"complaint" poems
[I accidentally deleted this, so now I'm reposting it]
This is not an attack, it is expression.
*This apparently isn't a very popular subject,
but then again, when has popularity changed anyone's mind..*
--
**** the 'Selective Service System'; the SSS.
It's neo-conscription.
FDR made us a deal we couldn't refuse
which included a stipulation
that about half of us still cannot refuse:
Selective Service
also known as
Peacetime Draft
But only for males. Only the males.
Not the females, though. Oh, no, not the females;
We need the Females
to bake the next batch of mindless soldiers/housewives/neoslaves.
We need the women to uphold the status-quo.
We need our women
to remain passive, docile, and beautiful ******* doormats
for our glorious and infallible western society.
We need our women
to be complaint, subservient, sex-starved, archaic-gender-role embodiments.
I see it as overtly 'cherry-picking' as well as misogyny both ways;
sexist, selfish, and prejudiced on both sides:
'Feminists' (read: Feminazis) claim to plea for true gender equality, but here is my plea:
If such is true, where then are their demands for mandatory selective service?
Why do they feel above reproach when it comes to the unsavory sides of society?
Why do they turn a blind eye to the ******* Draft if they ***** up such a storm about equality?
Why is it not a federal offense punishable by a $250,000 fine as well as up to 5 years in prison
for a female to not sign their life away to the military from when they turn 18 until at least 25?
How is that 'gender equality'?
Huh?
They, too, are cherry-picking.
-
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
They are always with us, the thin people
Meager of dimension as the gray people
On a movie-screen. They
Are unreal, we say:
It was only in a movie, it was only
In a war making evil headlines when we
Were small that they famished and
Grew so lean and would not round
Out their stalky limbs again though peace
Plumped the bellies of the mice
Under the meanest table.
It was during the long hunger-battle
They found their talent to persevere
In thinness, to come, later,
Into our bad dreams, their menace
Not guns, not abuses,
But a thin silence.
Wrapped in flea-ridded donkey skins,
Empty of complaint, forever
Drinking vinegar from tin cups: they wore
The insufferable nimbus of the lot-drawn
Scapegoat. But so thin,
So weedy a race could not remain in dreams,
Could not remain outlandish victims
In the contracted country of the head
Any more than the old woman in her mud hut could
Keep from cutting fat meat
Out of the side of the generous moon when it
Set foot nightly in her yard
Until her knife had pared
The moon to a rind of little light.
Now the thin people do not obliterate
Themselves as the dawn
Grayness blues, reddens, and the outline
Of the world comes clear and fills with color.
They persist in the sunlit room: the wallpaper
Frieze of cabbage-roses and cornflowers pales
Under their thin-lipped smiles,
Their withering kingship.
How they prop each other up!
We own no wilderness rich and deep enough
For stronghold against their stiff
Battalions. See, how the tree boles flatten
And lose their good browns
If the thin people simply stand in the forest,
Making the world go thin as a wasp's nest
And grayer; not even moving their bones.
23.6k
If only I could make you feel the pain that you cause me to feel.
Do you not understand that your screams make me feel ill?
I hate that we have no real relationship,
and that you treat me like a slave.
I'm at the point where I want to run away.
It's not like you'd take action after anyways.
You'd probably enjoy the attention you'd recieve,
Take me for granted.. won't you please?
Not only do I feel alone right now,
The people who said they'd be there are finaly slipping out.
That's probably my fault though,
I trusted them too much.
Complaint after complaint.
I shouldn't have told them so much.
I guess that shows to prove that it's really just you in the end.
I've begun to vent here.
It's as if words and rhymes are my only friends.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Has led me—who knows how?—
To thy chamber-window, sweet!
The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream,—
The champak odors fall
Like sweet thoughts in a dream,
The nightingale’s complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, beloved as thou art!
O, lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fall!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale,
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My Heart beats loud and fast
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last!
16.4k
Stop resenting me
For the way I shop
The things I do
To make sure
My food is fresh
I confess I feel blueberries
In my fingers
To make sure they are firm
Not too ripe
I confess I shake
Cans of spaghetti and ravioli
So that I know
The sauce is not
Congealed
I confess I pull frozen waffles
From the back of the freezer
Less likely that they thawed
And refroze into
Oddball shapes
I confess I smell trout
Before I buy it
Placing it against my nose
In the most unabashed
Way
Spare me your hate
About my consumer habits
When I know it has nothing to do with
Food
As long as I bring you warm release
In the darkness of your desires
Pull your tangled hair the way
You like
Bite your darting tongue
In mad hunger
Deep appetite
As long as I reawaken the
Woman
Primal animal hidden
Within
Turn your heat into a river
For a long passionate
Swim
As long as I attend quickly to your
Every ***** command
The craving of your ******
Insatiable
Demand
Then I can squeeze french bread
In quiet and peace
I can sniff cantaloupes
Without suffering ire
Or grief
I’ll take you tonight
In that filthy way
You like
Until then
Leave me alone
I’m shopping.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
Already over the sea from her old spouse she comes,
the blonde goddess whose frosty wheels bring day.
Why do you hurry, Aurora? Hold off, so may the birds
shed ritual blood each year for Memnon's shade.
Now it's good to lie in my mistress's tender arms;
if ever, now it's good to feel her near.
Now drowsiness is richest, the morning air is cool,
and birds sing shrilly from their tender throats.
Why do you hurry, dreaded by men and dreaded by girls?
Draw back your dewy reins with your crimson hand.
The sailor marks the stars more clearly before you rise,
not raoming aimlessly across the sea;
the traveller, though weary, arises when you come,
and the soldier sets his savage hand to arms;
you're first to see the farmers wield their heavy hoes
and to call slow oxen under the curving yoke;
you rob boys of their sleep and give them over to schools,
where tender hands must bear the savage switch;
and you send reckless fools to pledge themselves in court,
where they take ruinous losses through one word;
the lawyer and the pleader take no delight in you,
for each must rise and wrangle with new torts;
and you ensure that women's chores are never done,
calling the spinner's hands back to her wool.
All this I'd bear; but who would bear that girls must rise
at dawn, unless himself he has no girl?
How many times I've wished Night would not yield to you,
the stars not fade and flee before your face!
How many times I've wished the wind would smash your wheels,
your steeds would stumble on a cloud and fall!
Jealous, why do you hurry? If your son is black,
it's since his mother's heart is that same color.
How I wish Tithonus could still tell tales of you:
no goddess would be more disgraced in heaven.
Since he is endless eons old, you rise and flee
at dawn to the chariot the old man hates,
but if some Cephalus were lying in your arms,
you'd cry out, 'O run slowly, steeds of night! '
Why should this lover pay, if your husband withers with age?
Was I the matchmaker who brought him to you?
Remember how much sleep was given to her loved youth
by Luna - and she's beautiful as you.
The father of gods himself, to see you all the less,
joined two nights into one for his desires.
I'd finished my complaint. You could tell she'd heard: she blushed;
and yet the day rose at its usual time.
10.1k
Said the king to the colonel,
'The complaints are eternal,
That you Irish give more trouble
Than any other corps.'
Said the colonel to the king,
'This complaint is no new thing,
For your foemen, sire,
have made it A hundred times before.'
9k
He was not one of wealth and fame
And no one even knew his name.
He was just known as dad, the only father they ever had.
He worked long hours for very little pay
Yet their clothes were clean every day.
He never lost hope, yet he learned to cope.
He worked at night so he could stay with his children during the day.
He would give them breakfast then take them to school
So that they could learn the golden rules.
His routine was always the same- it would hardly ever change.
Clean the house, take a nap, and for the children prepare a snack.
Then start to prepare for dinner, which wasn’t always a winner.
Yet they ate healthy and never went without
Of that there is no doubt.
In the afternoon pick up the kids and bring them home
During the day they were never alone.
They would change their clothes then have a snack
While he took another nap.
They did their homework when he slept
In the softness of his bed.
He would then wake up and dinner he would serve
And not a complaint was ever heard
They would say grace and he would ask:” how was your day?”
Wash the dishes and put them away.
They could watch TV. until it was nine
Take their showers and then bedtime.
This was the life of a single DAD
, and it was the best part of his life he ever had.
CHILDREN ARE A BLESSING!
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
To my Mom and Grandma, whom I love so dear,
It’s time to celebrate you on this great day of the year.
To have you both in my life, I truly am so blessed,
Some moms and grandmas might be great, but mine are actually the best.
…
There’s a reason why all our friends call my mother a saint,
She’ll take care of us through good times or bad with never a complaint.
Her sense of empathy astounds me, it’s a very special gift,
She’s always there to show support and give our spirits a lift.
She doesn’t take things for granted and shows amazing gratitude,
We all wish we had the ability to adopt her attitude.
Our road trips and vacations are memories I’ll always keep,
I still dream about them sometimes when I go to sleep.
…
Another blessing we all count is my amazing grandmother,
Her strength and good nature help bring us closer to each other.
She points us in a wholesome direction and gives us all her prayers,
So that when we get to Heaven we’ll have a row of reserved chairs.
I love going to visit grandma because she’ll take good care of me,
She’ll cook her delicious pasta and meatballs because that’s her specialty.
We’ll have a good laugh while we both sit and chat,
And she’ll always remind me if I’m ever being a brat.
…
There’s a good reason why Mother’s Day is a day for celebration,
Because my mother and my grandmother are a winning combination.
They really are two special gifts from the Big Man up above,
And from the bottom of my heart I can’t thank you enough for showering me with love.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
You carry a weight that's so heavy
A caravan filled with so many
You journey along, the sand is your song
And heat filled with sun rays aplenty
With your guidance we soon will become
Unified with God's grace and God's love
Your knowledge is great, sufficient in strength
Standing small as you tower above
You feel pain just the same as we do
You will cry tears of sadness for you
Tune into the light, your spirit is bright
You reflect what sunlight shines in you
Teaching us to heal and to move on
Even dark times when sadness has won
To listen up close, is what I have chose
Especially when life comes undone
Spirit Camel, you never run dry
Capabilities keep you alive
You're a natural at heart, playing the part
Mother Nature intended you by
To ride on with you makes me feel safe
With you there is no rush and no haste
Taking our time, learning how to decide
With a rhythm of peaceful-like pace
Self sustaining without an ego
Spreading love every place that we go
We survive day and night, sharing your plight
We are one with your wandering soul
As your milk provides food for your calf
You have cared for us on your behalf
Without a complaint, and in your restraint
It appears that you smile and laugh
You must see how humans sometimes seem
Like a nightmare and not like a dream
Yes we can be, idiotic you see
We have so much to learn from your scheme
I am honored to know you great one
May your message be carried with love
Through winds and life's storms, may we be reborn
With your courage and gentle wisdom
© tHE tERRY tREE
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
In ruck and quibble of courtfolk
This giant hulked, I tell you, on her scene
With hands like derricks,
Looks fierce and black as rooks;
Why, all the windows broke when he stalked in.
Her dainty acres he ramped through
And used her gentle doves with manners rude;
I do not know
What fury urged him slay
Her antelope who meant him naught but good.
She spoke most chiding in his ear
Till he some pity took upon her crying;
Of rich attire
He made her shoulders bare
And solaced her, but quit her at cock's crowing.
A hundred heralds she sent out
To summon in her slight all doughty men
Whose force might fit
Shape of her sleep, her thought-
None of that greenhorn lot matched her bright crown.
So she is come to this rare pass
Whereby she treks in blood through sun and squall
And sings you thus :
'How sad, alas, it is
To see my people shrunk so small, so small.'
7k
They whine and cry-
"This country is going to the dogs."
They complaint and protest-
"Down with this corrupt government."
They crib and blame-
"Pull down those lazy thieving ********
But when it's time, on Election day
They take the day off, they holiday
The Whining Losers, they say -
"Ah, let a few Morons go and vote
I am above politics,
What matter's it to me."
Dare you not raise another finger,
Dare you not whine and complaint.
You're not a part of democracy.
You're what this country bears in vain.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
The missus bought a Paperback
...at Val Village, Saturday,
I had a look inside her bag;
....T'was "Fifty Shades of Grey".
Well I just left her to it,
And at ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread…..
In her left she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down upon the floor,
And then began to strip.
Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Mabel hasn't weathered well;
She's eighty four next week!!
Watching Mabel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
And things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!
She struggled back upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said
.....I am the dominater !!
Now if you knew our Mabel,
You'd see just why I spluttered,
I'd spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I'd uttered.
She stood there **** and naked
Bent forward just a bit
I went to hold her, sensual like
and stood on her left ***
Mabel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My god what had I done!?
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
"Step on the other one"!!
Well readers, I can't tell no more;
About what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned fifty shades of Grey.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC
Whan the turuf is thy tour
anonymous Middle English poem, circa the 13th century AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When the turf is your tower
and the pit is your bower,
your pale white skin and throat
only sullen worms shall note.
What help unto you, then
was all your worldly hope?
***
Original Middle English text:
Whan the turuf is thy tour,
And thy pit is thy bour,
Thy fel and thy whitë throtë
Shullen wormës to notë.
What helpëth thee thennë
Al the worildë wennë?
“Whan the turuf is thy tour” may be one of the oldest carpe diem (“seize the day”) poems in the English language, and an ancestor of Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress” with its virginity-destroying worms. Keywords/Tags: Middle English, translation, medieval, anonymous, rhyme, rhyming, medieval, lament, complaint, lamentation, turf, tower, pit, bower, skin, throat, worms, note, help, worldly, hope
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 2:56 AM UTC
PROMETHEUS (alone)
O holy Aether, and swift-winged Winds,
And River-wells, and laughter innumerous
Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,
And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you,--
Behold me a god, what I endure from gods!
Behold, with throe on throe,
How, wasted by this woe,
I wrestle down the myriad years of Time!
Behold, how fast around me
The new King of the happy ones sublime
Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!
Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow's
I cover with one groan. And where is found me
A limit to these sorrows?
And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown
Clearly all things that should be; nothing done
Comes sudden to my soul--and I must bear
What is ordained with patience, being aware
Necessity doth front the universe
With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse
Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave
In silence or in speech. Because I gave
Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul
To this compelling fate. Because I stole
The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went
Over the ferrule's brim, and manward sent
Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment,
That sin I expiate in this agony,
Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.
Ah, ah me! what a sound,
What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen
Of a god, or a mortal, or nature between,
Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound,
To have sight of my pangs, or some guerdon obtain--
Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!
The god Zeus hateth sore,
And his gods hate again,
As many as tread on his glorified floor,
Because I loved mortals too much evermore.
Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,
As of birds flying near!
And the air undersings
The light stroke of their wings--
And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.
5.5k
There is a change—and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart’s door,
Whose only business was to flow;
And flow it did; not taking heed
Of its own bounty, or my need.
What happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then all bliss above!
Now, for that consecrated fount
Of murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I? shall I dare to tell?
A comfortless and hidden well.
A well of love—it may be deep—
I trust it is,—and never dry:
What matter? if the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.
—Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.
5.5k
*Main Talkhi-e-Hayat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya
Gham Ki Siyah Raat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya*
**With the worry from bitterness of life, I drank
With the grief of my darkest night, I drank**
*Itni Daqiq Shai Koi Kaise Samajh Sake
Yazdan Ke Vaqiat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya*
**Such delicate substance, how can one comprehend?
With the fear of merciful moment, I drank**
*Chhalke Hue The Jaam Pareshan Thi Zulf-e-Yaar
Kuchh Aise Hadsat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya*
**Overflowing cups and beloved’s anxious tresses
With the concern for such calamities, I drank**
*Main Aadmi Huun Koi Farishta Nahi Huzur
Main Aaj Apni Zaat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya*
**Human I am and no angel O’ respected
Today, with the vigilance of my own being, I drank**
*Duniya-e-Hadsat Hai Ik Dardnak Giit
Duniya-e-Hadsat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya*
**World of incidents is an agonising song
With the discomfort of this world of incidents, I drank**
*Kante To Khair Kante Hain Is Ka Gila Hi Kya
Phulon Ki Vardat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya*
**Thorns are yet thorns and there is no complaint
With the scare from crimes of flowers, I drank**
*Saghar Vo Kah Rahe The Ki Pi Lijiye Huzur
Un Ki Guzarishat Se Ghabra Ke Pi Gaya*
**Saghar they said drink O’ respected
And with the care for their wishes, I drank**
— Translated by Jamil Hussain, Poet Saghar Siddiqui, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
My good morning
was followed by a statement
In which she said "I stank."
It was the cigarette stank
That made her utter the obvious complaint.
She doesn't know my struggle.
A mind of potential
with the heart of a saint.
Yet bound by demons
And voices that say "I can't".
I wish to tell her.
How they help my mind go blank
And away from the thoughts
That are as loud as voices.
How they help me think straight sometimes
And give me the courage
To make the right choices.
It's just remnants of my fall
From when my mind
Hit rock bottom and I was unable
To make the right choices.
All of my demons, I've fought them
And this is the smoke from the battle
In which they are engulfed
In its flame.
The ending of the cant's and aint's.
The smoke from this cigarette.
So please excuse, my cigarette stank.
Oh How her complaint
Will echo through my mind
And never become faint.
I can't take this
So when I get the chance
I will light another cigarette
To forget all about this
And make me become correct.
**** I hate that
I have to smoke another cigarette.
My good afternoon
Was followed by a glare.
A glare that married women
Should never think to dare.
She could see into my soul
And knew that all isn't fair.
Her beauty was one
That I could never compare.
So right back I would stare
Until something broke my attention
And again I begin to stare.
Until I pictured her bare
And being lost in lust
Covered in each other's hair.
Her eyes were flames of a flair
Flickering off in the distance
and Shining through the night air.
I want to reach you
And see what's up with that glare
But life isn't fair.
It has lead us to where we both
Are a separate pair.
Attempts to become close
Will be followed by no's or I can't
And how our meeting was too late.
Which will be her complaint.
The agony, I can not bare
So I will let it fade away with
The smoke from this cigarette.
So please excuse, my cigarette stank.
Oh How her complaint
Will echo through my mind
And never become faint.
I can't take this
So when I get the chance
I will light another cigarette
To forget all about this
And make me become correct.
**** I hate that
I have to smoke another cigarette.
Another cigarette
Another cigarette
**** I have to smoke another cigarette.
My good evening
Was followed an expression
In which it looked like I stank.
Her face was the face
that God makes when we all sin.
Disappointment cloaked in forgiveness
And love.
She smiles as she gives me a hug.
I look at my daughter
And even with her I can feel the love.
When I'm alone I sigh.
My mind is a puzzle
And my true thoughts are shielded
with a muzzle.
So I let them fade away with
The smoke from this cigarette.
I just hope they excuse, my cigarette stank.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
Beware the bitter idiot--
That fellow with the sour
Mind,
Cankered by disillusion,
And feelings of
Left behind.
So life may not be everything
As planned--
It does, after all, arrive in
Installments called the day.
One of these is enough to try
To understand,
One enough for this thin
Vessel of stardust clay.
His voice is but a drone,
Nothing but rancor and filth
Ride upon his tongue.
Complaint the engine of his
Tone,
The wormwood ballad of
Pitiful woe he sings and has
Ever sung.
He will not be mistaken,
For the street tough is at his
Very core.
He will not allow to awaken
The malleable man of his
Youth and yore.
And so this fellow who has
Shut his soul off,
Stands in front of his mirror and cries.
He's too proud to unhand the
Lance of the scoff--
Boldness is his favorite lie.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
A woman is perfect
in her own eye
when the mirror tells her
that the curvy reflection
is no lie
A woman is perfect
in the public eye
when she cooks
and she cleans
and she saves money when she buys
A woman is perfect
in a family’s eye
when she teaches the girls
and she bathes the boys
and her only complaint is an exasperated sigh
A woman is perfect
in a man’s eye
when she celebrates his victories
and manages the bills
and keeps his ego riding high
But a woman is only perfect
in the inside
when her man is at his lowest
and all hell has broken loose
the money’s all gone
and the house they’ll lose
and the children are wearing hand-me-down’s
and worn out shoes
the car’s broken down
and all the unemployment ‘as been used
and yet she still has the strength
to pick up her man
and carry the family on her back
and get them all to stand
with chin’s held high
and still give her man a kiss
and look him in the eye
to tell him the she loves him
and everything will be alright
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 9:00 PM UTC
Pushing me, Wanting me requiring me to be more than I want to be. It just will not leave me be can’t it see that I just don’t want to lead. Grow the seed, that it want to see. I can’t believe that it won’t leave me alone. It won’t condone, always telling me to hold the phone. All the restraint, without a complaint can’t be done, this battle will not be won. But I must, always resist the lust of that bust, resist the gust
of temptation, in my relations. In my conversations, on all occasions or be punished, banished, to this outlandish request. I feel possessed, oppressed who would have guessed, that I would have to do the best. All the time, expected never to whine, when no rest I can find. I hurt and am pained, drained from all this restraint. I want to let loose, get my golden egg laying goose. Not be hung by the noose of responsibility. Constantly dictating what I must be doing no fooling allowed, my head must be bowed.
I grow tiered, just let me go I don’t wish to be admired I just want some rest, and peace of mind.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 12:58 PM UTC
Being lazy digs a huge grave
For our peace and won't save
A lazy fellow is never brave
He is to fate a submissive slave
Taking action he will shun
Success shows him no affection
God gives him no protection
He belongs to the losing section
A lazy man gets no sweats
Tears become his constant assets
He uses buts and loses guts
He is depressed for lack of outlets
He lies lethargically in his bed
To be passive, thinks his head
Mentally he is almost dead
His is a very negative blood
Great chances he regularly misses
He is deprived of victory's kisses
A working mind, he does not possess
He never gets success as a bonus
His brain is so lazy *** idle
Everything is to him a riddle
He is afraid of every hurdle
His life, fate will finely meddle
Work makes him fear and faint
Gloom only his thoughts paint
Against him accumulates complaint
His mind, laziness will strongly taint
Progress tells him good-bye
He is an unattractive guy
His life-river is ever dry
Only laziness, he can supply
Idleness may be initially jolly
But it is not at all holy
Angels like it not wholly
Unless he starts a venture newly
If laziness is away kicked
Losses can be wisely licked
If laziness is wrongly picked
By fate, lazy man is tricked.
M V VENKATARAMAN
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 6:25 AM UTC
I don’t understand
****** for power
I don’t understand
Complaint without solution
I don’t understand
Ego without accomplishment
I don’t understand
Action without reason
I don’t understand
Judgment without experience
I don’t understand
Advancement without merit
I don’t understand
Worship without thought
I don’t understand
Belief without proof
I don’t understand
Love without kindness
I don’t understand
Want without need
I don’t understand
Talk without meaning
I don’t understand
Celebrity without talent
I don’t understand
A white lie
I don’t understand
Falsehood without challenge
I don’t understand
Might over right
I don’t understand
Beauty without soul
I don’t understand
Law from faith
I don’t understand
Victory at all costs
I don’t understand
An end by any means
I don't understand
Commerce over spirituality
I don't understand
Greed over giving
I don’t understand
Hurting a child
I don’t understand
Reward for failure
I don’t understand
Too big to fail
I don’t understand
The Virtue of Selfishness
I don’t understand
Too powerful to question
I don’t understand
Arrogance from vicarious pleasure
I don’t understand
Ambition without empathy
I don’t understand
The sale of loyalty
I don’t understand
Money over honor
I don't understand
Ignorance over education
I don't understand
Cheating
I don’t understand
Hate
I don't understand
Why the good die young
I don't understand
Do you?
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC