"commanders" poems
ah, enslave without compassion
bound ancestors you must impale
go seek and show no mercy
let those who escape carry the tale
all the sufferers bearing witness
to their ministers spilling their blood
staggered screeches from bleak recesses
regicide plotters bend to the dust
with unmitigated conquest and **********
trample them under your tyranny
slimy enshrinement brings into question
what's divinely lamented for
scatter populations with ruthlessness
let them choose sycophancy or sword
reappoint difficult commanders
for instigation unbroken awaits
kept in frenzy, they whisper confusion
never quite sure of their fate
with unmitigated conquest and **********
trample them under your tyranny
let the cowardly unlock the gates for you
to heroically claim what's inside
crowds you abhor kneeling in wonder
all the world is your ****** bride
punctuate the roads with tollgates
***** monuments to broadcast your name
all your banquet's guests are your enemies
entertain them with one another's shame
with unmitigated conquest and **********
trample them under your tyranny
with unmitigated conquest and **********
trample them under your tyranny
under your tyranny
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.
Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.
Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.
Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.
Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
FROM MOZAMBIQUE TO SOUTH AFRICA AND THE STRUGGLE IN BETWEEN
from Mozambique to the belly of the queen mother Afrika,
we were born soldiers, strangled from the arms of our mothers,
strangers to our engraved fathers in their early graves,
starve and strive in the command of our commanders,climb
and fall hills of many mountains, with countless bodies i carried
in my arms, moved from one camp to another, with blood of my
comrades fled in the river, as crocodiles tumble and roles with
them, they scream and cried while we crossed the Crocodile River.
a refuge toe to giant Afrika our queen mother, this has become
our home too, regardless of the chaos we've rendered. i know no
memories but nightmare in the surface of Mozambique, they see the beauty of its minerals and crops, the tremendous sea and scattered
informal settlement for farming left by my people to south
Africa, but in true essence i see graves, grenades, and guns
buried in the bodies of my comrades from Mozambique to
south Africa and the struggle in between
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
There used to be a time when you were paddling down the river
You'd hear that banjo song and you'd go all a quiver
You know the song I mean it always made me shiver
Now, there's something scarier when you're out there on that river
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
No matter how far south you go there's tv shows galore
Cajun this and Cajun that and Cajun even more
Louisiana sold out it's a reality tv *****
If you find name one show that's filming you know there's 15 more
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Of all the shows out there I don't get Honey Boo Boo
I mean, look at how that child looks we're talking nasty ju ju
There's a high priestess out there who did some Boo Boo Voo Doo
I've never seen another kid who looks like Honey Boo Boo
(banjo music....deliverance theme)
There's not a place down south not owned by Duck Commander
They own the rights on everything, on every salamander
If there's a deal on anything, these good old boys will land 'er
The Robertson's own everything, those Buck 'n Duck Commanders
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Now, as I said that banjo song was scary and it was a real big hit
But, now it takes up second place, something else will make you 'git
No need to fear the banjo being played by a hermit
It's when the State Trooper asks..."Boy, where's your paid up film permit?"
( banjo music...deliverance playout)
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
A World Without Wi-Fi
»by Megha Elizabeth Koshy.
-------------------------------------
The people in the world
Like machines they go
With tiny commanders
On their palms
At the streets, at the malls
At the office, at the homes.
Some even chattering to their buddies
At the next door!
People behave like dummies
Who carefully keep ears sharp
To there notification tones,
But never to their mummies!
Kids who pay attention for their
Comments and likes
But never bother to brush their teeth twice!
People are slaves of technology
Like electronic gadgets
If not plugged in they run out of life.
Now just imagine....
A World Without Wi-Fi
For one single day
People may fall sick
And some will even die!
--------------------------------------
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 2:51 PM UTC
Who knew they would be so trendy
in today's era of the ".com"
As commanders in chief in a modern war
declaring their weapon in silent unison, "Photobomb"
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
Once the Emperor Charles of Spain,
With his swarthy, grave commanders,
I forget in what campaign,
Long besieged, in mud and rain,
Some old frontier town of Flanders.
Up and down the dreary camp,
In great boots of Spanish leather,
Striding with a measured *****
These Hidalgos, dull and damp,
Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather.
Thus as to and fro they went,
Over upland and through hollow,
Giving their impatience vent,
Perched upon the Emperor’s tent,
In her nest, they spied a swallow.
Yes, it was a swallow’s nest,
Built of clay and hair of horses,
Mane, or tail, or dragoon’s crest,
Found on hedge-rows east and west,
After skirmish of the forces.
Then an old Hidalgo said,
As he twirled his gray mustachio,
“Sure this swallow overhead
Thinks the Emperor’s tent a shed,
And the Emperor but a Macho!”
Hearing his imperial name
Coupled with those words of malice,
Half in anger, half in shame,
Forth the great campaigner came
Slowly from his canvas palace.
“Let no hand the bird ******
Said he solemnly, “nor hurt her!”
Adding then, by way of jest,
“Golondrina is my guest,
’Tis the wife of some deserter!”
Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft,
Through the camp was spread the rumor,
And the soldiers, as they quaffed
Flemish beer at dinner, laughed
At the Emperor’s pleasant humor.
So unharmed and unafraid
Sat the swallow still and brooded,
Till the constant cannonade
Through the walls a breach had made
And the siege was thus concluded.
Then the army, elsewhere bent,
Struck its tents as if disbanding,
Only not the Emperor’s tent,
For he ordered, ere he went,
Very curtly, “Leave it standing!”
So it stood there all alone,
Loosely flapping, torn and tattered,
Till the brood was fledged and flown,
Singing o’er those walls of stone
Which the cannon-shot had shattered.
1.9k
Listen to me Comrades.
The Battle waits ahead.
Keep your weapon close and you will not dread
Comrades, please don’t tread on me
Let that be handled by the enemy
Do you feel the stares coming from the hills?
Make sure you make them want to take their final pill.
March with me Comrades.
The battle is here
Do not let them see your eyes full of dying fear
This will be ****** shoot them where it hurts
Make each bullet stop their final blurt
Almost done comrades! Keep mowing them down
Make our commanders laugh while making theirs frown
Stop my Comrades
I want you to look behind you
Look at all these bodies on the ground spewing their blood too
Mourn your fallen brothers, but your enemies as well
Every lifeless body here will make a mothers eye swell
Keep on Comrades there is nothing you can do
Just make sure your mother eyes don’t swell up too.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
Intellectual Insubordinates Infiltrating Independently Isolated Islands...
People Positively Promote Popping Pain Pills
Do Dummies Distinguish Different Demographic Disorders
Crazy Commanders Create Confused Combat Corps
Unorthodox Ultimatums Usually Unfold United Unions
Things That Typically Transform Taint Temperaments
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
The meek rattle the earth
The battle distracted the clerks
The overseer dipped into his potion
As commotion in the open
Became action and it started gaining traction
And without pause the commanders reacted with factionalism
For a fracture collapses community structures
They rupture with signs of mistrust
Institutions induce us to fear our own neighbor
And keep our eyes forward and fixed on our labor
But me and you, that's the True True
Helping out when I know what I can do
Spreading gratitude will get you bread
And clothed enough to stay alive
Because we'll only survive if we help each other
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 10:20 AM UTC
In my trench and freezing cold,
saw a guy get his helmet shot when he stood up a bit feeling bold,
still alive but has a wound,
I should be back in hometown with mum and pop,
eating turkey,
but instead I get this slop,
My adrenaline has been going for two weeks and its starting to wear,
but sleep I do not dare,
no man's land is all I will see,
and my dead friends welcoming me,
I start to nod into sleeping fright,
but again I fight,
I start to hear singing from across the field,
delusions I yield,
but again I hear,
and every now and then a cheer,
all drained of fear,
I pop my head up and see the Germans singing,
Christmas carols ringing?
A mate next to me starts to sing the same tunes,
so I pick it up and more do,
we must be loons,
but the singing together goes all through the night,
British and Germans, ever the hard ***** are singing too,
in the morning a brave chap gets out of the trench,
walks across the field that has the death stench,
no fire comes upon him nor gas,
but a man from the otherside gets up and rushes to meet him fast,
I dont see what they are saying but they exchange cigarettes and matches,
then the peace hatches,
we all get up on both sides and go talk with our enemies from yesterday,
we only smile because there is nothing to say,
except today is Christmas and we both want to go home,
but tomorrow we will both be firing at each other alone,
a football game break out and our commanders are even smiling,
no order to pour into filing,
just smoking pipes and waiting for it to end,
we show each other pictures of our girls and what they send,
no longer two side,
but two humans that needed someone in to confide,
we shake hands and go back to our trenches,
sit on our poorly built benches,
and wait till tomorrow when we are no longer a son,
but enemies trying to **** each one.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
Coming out of the sleepy terrarium auditorium,
Whispering consciousness of rotten handfuls,
Then a great stranger, obelisk tall and stretching,
His hand and giving me a clue of what to do next,
A searing and scathing, loose triumphant look,
I almost tried to shield my eyes from its beauty,
Sound spilling out of the speakers in cacophony,
Climaxing and exhaling like a tired holy shaman,
Tranquil and pondering existence,
Wondering and re-examining what was the real reason,
Somehow it all seemed to melt away and each chattering,
Capsized example fell on the ears of catalysts,
Somehow the morning light had seamed through the curtain,
Training the new apprentices of next abreast,
Sitting in the waiting room panting and wailing,
When will it be their turn,
To change the minds of America,
While setting fire to the office building next door,
One of the commanders of chaos sat back in an easy chair smiling,
Further melting away layers I saw the,
Saints,
And,
Devils.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC
Alert the Ankobeahene and Kontihene
To secure the women and children,
For the language is war,
Remind the Kyidomhene,
Nifahene and the Benkumhene
To caution their men
For a possible storm,
Men of war!
Fill the mighty *** of fire
With the water fetched
From the Godstwi river,
Do not forget to mix it
With the divine talismans,
For the pale-skin men
Who knocked our doors
With their good news,
Are now knocking our
Doors with their gun news,
Represent their commanders with stones,
And place them in the boiling mixture,
Has the omnipotent Kwame and
Mother Earth approved of this?
My servants, check on the ***
Whether it has disintegrated,
Then we expect defeat,
If not, play the drums
And blow the horns of war
In delight and strength,
War!
War!
War!
Who is to lead us?
For the *** on the fire has
Expressed our defeat by
Wailing and disintegrating,
Oh yes, nevertheless the
Gods and ancestors have chosen
The vibrant queen mother of Ejisu,
Ah, though we are fighting
A war of contempt,
Her Royal majesty,
Nana Yaa Asantewaa
Shall lead the entire Ashanti army,
Weep for your children,
Oh, great Krobea Asante Kotoko,
For they are going in
For an unpleasant defeat,
But for the sake of
The courage of Yaa Asantewaa,
We shall fight!
Fight!
Fight!
Fight! Till we see defeat,
For the moon moves slowly,
But by daytime it crosses the sky.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:27 AM UTC
Standing in the dewy grass
I hope and pray that they will pass
But they may not
but come to stay
I know not
If I die this day
The Redcoats come a thousand strong
their battle line is wide and long
What's ordained
I can not say
I know not
If I die this day
We stand apart but look across
to the other line and toss
a look of nervousness
then pray
I know not
If I die this day
Commanders yell, Commanders bark
their orders all along the park
but then a shot rings out and in
the confusion, it begins
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
a bird on a wire
anxiously tweets
outside my
Good Friday
pane
The Carl Vinson
battle group
plies the China Seas
rolling through waves
like a deadly
Tsunami
MOABS plaster
mountainsides,
commanders are
certain the right
bomb, for the right job
produced a righteous
body count
Tomahawks strafe
another Syrian
neighborhood, already
desperately choking on
the stench of corpses
“Crucify Him!”
They shout
“We want blood!”
“Give em a
good scourging”
Before we place
a crown of thorns
on his head
Let the blood drip
pierce him with
a pike, let it all
spill out
The pundits
sanctify the
sacraments
of death with
strategic acuity
Just another day
in a closer walk
with Thee, for the
Pilgrims of Sorrow
Music: Soul Stirrers,
Pilgrim of Sorrow
Painting:
The Road of Sorrows
Nina Marchenko
Good Friday 2017
Lavallette NJ
jbm
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
And it Was that The Holy Father created Man in his image with Adam
And as well it Was that Eve followed in the recurrent fathom.
So that balance was brought about to the world of men,
The Fallen, Son Of The Morning, leading them,
Sinned most grievously upon the Father Of The World,
That in the End, The Lord found something to be abhorred
Through many Ages and upon battlefields Heavenly and Demonic,
The Earth then found its paradise to become quite rotted,
The blood of the fallen Angelic creations
Stained so the ground, that interpretations
Failed to meet the descriptive magnitude,
To begin to scribe the crimson-red deluge.
-
What seemed to be Eternity had passed,
More than some, sick of fighting, took chance,
To live, to escape to the safety of Earth,
To baptize themselves in what once was paradise and birth,
God’s Angels and Lucifer’s commanders both
Fled to live with hope of peace and wroth
The beginnings of the end, without intent,
The destruction would result in the death of the children,
Created of Man, Angel, And Devil’s mixed seed,
The Nephilim created with all spliced genes,
Superior to Our Father’s first,
In strength, in mind, in spiritual girth,
Recorded Here are Scriptures of the last
God-like children from the past,
Describing their Parents in personal detail,
Shedding light then, on where modern day fails
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
Standing in the dewy grass
I hope and pray that they will pass
But they may not
'stead come to stay
I know not
If I die this day
The Redcoats come a thousand strong
their battle line is wide and long
What's ordained
I can not say
I know not
If I die this day
We stand apart but look across
to the other line and toss
a look of nervousness
then pray
I know not
If I die this day
Commanders yell, Commanders bark
their orders all along the park
but then a shot rings out and in
the confusion, it begins
Standing 'cross an open field
neither of our lines will yield
one line of blue
the other gray
I know not
if I die this day
Often seems we've fought in vain
and 'long the march have caused much pain
I've left good comrades
along the way
I know not
If I die this day
My brother serves 'neath Mile's Flag
I serve beneath a diff'rent rag
and if I **** him
what's to say
I know not
If we'll die this day
Commanders bark, Commanders yell
and call us to the gates of hell
then all at once morn's silence splits
as men are shredded, torn to bits
My craft rocks gently through the sea
and towards the beach on which I'll be
to face a wall
and see Death play
I do think
I may die this day
"Keep your heads down" Sergeants call
as on us squalls of lead rain fall
some will succumb
and fall away
I do think
I may die this day
As we close on norman sand
to bear the brunt of Swastic hand
around me tough men
kneel and pray
I think that
I may die this day
Commanders shout, Commanders scream
and seconds turn to awful dream
then a bump and ramp unfolds
for many luck no longer holds
Desert sand fills hair and ears
It seems I've been at this for years
It's over now fore
Death holds sway
I know that
I will die this day
The day was normal as it could
we took precautions as we should
but life's one
IED away
I know that
I will die this day
Soon I'll be with others who
have given up their own lives too
for keeping our
home country's way
I know that
I will die this day
And through these fading eyes of mine
I see generations who've crossed that line
and as colors
fade to gray
I know that
I will die this day
All I feel are grains of sand
that arid winds wash 'cross my hands
what happens next
who's to say
I know now that
I die this day.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC
I dreamt a dream of child soldiers and blood
A boy small and stout laying motionless on the grass
His little body covered by plantain leaves
His shoes swallowed by debris
The songs of the ancestors long forgotten as their tune is swallowed by the cry of battle and ******
Nameless boys and innocent stolen girls
Graves with no tombstones
And commanders with no rules
This is war
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 8:42 AM UTC
King crest folded the leaves to his breast
ANOTHER TEST, ANOTHER TEST
A shared sermon for the peasants and the slaves
They call this hormones but I think their bummers
Now with the political rallies rolling like dice games
And leader and commanders breaking up their own fame
We sit around and twiddle what thumbs we have left
Why not result to a life of petty civilized theft?
There is no reason for treason unless paid off right
A smile from anyone is worth any price
Streets hiss with the white whistle of truck mist
Mind don't matter if the scissor is made of batter
Nod off if your putt off by the way the girls talk round' here
At night the howl of the moon is nothing but the clatter
Of a rusted
*****
Spoon
Cob webs made of calm cool make their way
Into my imaginations drool
A spool of silk is spilt from the hands of hounds
Devil trespassers, trust not
Their masters
Each hour has past and each our of the future is spent
We twirl like we rule but our time here in history
(Booy said this one)
Means nothing at all
Battered souls wave chipped and damaged bats
Baseball players used to smoke and be fat
The human soul in a uniform and winning
Drinking and sinning yet every night
Beginning
Fast is as fast does for the fuzz mumbles he's "numb"
Find the wife laid in pipe neck deep in a family fought strife
Therapy is broken cause' she forgot her morning coffee
Thank God the tile still knows how to do some talkin'
Help is spilt cross' the floor like milk is poured
God's know they were born into a life of nothing more
Greek speaks bout' feats and lies amore
Tell me, dear mister, lead a life of fear or a life of bore?
Hot twilight
Morning maelstrom
Love is a loser's game
Love is
A
One way
Aug 29, 2011
Aug 29, 2011 at 1:45 AM UTC
*Surrounded by mud
our feet make love to the surface
the bullets kiss us, the bayonets hug
our intestines and the blankets
cuddle with our cold, decaying corpses
we write to our wives, letters that will never be delivered
the wet ground gives our feet an unpleasant present
in the form of gangrene, the rats
make themselves at home feasting upon the rotten
flesh of fallen comrades while the maggots make use
of newly formed skulks and aged decaying bone
then comes the symphony of artillery
the roar of gunfire, the marching of tanks
the mighty foot soldiers, and
the majestic golden smoke of mustard gas
the trenches become our unwanted love
and unholiest of homes, "the tears do not shed
the blood does not spill, and the soldier does not die"
is the common the battle cry sung upon us
constantly by our commanders
but on the contrary
these bitter notes of blind fate forever sing to us
the illusion of life and the irony of war.....*
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
Napoleon Bonaparte
1769 Corsica is where he got his start
One of the greatest commanders in history
His manner of death a 200-year-old mystery
Napoleon played it close to the vest
With his armies he was always the best
But 'twas nothing he could do
When he met his Waterloo
Lived his last few years under house arrest
Napoleon drank the water and headed for the loo
He did nothing different than you or I could ever do
Be kind to your skin and protect your bone-a-parts
Remember that's where good hygiene starts!
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 12:00 PM UTC
The battle over poetry
The soldiers fight
their words, their weapons.
The historic battlegrounds dedicated in honorable memorials,
studied in English classrooms everywhere.
The meek soldiers follow in the footsteps of the noble commanders that have paved the battlegrounds for them.
The quiet soldiers want to fight,
the drafted,
given the gift of perfect aim but can never choose the right target.
I join the fight,
The fight to express thoughts and beliefs
Your words, silver bullets, sink deep into my skin.
They do not reach my heart, however.
They sink deep into parts of me that will not **** me,
but will leave me screaming in pain.
The pain of your words cut deep.
I struggle to fight back,
my pain, my motivation to keep up the fight.
The drafted are invisible
The fight continues,
the soldiers longing to be commemorated for the pain they endured in the fight.
We are the drafted,
the unnoticed.
Our pens, our weapons
and this battle is far from over
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 9:03 PM UTC
coming home at half past dusk
my body is so very weary
my fingers are cold
my tummy
empty
my thoughts are of home
as i trudge my way
through the darkness
a darkness that falls like
autumn leaves.
from late afternoon
the darkness settles
on the ground
starting with the sky
it falls like a billowing eiderdown
onto a cold autumnal bed
twilight flutters
and spiraling down
it slips quietly between the streets
filling fields
covering
in layer upon layer
of blues and violet hues
upon the houses
and the buildings below
tiny stars begin to glow
as the sky turns to indigo
dreams fall upon the cars
and their lonely passengers
radios on
heater cranked to ten
everyone yawning with wishes of home
waiting for the lights to change
commanders of stop and go
the sentry lollipops
are shining their beams
that dazzle so bright
like stars that burn my eyes
as only i can see
the mirage of wondrous colours
its funny how the imperfections
in my vision
make the ordinary
extra ordinary
as i am blinded by something
not real
unreal
more than ordinary
glorious illusions
of glittering light
and as i slowly open
and close my eyes
playing with
the beams to elongate
bend and dazzle
red, gold and green
blinking in disbelief
at the traffic lights delight
night falls and dutifully
it carpets the world
from work
to home
from home
to work
from work
to home...
ad infinitum
coming home
at the end of the day
to the aroma of stew
the warmth of love
my key opens the lock to a
temporary freedom
and the so begins the unwinding
of the machines fingers
the hamster wheel stops at the door
and gratitude fills my soul as i walk in
through the real world portal
dogs barking
cats milling
food
laughter
love
yes this...
and only this....
this is a joyous wage
for a job well done
Nov 5, 2023
Nov 5, 2023 at 11:37 AM UTC
The empire is guilty of numerous sins.
It hasn't always acted like the emblem of justice.
More blood stains its hands than Pontius Pilate.
Interests often blind her from obvious truth.
Still, she is war ready.
Her armies and commanders of the sea stand guard.
Because every once in a while she gets it right.
She brings truth.
She brings fairness.
She brings justice.
On occasion, she can be a global symbol.
Now, red lines in the sand find themselves crossed.
The empire shakes with anger.
Loss of innocence, we cannot tolerate.
Her people will soon be on her side.
She is war ready.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
Rare gems born of Mankind gifts to humanity.
Perfections of heaven's creations.
Angels with hidden wings earth's tenants.
Like petals of flowers pride of the garden,
As to irokos the standing glories of the forest,
So they are in the land of men exalted.
They are tenacious, judicious, meticulous and courageous.
Lovable, adorable, teachable but indomitable.
As melody to songs,
Music to souls,
And Whispers to evening wind.
So they are to mother June.
Gentle and kind sophisticated and phenomenal.
Their hearts are but of gold and ways divine.
They are road pointers, Motion movers,
Light bearers and trailblazers.
They are attention commanders, collections of respect.
Epitomes of beauty narrations of handsome tales.
They are the codeless code of pleasure locked in a wordless wonder,
The hive of treasure no dragon can plunder.
We are the Junites born of mankind,
Gifts to humanity.
HAPPY BIRTH MONTH TO ALL THE JUNE BABIES.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC