.c. buttered-up ****
if this makes sense... forget the universe,
alien civilisations... my own makes as much sense
as a gram of pepper and salt sneezed with.
hey flamingo! here's a signature in sepia!
banging on the bathroom floor - with Disney - passed
in those days: Lion Kong or King...
oompa loompa ooh ooh gorilla tyrant said so too.
they invented the wheel but forgot to phonetically
encode it with something similar...
runes, right, Scandinavian... ᛟ... i.e. O...
but i'd like to see ᛟ in a roller-coaster... just for gorging
on a regurgitation of jokes - and so i can
slang and slapper quick a blah in Jamaican slang
and say... yah mon' poo daddy do a diddy eff a flex
wit bling bling, cursor vector to noon
and da dwarfin of a shadow.
**** man, they invented the wheel but waited for the
romans to write the O... and it was music by then...
suddenly! huh?! the **** is this? whiskey straight up.
no wonder.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
Forgotten memories remain to be a significant part of the rich tapestry of contemporary establishment, just like an Indian summer which dries the drab and weary soul of those who are ******
History reveals that the Spaniards sold Erythroxylum Coca to Bolivian and Peruvian populations, whilst tyranny exerted its illegitimate dominance.
So, the quest for power and social control remains to be exploitative in the guise of jovial and seemingly convincing salesmen. Just ask the shamans of traditional cleansing.
The pulsating groans of ancient civilisations will never dissipate, despite the lusts of mankind to establish grandiose constructs.
Oh great and mighty spirit of the land, we need your residence amidst our conceited political climate, because you have truly won the war even though our realisation is blinded by fierce presumption.
I desire to take a bite of historical and gourmet delicacies, and to swallow the diversity of gustatory brilliance, because their remains to be a discrepancy between Spanish and Portuguese validity.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
I grew up knowing we are a broken race,
A race that changes smiles to frowns on everyone's face,
A race of pity, a race of self destruction,
A race of slaves, a race of savages.
I grew up knowing that we are the poison to the sea,
Acid to the earth
And pollution to the air.
I grew up embarassed of my colour,
Embarassed of my Nation,
Embarassed of my Continent...
I guess I didn't know better
That one day I will discover of our Greatness.
I discovered that our forefathers walked all four corners of the Earth.
Let me rephrase that...
Our forefathers were acknowledged in all corners of the Earth.
I discovered we were once tutors of the world,
We were once Astronomers of the stars,
Travellers of Mother Earth,
Doctors to the sick
And Founders of great kingdoms like Cambodia, parts of Egypt, America etc...
We were founders of some of the world's oldest civilisations,
The olmec vivilization.
African child, how far have you fallen?
I get so much joy and pride when I look back,
Back beyond the slave's era,
Further before the missionaries,
The beauty I see.
I am overwhelmed by the greatness of our Africanism.
Where did it all go wrong?
We have such great history
But it all sounds like a myth or a mystery
Especially when I say that we once walked tall and high in the foreign lands of America,
Not as slaves but as residents and rulers.
Our history shouts of our greatness,
It tells us that the first man to be saluted as Emperor of China
Was the son of the soil, the son of Africa.
Our history tells a story of our existence in India,
Our great kingdoms in Cambodia and Scotland.
Our history even goes back further to the ancient times of the Bible.
It speaks of ****** a great man in the eyes of the Lord,
The father of Cush, the founder of Cushite, a black nation.
It saddens me to see us disrespect our elders like this
For they hold our rich history.
They hold the bridges we have forgotten,
They hold the secrets of our Nation.
They were there when mama Africa gave birth to us
And we will weep when mama Africa swallows them up.
We will not cry for they have gone
But we will cry for the knowledge we have buried.
If you don't believe me ask the sage Ntate Credo Mutwa.
Wake up Africa. Wake up and Rise...
Rise African Child!
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 7:30 PM UTC
Poetry, the reason we are all here.
Writing words that we hope someone reads and hears
Hears in the sounds of the words, them coming alive
Vocally there is a potency to written words
Say them out loud, hear them, feel them form in your mouth
Soulfully continue this aged tradition of story telling
Poetry, is known globally, it transcends diplomacy,
it reaches souls, hearts and minds.
Like a minority,poetry is seen as weak and bleak,
but then life is not a bed of roses, there are thorns.
Reproachfully it is scorned, 'poet? Try writing a novel'
Wrongfully seen as the poor man to a novelist, poetry
at its best conveys, more in a few verses than a thousand
pages of a novel. Lonesome is the poet, that sees truth.
There is merit in poetry, the continuation of odes told by
the fireside, Viking, Persian, Celt, all historic bardic civilisations.
Purity in poetry leads down a path least travelled these days
but tales of yore still prevail, and Beowulf still roars.
Canterbury tales still elicit smiles, cries and woe.
Shakespeare, Dante, Poe, Neruda, Thomas, Petrarch all Poets with soul.
So, you tell me, and all of us poets are we the novelists poor relation?
Or, just reclaiming our station in life as the purest storytellers?
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
Realities as decomposed societies set, still lives on.
Society is the crossbred of fables and obsolesce.
Reality for the individual differs, believers in disbelief, disbelievers in disbelief.
Belief is six feet below.
Truth for believers lie in realities. Reality for the disbeliever lies in truths.
Atrocious civilisations nearing transcendental ruin, for the pillars are fractured, the bases decayed and the headstones are unbinding.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:53 PM UTC
*the tape spins . . . in over-reel
haphazard lines in convulsed black*
1.
Clear and still lake . . . hardly a ripple on the blue matter
Step to water’s edge . . . hesitant eyes briefly touch the surface
Heel lifts into the arch of civilisations hanging . . . humming inside-tunes
Foot pendulous and . . . toes dipping aching-slow sink in
clean and . . . s u b m e r g e d
Then rising, a single drop escapes . . . sweet h e a l
2.
Step forward . . . into the void . . . it has been waiting . . . sacrosanct
the flourish . . . to reach . . . constant . . . oh, it is here
finally
( . . . )
*this is
the truest understanding
to me . . . undeniable life-spring*
S T, 29 Augmented 2013
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 7:14 AM UTC
In an instant and without a word of warning,
A billion years’ worth of existential glue
Dissipated into the ether
As he took a final breath of our sickly air.
We’ve been struggling ever since.
The misery caused by humanity’s follies
Exhausted his everlasting grace
In just a few decades;
A blip on the radar of time.
We have unhinged the universe now;
That is what we do.
“You have brought this upon yourselves,” he laments.
Heterochromatic eyes glaze over with grief.
“Please,” we beg,
“Come back to us.”
Our fatal flaw:
Never knowing what we had
Until we killed it with our own hands.
A million civilisations in the cosmos
But we were the most desperate.
Even the savior of all
Cannot save us now.
We loved him as we love our Mother;
Still we turned a blind eye to his sickness,
Still we let her wither away
When she had nothing left to offer us.
We watch skyscrapers collapse,
Petrol fires blaze,
Holes being torn into skin
With the ease of a pencil through paper.
We plead for his forgiveness,
With a rotting feeling in our stomachs
Telling us he will never come.
The stars shine differently now,
Dimmed by the pollution of city lights,
Yet still we gather to watch for him.
Still we wait for him to fall to Earth again.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
Unfold the map of the world and trace
a kaleidoscopic boot-shaped country
rising from the waters lavished by Atlantic
in a multicultural basin at the heart
of a flat globe. The Mediterranean birthed
by the Zanclean deluge, witness of myriad
exoduses intertwining genes to encompass
peninsular cradles of early civilisations,
a medley of ethnicities trading goods
discoveries and ideas on sailing caravels.
Two thousand years later the remnants of
the Roman Empire vote, the democracy
they had co-founded two thousand years
before, on philosophies of justice, equality
and human rights. Power to the people,
lost in the process of history making,
populaces disillusioned and frustrated
at millenary successions of failed rulings
corroborated by corruption and personal
greed of those chosen to represent them.
Today Italians vote anti-establishment
thereby at long last rejecting ideologies
of the past, too old to bare credibility
electing a party set outside the box,
no left right nor centre, victory of populism,
communism and capitalism burned
at stake for their crippling sins albeit
international cold-war renaissance attempts.
Marking the end of the twentieth century
the twenty-first bets on the refreshing breezes
of new tantalising illusions, cuts to public debt,
income of citizenship, youth employment,
tax reductions campaigned to allegedly increase
family spending, for whatever we do we are
all bound by a unique reigning doctrine under
the unified global empire, of consumerism.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 11:15 AM UTC
My eyes have encompassed all the world
Surveying its glory and splendour
Civilisations advance
Society cultivating cultures
Technology, created and innovated
By human beings being knowledgeable
Expanding capacity, capital, territory
In terror, losing identity
Working, moving, breathing
They cry
“Worthy!”
But is this worthy?
My eyes have encompassed all the earth
Surveying her beauty, her majesty
Mountains, hills, and forests of lush green
Beasts and creatures of all shapes and sizes
Oceans, seas, rivers, clear blue sky
They all seem to cry
“Worthy!”
Is there more to this?
My eyes gaze into the heavens
Pondering all their mysteries
Planets, systems, billions of stars
Galaxies upon galaxies lightyears afar
And I hear in the distance
Echoes of angels and heavenly hosts
Thrones, dominions, powers, rulers
Saints and elders around a radiant throne
They all cry
“Worthy!”
I bow my head in awe
And in silence reflected
What the measure of a man is worth
In the grand scheme of things
Where one exists amidst seven billion
Working tirelessly to no end
Amid a vast and glorious creation
Which will all draw to an end
Am I worthy?
And I hear in the distance
The one called Worthy seated on the throne
Calls out to me
“From the dust have I fashioned you
Formed you into My image
From the lowliest estate have I given you
Heavenly heritage
My child
Once an outsider, an enemy
have I bought you with my shed blood.
You are made worthy
For I am Worthy
As with all who are Mine.
So define not your worth on futile things
Or others who lack the clarity to see
You are worthy
As I am Worthy
Worry not your worth
Which is found only
in Me”.
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 8:24 AM UTC
sometimes i wonder
is this all we could have been?
this mundane little bubble
and all that lies therein?
all there is to do,
all the places we are needed
all the problems we have caused
and the progressions we've impeded
soothed by the exchange of a small piece of paper
for useless items we're told we need
to fit into an image of a generic person
complicit in a culture we immortalize and breed
or others by their own conviction
in a set of rules older than this
to tell them how to make decisions
and promise them eternal bliss
each taught not to question preachings
or face some form of indefinite sanction
to remain obedient to a master
legitimizing the subsequent action
i don't understand.
how can this be the epitome of civilisation
so full of ignorance and hatred
we fail to see the beauty that surrounds?
how can this be the epitome of human intelligence
that we need glass screens for communication
and lenses to record our every movement?
how can this be the epitome of the human existence
that inequality is perpetuated
and poverty ignored?
one day you will realise what it is you have done
in your desperate bid for power.
you doomed the endurance of your kind
for the sake of one, tall tower.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
In the drawer beside my bed
there lies a graveyard
where scribbles cut to ribbons
rot in literary purgatory.
Discontinued timelines
suspended in the could-have-been,
you know, that awkward space between the realms of possibilities?
Civilisations falling into disrepair,
starved of vision,
endless streams of thought tricking into discontinuation.
It's all in the drawer beside my bed,
beside my head,
that knitted them together
and in the same breath, tore them apart.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 12:01 PM UTC
Im not one for romance but
Her hair, all of the beauty leftover from a palette after a masterpiece is created, who said brown was the colour of ****
Her eyes, the green of mother nature that gives my heart a buzz to infinity and beyond.
Her nose, the reason I need to smell good.
Her lips, the cushions that keep me up at night.
Her smile, a capital U, the bliss that eclipses my own and blacks out my thoughts whilst it revs my heartbeat.
Her voice, it can babble on like early civilisations but im happy I met-her, for I have so much love to give.
Her words, have magnitude to dig holes which would make the sea sunk and send waters to hell to drown my demons, my own revelation.
Her jokes, they're pretty bad actually however
Her laugh, a record stuck on repeat of all the things I want to hear, the perfect rhythm that sets my soul ablaze and makes me laugh back senselessly.
Her hugs, a second home that has everything right with the world inside.
Her love, the warmth that sinks its way into every crevice of my heart, with the heat to break bedrock and boil Satan to the heavens, a heatwave of affection that I could surf like a beach *** I love her, I love
You.
Until time is forgotten or matter and anti-matter stop fighting.
I will think about you.
The reason I'm still writing...a silly love poem.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 12:16 PM UTC
Lacklove and manless in Moloch
Vile **** sucker in Moloch
Moloch
In whom I set disinherited
Dispirited
Listing to Arvo Pärt
As civilisations wax and wane around me
As towers are raised to the sky
Left to rot
Then lived in
As the furnaces of the world whirr on incandescently
And as I try to use long words to make it all seem better
And as words finally fail
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 6:03 PM UTC
If Mankind perished:
Exterminated cataclysmically
Like the dragon dinosaurs,
How long would our cities stand?
How long before our cars rusted
And buildings toppled,
To leave the odd dam or pyramid
Poking through the tangled jungle mass?
A few hundred years they say.
Then nothing.
All gone.
Yet have such holocausts
Blighted Man before
Back through those swirling mists of time,
Thousands of years ago?
Great civilisations built by clever men and women,
Only to be dashed to the ground
By who knows what.
Atlantis and much more.
Advancement cruelly culled.
For Man,
Like the world,
Is much older than we thought
Or think.
Some say that aliens helped us build
Those ancient wonders.
Yet maybe we should cast away this
Self – effacing view:
Acknowledge that
We did it all
Ourselves.
Paul Butters
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
Countries fabricated
by roaming people drawing
borders behind them,
trails of hostility
to select those who would cross
rims after them, to keep
resources to themselves,
lands of prosperity
on which to build, greed
homes to shield,
newly engendered families
xenophobes,
induced to believe
by governors they are different,
they are better, superior
and ultimately worth
much more, than any stranger
standing on the other side
of imaginary lines, they are barbarians,
unbelonging
to great civilisations, against whom
we need protection,
stealing scientists
left right and centre,
research peddled as development
promising a high from nuclear weapons,
bombs called mothers to adore
campaigning over a grand potency
participating in, an international
mallet-measuring contest
whilst signing accords,
for those who have to keep
and those who don’t
not to aspire, to acquire,
a prize for populations
who have successfully or can
destroy approaching aliens
simply by, pressing the right button
on a joystick suitable for games,
of mass destruction
ten thousand nuclear warheads
ready for use.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC
«Lorsque s’en vient le soir…» ( When the evening is falling down)
Les soirs du presqu’automne, sont nimbés de cette magnificence de la Nature qui sourds et qui mâture. C’est un temps particulièrement propice pour la méditation et l’éveil.
Il est bel et bon de se réfugier aux côtés du tronc d´un grand arbre ou de respirer sur son balcon, au soir d’une journée ardente et brûlante de chaleur et de penser aux destinées des êtres que nous avons aimés, que nous aimons et aussi à celles et ceux qui viendront après nous, si nous savons leur faire une place et agissons pour ne pas laisser trop saccager notre «commune Planète» que nous avons seulement reçu «en indivis».
Il faut parfois faire «silence en soi» pour mieux comprendre les attentes et les rêves des autres, forcément différents des nôtres, ce qui est cependant une vraie chance. Je me plais à imaginer la beauté vive des jours de la fin de l’été décliner, bien trop vite, et je pense au caractère prométhéen de nombre des projets humains : philosophiques, politiques et même scientifiques en me disant :
«Pourvu que nous ne passions pas à côté de l’essentiel ?»
c’est à dire, de ce sourire tranquille du Monde, de sa beauté cosmique qui nous trouble et nous déchire, nous dévoilant ces infinis en perpétuel chaos, que nous ne connaîtrons jamais complètement, mais qui nous incitent à penser, à rechercher et à entreprendre et suscitent ce besoin de créer des civilisations plus «Humaines » et mieux «Humanistes », tirant les être vers le haut plutôt que de les rabaisser et de se perdre dans des attitudes de «fermeture » ou pire de mépris, en exaspérant leurs peurs et la nôtre.
Vous conviendrez que le lent raccourcissement des journées nous offre cette joie simple, goûter la fin du jour en pensant déjà au nouveau jour qui se lèvera demain et nous offrira, à son tour, la magnificence de ses couleurs, de ses opportunités, des moments de si doux bonheurs et de plaisirs pensifs.
Paul Arrighi
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
what makes us beautiful? printed notes sanctioned by the government? three layers of plastic that attaches to the skin. electricity that runs in your spines, blue rays invading your lonely night. a night where jasmine’s weep because you’ve lost sight of their existence.what makes us beautiful? pixelated rays emitting diodes of dopamine. colours and colours of chrome attached to screens. what makes us beautiful, then? 360 degree surveillance across borders and borders of human civilisations. what makes us beautiful then? maybe a solitary ray of sun as it wraps around your face at dawn? but how would you know that, as you’re doused from the pixels of yesterday, making you numb enough to make sleep through the morning.
Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 12:17 AM UTC
love drifts between you
and me like a musical sea
and civilisations thrift shamrocks
to hold us both close
trees are happy to pose
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
Earth's mistress moon and glorious master sun,
from whither is it that they both have come?
Hovering around in the sky during night and day,
how is it that they both have been placed that way?
Playing it seems opposite roles to our mind's eye,
yet shedding light and warmth down from up high.
One is the mere reflection and also shade of the other,
relaying light in degrees for the days of month to cover.
Then disappearing briefly at the end of this cycle
only to appear again looking no more than a trifle.
The moon revolves around the earth
which itself revolves around the sun,
But what does the sun revolve around?
All the heavenly bodies indicate movement and rotation,
this is common knowledge and is based on observation.
There is a cycle that resembles the four seasons of the year
made up of four different ages lasting thousands of years.
Each has an effect on the state and evolution of man's mind,
moving from light to darkness and then back again over time.
Modern science will eventually prove all this one day,
as it gradually moves from darkness to light on its way.
If man's mind is stooped in ignorance and cannot discern the light,
modern science itself is at a standstill; progress is groping for sight.
The four ages are those of Light, Thought, Energy and Matter.
Each one preceeds the other and are all contained in one cycle,
which lasts for about twenty-four thousand of our earth years.
As the sun also revolves around on its orbit in space
it comes closer at times to its orbital centre in place.
This movement resembles a giant ascending and descending arc
in which all the four ages mentioned alternate from light to dark.
Each arc has a lifespan of approximately twelve thousand years
and each arc incorporates the four ages comprising this sphere.
At opposite ends of the sphere the first and last ages are twice their length
moving each from minimum to maximum effect and back again in strength.
Those ages in between have each their duration which should be noted too
playing their roles in this cyclic transition affecting everyone including you.
As each cycle is completed, passing through these four ages,
man's consciousness and history undergo dramatic changes;
one has only to reflect on the rise and fall of past civilisations.
We have just come through a short transitional phase from a long dark age of matter
and are now on the ascending arc early in the electrical age also called that of energy.
___________________________________
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
*Since times Immemorial
Mankind has held on to Memories
Of All kinds .
Carbon dating has been done
On Some
In the Caves of lost Civilisations
Still ,deeply etched on the Rocks
To Which ,
Weather has never played a Spoilsport.
Heirloom Jewellery,
Antique paintings and Artifacts
Passed down the generations
Well Preserved.
With the Advent of Technology
Memories made
Whenever & Wherever.
Saved , Deleted, Retrieved
You name it & It is done
Print or Digital
All Fun .*
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
The aliens looked at earth
And its civilisations
Like we see mayflies
And their small streams
And they looked at civilisations
Wax and wane
On a small blue marble
And one said
"Shall we stop it?
That agar plate has gone a bit out of hand"
To which the other replied
"No, they'll tire themselves out eventually"
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
It's a moment before you start
The pause after you've finished
The continuation after the pause
It's reviewing yourself in the goal you have in mind
Making it toward the line that means you made it
Make it everyday
Start it
Pause
Continue the next item
Review
Disobedience to the list ensures no outcomes
Obedience is an A for Effort and a satisfying day done efficiently
Follow it to the letter
This is the founding of civilisations
Rituals, Manners, Habits
Let yourself follow
In order to follow through
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 10:17 AM UTC
Can you run this by me one more time
I'm still trying to understand
How nation can war against nation
Man fight against man
When did we become enemies
Of a race that is OURS
Was it when we made borders
Or created offensive words
Like third world countries
Where they are less economically developed
And we are proper civilisations
I see power and status with words there are connotations
Who drew the line to pit one another
The haves against the have nots
Shouldn't we draw on the happiness of what we have
Instead of wanting what others have got
Politics taking control
What they are doing is not socially understandable
So how can it be acceptable
When consequences are irrevocable
Leaving out what really matters
Thinking of us instead of everyone else
Taking the making of religion
From a worship of God to a worship of self
No more hospitals
No more schools
Long gone is law and order
What is justice
When there is no humanity
Look around you
All I see is blood that is red
Countries which are destroyed
On both sides of the fence
The blame is never on only one persons head
The problem goes much deeper than that
We'll keep on digging our way straight into hell
Which is soon all that we will have left
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC