"commentator" poems
PRAYER IS A TEAM SPORT
[In the voice of your favourite over-excited rugby commentator.]
We're inside the final quarter. We've seen a bone-cruncher of a contest today and there's no sign of a let up, the pray-ers gather for the next engagement, positioning themselves with practiced confidence, skillfully supporting each other, ready for the push. You can see every knee and each hand bears the marks from this long muddied pray, red and brown staining every inch of their entwined limbs; - arms and hands holding fast.
Front row.
Second row.
Back row.
Digging in for the big push.
The opposition has played an intelligent game, taking advantage of any lapse in concentration, any sign of tiredness, looking for any weakness to exploit. The pray-ers know they can't afford any slips now, they need to keep up the pressure, maintain their advance deep in the opposition's half. Every yard of gained ground needs to be defended.
The pray-ers' Coach looks on - look at his smile! You can see the pride he has for his team, he's schooled them on every tactic of the opposition and now that training, that practice has paid dividends. This is a team of pray-ers that so clearly know each other well, supporting each other every step of the way. You can see their coordinated pray, their sustained effort and the sheer pleasure they feel when they are praying together.
The pray-ers drive on. The sound of their groans and deep breaths merge into one. There's a rhythm to it, a cadence as together they push and PUSH.
The opposition's footing is slipping, the pray-ers' momentum gains pace and, YES! the resistance collapses. Oh, that must have hurt!
But there's no time for complacency, the pray-ers re-form their line looking for the next opening, the next opportunity to push forward.
This is a joy to see. The Coach shouts his encouragement - this was never going to be an easy struggle; you can't dismiss the opposition - they are a seasoned though sometimes disorganised team and they can take you by surprise. But as we've seen here today, the Coach knows that if his team of pray-ers keep to the plan and pray to their strengths, the opposition are surely in for a hiding. The pray-ers will triumph and they will take the winners' crown.
- Now back to the action.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 2:14 AM UTC
1. You could not wait til halftime to check your poem or add one.
2. You wrote a sonnet about pretty horses. (Broncos)
3.You wrote a poem about kittens.(Panthers)
4. As the ball soars through the air, you are reminded of a bird in flight.
5. A Superbowl commercial inspired a new poem.
6. You paused the game with your DVR to write a piece.
7. You think the referees look like majestic Zebra on the African plains.
8. You ponder the coin toss and wonder of chance and philosophical questions as to whether life is like a paradox, then write yourself a poem about it.
9. When a tackle is made, you think upon the animalistic nature of humanity and write a haiku about it.
10. There is a notebook and pen right next to your remote and munchies.
11. You have a neck ache due to looking at your hellopoetry site and then back up at the t.v.
12. You write Peyton Manning farewell poem.
13. The commentator of the game makes a poetical statement and you use it in your latest poem.
14. The crowd boos a player and you feel compelled to write the pain of number 94 in a poem.
15. Last but not least, you might be a poet if you are reading this and the game is on.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
Loosing gravity, I hovered above,
The fields and woods, hills and dales,
Egrets and cranes sensing a competetor
Near gave a chase, that was nice though.
'Just a metaphor that means a search
For beauty and lasting meaning' I heard,
Who said it; unknown commentator viewing
Every movement, each moment, of universe!
What a mystery, I thought for a moment,
Not the 'I' before, but one that is aggragated,
Above the narrow limits of me,my and mine,
The cranes and herons keeping me company
Had bid goodbye, I saw palms wave hands.
Feeling comfortable with the new fecility
I flew high easy, couldn't find where I end
And the multiverse of wonders takes me over
"Aĺl I thought of me was as a visitor to this
Island of time and space, part of a whole,
But I have my sweetheart close to my heart
Near and dear, friends all over the world
Many of us never met but neighbours of
My heart, I hear them from afar and their
Heartbeat I felt mine; was an adventure this,
Love prompted, a lilting poem in progress,
Now a flow with the wind circling universe
I am ecstacy itself, time is the essence in this
Tale, told by many eyes" whispered I to
My invisible companions, winging with me.
And loomed large in my being my beloved
Moon with whom I fell madly in love in an
Age of unreason and wild infatuation.
She felt compelled to hold me close to her
***** and kissed my sweaty brows gently
A moment of oblivion, now I am one with
The sprit of universe, in thought and deed
When being becomes nothingness, bliss!
The starry nights, embellished in darkness
And light is my domain till eternity, I have
No loss or gain, what 'I was' cherished is not
Taken from me a bit, in this wingless flight
The stars, a billions lighted souls dancing
In time line far near and eternal began
To hum a celestial tune that becomes all,
That makes the universe, it moves in waves
Holds all together with love and compassion
All the rest are just tales,elements create
You and I, all the rest are myths illusory
Apparition of one and only music eternal.
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 10:50 AM UTC
Running out of
Oxygen, burning out
When contenders feel like
Dropping dead,
In an unexampled manner
Summoning a vestige
Of energy
Bringing into play
A new strategy,
Miruts Yifter Ethiopia's
Olympic legend
Used to surge ahead
Demonstrating a race
Is a sport of foot,lung
And head.
That is why
A commentator
Christened him
“Mirutse Yifter
The gear changer!”
“I dare say
Catching up with him
In a dead heat
There is no way
Once, he broke away!”
Two golds in 5 thousand
And 10 thousand meter race
In Moscow Olympic
With a gear-changing tactic
What a trick, what a trick!
What a story to children
And grandchildren to tell
Recalling minutest
Detail well!”
In our childhood,
With people
In the neighborhood
Our eyes
To TV screens glued
We used to relish
Miruts' sprinted finish
Forcing rivals
Winning dreams
To relinquish!
After the medal
Putting on ceremony,
Heading to
Our football pitch
We used to run round,
Round,round and round
Till exhausted ourselves
We found!
It is adopting
Mirutse's footprint
Haile,Derartu,Kenenisa,
Tirunesh,Selershi and
Meseret sprint!
This formula grand
Gradually has found
Its way to Kenya
And England
May be tomorrow
To Sire lanka or America!
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
Thinking when I'm not speaking
Dreaming when I'm not sleeping
Holding my tongue
But internally i'm screaming
Its a wonder all these things that I'm feeling
Don't make me force my own bleeding
Or stop me from breathing
It seems they live within my skin
Internalized karma killers
They say the good die young
Well the old are our pillars
So where does that leave us?
Snorting coke of the same mantle
From which we worship Jesus
Castles made of sand
Are the realty of the land
In between the paint and plaster
Huddle humorless laughter castors
And in between the organic plastic
Is where my hope lies
So long as they stay focused
Keep their mind clear and open
But who knows when
Change will come about
Like a siren to the deaf
It's silent when it shouts
The thoughtless opinion population
Sleep in the mire they were raised in
Like cave men
Not daring to walk the paths less taken
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
Start the day. In what way
was the cold spring, last wet summer a
global warning, indicator. Says
one commentator on the op-ed page, the
dislocations, wars, famines will tax humanity's
technology, philosophy, even religion's ability
to see past daily survival to
the music in the rock. I've doubted the taboos
one frog among many in the slow-heating beauty
of the world we knew. Aaron's coconut.
Peepers peeping in the heavy rains, wet
with joy. Hawks and crows thrive below the jet
stream, noise, perhaps our fears
are overdrawn, we'll get along, it'll all hold together 10,000 years more,
the Holocaust will never be repeated, lush mountain and sere
desert equally appreciated, baseball
lazily paced summer evenings, the harvest in the fall
a sure thing, and the dying back a blessing come to all.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
Remembering the game I couldn't tell you.
But the hot dog, peanuts, ******* jacks and soda was there.
I didn't understand the rules as I listened to the commentator.
The calming voice and discussions between each pitch.
Remembering the game I couldn't tell you.
But being able to go to Ozone Park to see my grandparents.
I didn't understand the rules as I listened to the commentator.
As I sat on the floor in their living room with grandmas chocolate pudding.
Remembering the game I couldn't tell you.
But being able to watch my friends play softball at Randal Park.
I didn't understand the rules and there was no commentator.
As I was nominated to be the catcher for just a moment or two.
Remembering the game I couldn't tell you.
But as I once again can relax somewhat in my head laying in bed.
I didn't understand the rules as I listened to the commentator.
The calming voice on the other end was just as calming too.
CMH
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
An artist with eyes wide open
sees art spoken
the silence between words and phrases
Illuminates the ideas
within.
They live out thousands of lives
in the confines of one
a commentator, a spectator
yet living and being
and seeing all
no matter how small.
breathing in the darkness and light
meditating on intricacies
Like that of a flower
held by a *****
eternity shivers
Possessed by their grasp
caught between pain and rapture
the pen stains the page with ink
Blessed be the imagination in which they sink
and swim
these poets that are skin
and soul
eyes that travel and unravel
mysteries that we shall never see
places and faces between you and me
The depth of field
and focus of which
can never be seen
the poet is dreamer.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 4:45 AM UTC
Never have you ever seen a nothing?
Silly little something you are already found
Prophetic, prolific, a sea of chemical compound
The very notion confounds any attempt to explain
A reverent proclivity for life or its viral civility
Once this is said nowhere have you been
Commentator of moral, of sin
Thus a nothing could you have been
As we are so, nothing also is of being
Justly, all that he is lacking are all these frames that estrange us
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
she tells me that she's breathing only that shame again
and that there is nothing i can do to relieve her pain again
she has walked a thousand miles in hand me down shoes
no stretch of roadside can ever quench these travelling blues
i don't know how to feel but yet i pretend to understand
what do i know of her life or this punctuating hard land
bequeathed to her from generations since come and passed
as culture, a sense of identity, a life much too innocent to last
she's reaching out, longing for her own voice to be heard
masquerading empathy i offer all these right and measured words
for with no one to answer to nor no real actions to take
i master in hollow sentiment formed from these feelings i fake
as always i seek the beauty of fragility for only my gain
i play out this butterfly's life as her delicate wings are stung by rain
briefly she flies as her life sparks and dims over fourteen days
by resurrecting my jesus my self satisfaction empowers my ways
so why is it she that carries this shame and i stand left of frame
as a spectator, a commentator, an outsider to the rules of the game
whereas she is the soul of the mythical dancer in the flame
i am the vessel devoid of heart breathing in this cold cold shame
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
**** i was just thinking about porridge...
no... not Fletcher, Ronnie Barker...
**** what was i thinking of?
Quaker Oats?
it's not even funny... what was it?
ah...
black Hollywood taking over...
Denzel doing his Zen and D-end ****
Black Panther...
Black Panther?!
ha ha... is that some sort of Pink Panther
spoof?!
the Prodigy did a song for a movie...
one man army...
oh... right... you've forgotten its existence...
now we're getting all the activism revival
revamp?
Black Panther is like Pink Panther....
a ******* joke....
does anyone even begin
to comprehend... Spawn?!
Spawn is the reason why Batman became
Lego...
honest to god,
scouts' honor...
wait wait... so Spawn is bleak?
you know, that Lethal Weapon II South Africa
exchange... but but.. you're bleak!
or whatever the best coordinate association is...
with the mister-race...
who the **** wants to be
the Black Panther?!
all the crumpets / chiseled retrograde
crackers...
guess it's good i'm not slang
for milk0boy... ****** lactose intolerant?
too bad...
how about i **** off your ma ma?
Black Panther is ********
who wants to be Black Panther?
probably some educated counter to a Kanye West
commentator...
Spawn... all d-way...
v-way... but you know...
we figured: difference are so that we get a chance
to matter...
minstrel does the shuffle...
Black Panther my ***
compared to Spawn?
looks like...
the KKK embarked on an appeasement
treaty....
compared to Spawn,
Black Panther,
it makes Dave Chappelle
look like, ******* michael mcintyre...
which is funny... funny...
only when eating chips
and being attacked by a flock
of seagulls...
oi... watch this... Black Panther
propagandists...
who've never seen a minute's worth
of the film Spawn,
which could make any white boy say...
**** Batman, i wanna be Spawn.
wankers.
there's no culture war to be spoken of...
given that the said victories and losses
are so banal...
the, "war" hasn't even started...
and said people are claiming
either victories or losses...
we haven't even started!
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
A newspaper in hand,
glasses on his nose,
he sat on his big blue chair,
with a carefree pose.
A fire by his side,
the commentator in his ear,
he'd pause his daily routine,
and change what's on his mind.
He'd greet me with a big
"Hello",
in a deep country voice,
lots of questions followed, all the while quietening Marty's gig.
I saw him in bed that night,
the mask of life around his mouth;
this time I greeted him with a big "Hello",
hoping he'd reply.
His eyes remained closed,
his hand in hers,
the sound of the commentator unquiet,
the newspaper at his bedside, untouched and exposed.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
A blue glow casts shadows across my face.
The room is silent except for the low drone of the air-conditioning unit
And the grumble of the clearly miserable commentator.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
.*the cracks appeared with black pigeon speaks' video: shibuya halloween 2018: western nightmare made real... listen i loved this **** the whole internet counter-media commentary... but when you begin incorporating your competitor's styles of presentation, i.e. computing forever & paul, john.... john paul... watson... **** john paul watson... no... paul joseph watson, yeah... it's burnout... and all these internet commentators will be the drowning men forced to cling to a razor to stop themselves from drowning... that's not a defeatist statement, like i said: i enjoyed the content... but if it has become such a tedious... self-reflection retrospection of content... sometimes i'm like... **** on me... even i don't drink in front of a mirror, and talk the: mirror, mirror on the wall, like these chaps... dunno, maybe it was a momentary clique fetish... but sure as **** it's ending; which is somewhat, a shame... oh well.*
i'm sitting there, zombified for a a while,
and then...
SNAP OUT...
why am i watching all this internet
commentator ********
esp. surrounding replying to comments
in a live-chat stream?
what, is, wrong, with me?
nostalgia...
yeah... once upon a time it was
all fun...
but fatigue has set in,
the same commentators have become
demoralized...
plus i haven't had enough whiskey
and i ate a meal quiet late...
so i partly dozed off on the windowsill...
so if the content creators have become
demoralized...
had to branch out to LGBTQ
erm... FTIGMB platforms...
oh... right... Gab is down...
so while i snapped out of it,
i was like...
**** it, better get onto fixing the jukebox
and reading some book and ****
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
awhile, a time ago, wrote:
“the oven's writing warmth,
still faint discernible,
giving off the aroma of heated ink,
upon a skin-smooth page..”
<>
my words returned by the commentator-in-chief:
“Tells me why the best part of my
time with her was spent in the kitchen.”^
lay fallow my emotive, a response due catalogued
but unfulfilled till today, oh hell it is a moody way,
partly cloudy day, raining in between sunny brief teasing episodic.
perfect.
for the mixed mood, a melancholia of innocence with a dash of a salty, self-reflective hazing, choosing careful words when I write without clear direction, you want to rush outside, get set up, and then surrender-retreat inside to the comfort zone, the hearty, all-involving, kitchen where the ink is always kept on warm on the glass topped oven, and the dripping-coffee-machine never shuts down, at-the-ready stale crackers in the cupboard, and all these writing utensils at the two-handy, when she comes in, and with a quick surveying, kicks me out, to make us accoladed good food, with these words:
“*my darling only love poetry man, render unto me, this captaincy,
my fiefdom now, and herein are kept my ingredients and tools, whe my words are secreted.” You mistake the warmth here as a necessary condition for thy composition, but not so, the warmth required travels in the hearth of the body, get thee to the nook, to the sunroom, or our bed where I catch you prepositioning conjunctions to join weeping verbs, adjective so riotous their beauteous is stolen by God i’m the fall, thoughts worthy of becoming verses and stanzas, the exclaim the wonders of thy perspective, thy goodly nature, thy odor of freshly stirred vocabulary, an alluring stew in a new *** surrender this cooking place to me in order that you might chef a new creation, half mine, half yours, all ours.*”
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 10:24 AM UTC
**President Trump's conservative foes
reveal themselves as faux conservatives.**
All credit to commentator MavenNevermore
at InfoWars: http://tinyurl.com/y9rq49me
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I believe hope springs eternal
With faith measured by the kernel
We can get past this infernal
If we get cooking with some Sterno
Can we turn it all around
When we commit to get down
All kinds of solutions can be found
So I’ll continue to expound
We can over come they sang
While shooters went bang bang bang
But not from the members of a gang
Out of the darkness from which they sprang
So I’ll remain an optimist
Not just a complainant who ***** his fist
I know that ignorance is bliss
But at all costs that’s what we must resist
If there’s a need for a paradigm
James Baldwin called it the fire next time
While city officials called it a crime
We can’t repeat it time after time
But I’m encouraged by what I see
From the populace and the powers that be
I don’t know if that’s just me
Cos I see a positive destiny
The commentator called for peace and calm
While the Nation of Islam called an alarm
And members of the clergy said do no harm
Let’s march in protest arm and arm
I know that we can find a better way
Than the tragic displays of yesterday
Because everybody’s gonna have their say
See I believe in time it’s gonna be okay
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
L- let's round the table and rethink about Nigeria, when are we going to gain our freedoms totally? after the lawbreakers calling themselves law makers becomes a loser when the children of hunger show their agendas using foreteller as a barrier without a lawyer.
A- although our mouth is not as sharp as razor but we meant to be a commentator for you and your predecessors, about your administrator you being a procrastinator doesn't make us an accelerator for us to be an conquistadors.
U- under the administration of the oppressors they pressed our pressure so as to dismeasure our treasure because they know we have no pleasures that's why they keep ignoring our eyesores .
T- to all we ,the children of masses may God shower his endless mercy cos we know he is more merciful than wizzy and messi .
E- everyone is born to be great ,so stop competing with the mates you are not going for any race ,either in the way or in the phase, unless you want to be an unfocused chase.
C- call yourself a name and let's see if it will remain the same, whether you need to find a lane in the rain to remained the main,for you are born to reign and same time in the vain try to maintain the pain ,quit explaining the grains of the pains for your success is certain.
H- hello the oppressor how far about the pleasure? hope it will be last to be measure I think you don't forget your post can never be carry over and your life is reading like calorimeter , this life is like a chapter, nothing after your dismissal you being a miser or a cheerier ,you will soon be a divorcer.
The fragrance pen
Wale,zee
08137421416
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
'As a sports commentator you've got to keep in my mind that you're like a guest in someone's house..try to be entertaining and insightful..the odd dash of humour is welcome..but try not to be irritating.'
-Richie Benaud
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
I believe hope springs eternal
With faith measured by the kernel
We can get past this infernal
If we get cooking with some Sterno
Can we turn it all around
When we commit to get down
All kinds of solutions can be found
So I’ll continue to expound
We can over come they sang
While shooters went bang bang bang
But not from the members of a gang
Out of the darkness from which they sprang
So I’ll remain an optimist
Not just a complainant who ***** his fist
I know that ignorance is bliss
But at all costs that’s what we must resist
If there’s a need for a paradigm
James Baldwin called it the fire next time
While city officials called it a crime
We can’t repeat it time after time
But I’m encouraged by what I see
From the populace and the powers that be
I don’t know if that’s just me
Cos I see a positive destiny
The commentator called for peace and calm
While the Nation of Islam called an alarm
And members of the clergy said do no harm
Let’s march in protest arm and arm
I know that we can find a better way
Than the tragic displays of yesterday
Because everybody’s gonna have their say
See I believe in time it’s gonna be okay
© Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
Arrived for my annual physical
Sat in the doctor's office for 30 minutes
Finally called to the window to consult with the clerk
Who informed me that I had no appointment.
Interesting? I told her that I was there for my annual physical which I had scheduled over the phone.
"Ah, that is next week" she informed me.
I was a week early
The good side was that all my paperwork was filled out.
I had another week to develop new ageing symptoms,
An opportunity to have more thoughts as to what to discuss with the doctor
One week to improve my eating habits, reduce cholesterol, exercise more and
I have a whole seven days to do it.
After I left and was listening to the radio I heard an interview by Bobby Osborne who wrote the song "Rocky Top."
Bobby is in his 80's and the interviewer asked to what he could attribute his old age.
Bobby answered "Alcohol, drugs and exercise."
The commentator says don't you mean avoiding those and Bobby answered "Yes."
Well, Bobby, I think I will just continue the alcohol and the exercise
Both in moderation.
Maybe my memory will improve and I will get to my doctor's
Appointment next week.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
War,
A disease ridden body,
A commentator between Satan and god!!
War,
A ***** a slob, a demon for all taking!
A plundering statued ******
War,
A masked perfume,
Upon thy evening news it waves back at thou!!
War,
Its taken
Young and old alike,
There's no wrong, nor any right, just blood to sweep the dune!!
War,
Thy mother and father's platoon,
It hides between the rooms of terrorism and fear!!
War,
Drink away thy sorrows,
No new day tomorrow, just radiation to crack thy skin!
War,
No one shall win...
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
Dear Father
I heard stories, how you'd beat her,
from the neighbour,
when I was younger;
then you stole her_________
mother's necklace, just to spoil your little lover.
Oh my mother!
You'd infect with a disease, so worse than cancer.
But my mother,
hid her pain; from any nosey commentator.
Because of you she had to suffer,
with *** it took a fighter.
You broke her heart,
But still she prayed for you to God.
When you ran off, leaving behind,
a diamond: "are you blind?"
But it's fine...she don't mind.
She just hoped, that you will find...
a little peace before you die,
when in pieces, and you try,
to correct the whitest lie...
that you told to other women, like my mother; what a guy!
I held her hand as she fell ill, but she never chose to cry,
she was stubborn; but forgave you right before she said goodbye.
But that's all I have to say,
so have a blessed Father's Day.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 6:02 PM UTC
"Let’s set the record straight. There is no argument over the choice between peace and war, but there is only one guaranteed way you can have peace and you can have it in the next second, “surrender.”
Admittedly there is a risk in any course we follow other than this, but every lesson in history tells us that the greater risk lies in appeasement, and this is the specter our well-meaning liberal friends refuse to face that their policy of accommodation is appeasement, and it gives no choice between peace and war, only between fight or surrender.
If we continue to accommodate, continue to back and retreat, then eventually we have to face the final demand “the ultimatum.” And what then?
When Nikita Khrushchev has told his people he knows what our answer will be? He has told them that we are retreating under the pressure of the Cold War, and someday when the time comes to deliver the final ultimatum, our surrender will be voluntary because by that time we will have weakened from within spiritually, morally, and economically.
He believes this because from our side he has heard voices pleading for peace at any price or better Red than dead, or as one commentator put it, he would rather live on his knees than die on his feet.
And therein lies the road to war, because those voices don’t speak for the rest of us. You and I know and do not believe that life is so dear and peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery. If nothing in life is worth dying for, when did this begin just in the face of this enemy?
Or should Moses have told the children of Israel to live in slavery under the pharaohs? Should Christ have refused the cross? Should the patriots at Concord Bridge have thrown down their guns and refused to fire the shot heard round the world?
The martyrs of history were not fools, and our honored dead who gave their lives to stop the advance of the Nazis didn’t die in vain. Where, then, is the road to peace? Well, it’s a simple answer after all.
You and I have the courage to say to our enemies. There is a price we will not pay. There is a point beyond which they must not advance.
Winston Churchill said that the destiny of man is not measured by material computation. When great forces are on the move in the world, we learn we are spirits not animals. And he said, “There is something going on in time and space, and beyond time and space, which, whether we like it or not, spells duty.”
You and I have a rendezvous with destiny. We will preserve for our children this, the last best hope of man on Earth, or we will sentence them to take the last step into a thousand years of darkness."
- President Ronald Reagan
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 10:05 AM UTC