"conquerors" poems
I am the Great Connector
I was born to unite The Horde
I am the Great Collector
Of souls felled by my Axensword
They all call me subhuman
And revile me as a beast
But they do the same to you and
For that they'll pay the price
(No Peace)
We are strong, We are brave
Though they wish to see us caged
We are wild and Untamed
And we will never live as slaves
Conquerors, We Are One!
Same blood in different skins
At last you'll see, when the victor is me
I am the Lord of our Kin
Wastelanders, Join the March
The World will burn as we sing
When the battle is won, I'll announce to everyone
"I am the Ogre King!"
I am the Great Divider
I was born to brew up storms
I am the Annihilator
My path was forged in war
My reign began in chaos
In Bloodshed, so it ends
All this Strife has nearly left me with
No Kingdom to Defend
(Descent)
We are Violent and Enraged
Now that we have been Betrayed
There are Consequences Grave
For Manipulated Faith
Revolution, it has come!
Same blood but different sins
The Empire Falls
And all Hear the Call
For A New Order to Begin
Decapitate the Tyrants
& Slaughter those who Resist
When the battle is won,
At the top of my lungs, I'll cry
"Long Live the Ogre King!"
I am the Great Destroyer
The Throne is mine to take
I will be king at any cost
Dead nations in my wake
I am the Great Conniver
With Sinister Designs
Never cared how much is Lost
So long as what is Left is Mine
(Arise)
We are rabid and insane
From lives of misery and pain
Now that the world's ablaze
We fall into our cages
These Horrors have just begun
Same gore from separate veins
What have we done,
To our daughters and sons?
A History Bloodstained!
We threw our lives into this war,
And lost more than we gave
When the killing is done,
I'll tell everyone,
"The Ogre King is slain!"
Now Our Planet is a Grave!
"The Ogre King is Slain,
Long Live the Ogre King,
I Am
The Ogre King!"
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
I pride,
In many things.
Little and big.
Existing and imaginary.
Useful and unnecessary.
Almost ubiquitously.
I take pride in my mind, most of all.
In the many wonders it brings me.
It lets me wave
at the voyagers that zip by
as I swim,
weightless and cold
in the eternal stardust of would bes.
It lets me simmer
in the memory of a younger day.
Of all the loves loved
and the ones lost
I pride the ones that never gave way.
Like old paintings
stowed away deeply
fragments,
moving,
ageing effortlessly.
I take pride in the fact that I have one true friend
and not many.
I don't know why I take pride in it though
I would understand culling a herd, if I had any.
I take pride in a soul that has learnt to love so deeply.
Deeper than the rivers of the world
and tumultuous as the sea
I take pride in my dog, sitting
when I command it.
I take pride in the fact that,
At least he understands it.
I take pride in the words that I think
and regret the ones I don't.
I take pride in understanding the existence of truth
and its relentless need to run and hide away.
I take pride in my people
and in their endless rebellion against sanity.
I take pride in their manic displays of affection
despite their distaste for the same affectations.
I take pride in their synchronized entropy,
beautiful,
much like the death of a galaxy.
I take pride in the songs I hear,
the sonnets of love and despair.
of first discoveries,
and fevered dreams.
Of Kings and conquerors
and knights against the regime.
Of their legends that soar and rise and
go beyond where the grave lies.
I take pride in the mirror.
Though broken and shattered beyond repair
it bestows me with honesty
about the one that I care.
I take pride in all these aberrations,
in these tiny little manipulations.
These effervescent little marionettes
forever dancing within constellations.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
I am worth being valued for existing
Not only in the moments
That I become relevant, necessary, or useful
For lustful, celebratory or inspirational insanity
I am not a lollipop or an exotic destination
Stop exploring me *************
Because you salivate over this Hispaniola
Beautiful island desecrated and decimated
How many beautiful spirits will you make savages
How many pure rivers will you **** blood on
How many conquests will you claim a stake in
How much balance will you disturb and subjugate
to the trauma of your transitory exploration
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who taste, plunder, disguise disapproval in their apologies and move on
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who pick and choose who's worth
Of validation, when, & how
There's no impunity for conquerors
Who play with men and women
Hierarchize their prey
But fail to acknowledge
Their man-child whitewashed
Hidden agendas & rigged market values
Conquerors haunted by the trauma they've caused
Will not be absolved by the revolution
Neither will the revolution be the breast
That heals conquers who are traumatized
By the realization of their own fuckery
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
Only ONE RACE
the HUMAN RACE.
The dividers
and conquerors
all trying to convince you
otherwise.
And they are
NEVER
on the frontlines.
They
manipulate
you
stirring up
emotions
hatred.
That people should die
for the mistakes
of the few.
God hates those who stir up strife.
The only
so-called
winners
are the manipulators
the millionaires and billionaires...
those who orchestrate
the mess
who PAY people
TO HATE...
turning them into mercenaries
MERCENARY
HATERS
AND
MURDERERS
and NOT for the reasons
they think.
The ORCHESTRATORS
don't care
ONE WHIT
about the cause
ONLY
about the
POWER and CONTROL
they
HOPE TO GAIN
when they
"HAVE TO"
quell the mess
and put out the fires
Which
THEY CREATED
by
THEIR MANIPULATIONS.
BEWARE
how people
try to use your emotions
for
THEIR GREEDY GAIN
TO CONTROL
YOU.
WE ARE ALL
ONE
RACE
THE HUMAN RACE.
Reach out
try to
LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR
YOUR BLOOD IS ALL THE SAME!
WOUNDED
ONE
DROP OF BLOOD
IT'S
ALL THE SAME.
cj 2016
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
Mayan Poetry Translations
The Receiving of the Flower
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let us sing overflowing with joy
as we observe the Receiving of the Flower.
The lovely maidens beam;
their hearts leap in their *******
Why?
Because they will soon yield their virginity to the men they love!
###
The Deflowering
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Remove your clothes;
let down your hair;
become as naked as the day you were born—
virgins!
###
Prelude to **********
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lay out your most beautiful clothes,
maidens!
The day of happiness has arrived!
Grab your combs, detangle your hair,
adorn your earlobes with gaudy pendants.
Dress in white as becomes maidens ...
Then go, give your lovers the happiness of your laughter!
And all the village will rejoice with you,
for the day of happiness has arrived!
###
The Flower-Strewn Pool
excerpt from a Mayan love poem
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You have arrived at last in the woods
where no one can see what you do
at the flower-strewn pool ...
Remove your clothes,
unbraid your hair,
become as you were
when you first arrived here,
virgins, maidens!
These are my modern English translations of ancient Mayan love poems. Native Americans were creating poems and songs in pre-Columbian days; Mayan and Aztec literature may date back to the first millennium BCE. Unfortunately the Spanish conquerors of South America destroyed all but four of the thousands of pre-Columbian books that probably once existed (according to translator Michael Coe). Mayan hieroglyphs remain far from fully understood and dating what remains is difficult. However, the best poetry is timeless and I believe we can know our Mayan brothers and sisters a little better through their poems.—Michael R. Burch
These are my modern English translations of ancient Mayan love poems. Native Americans were creating poems and songs in pre-Columbian days; Mayan and Aztec literature may date back to the first millennium BCE. Unfortunately the Spanish conquerors of South America destroyed all but four of the thousands of pre-Columbian books that probably once existed (according to translator Michael Coe). Mayan hieroglyphs remain far from fully understood and dating what remains is difficult. However, the best poetry is timeless and I believe we can know our Mayan brothers and sisters a little better through their poems.—Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: ancient, Mayan, poetry, translation, translations, love, virginity, *** marriage, joy, happiness, flower, flowers, deflowering, clothes, hair, ****** nakedness
May 5, 2020
May 5, 2020 at 4:54 AM UTC
No matter what you have been told
God is in control
Rest assured he is near
No need to fear
Hold on to Faith real tight
Know that everything is going to be alright
When God is in the midst
Defeat doesn't exist
"In all these things we are more than a conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord".
You serve a powerful God
A God who can calm the sea
A God who holds your destiny
He is your healing spring
And in his hands he brings
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
Look at the grass grow,
look at the spirits flow,
look at the sun glow,
look at your sons go.
Look at the rip tides,
look at the grey skies,
look at the black flies,
look in your own eyes.
Look at the hurricanes,
look at those in pain,
look at the pouring rain,
look at those showered by fame.
Look at the burning coal,
look into the black hole,
look deep into the soul,
look at the world as a whole.
Corporate conquerors conquer the economy.
Seven sickos ****** with ******
Honest Al has no honesty.
Endogamy?
Some poor sinner selects to sin.
Whiny woman want to win.
Crazy killers **** their kin.
Fin?
No! Lets keep the show going!
Skies are clear, but it is snowing.
Rowing, flowing, with the stream,
is this all a dream?
A dream?
Awaken me!
I scream!
I flee...
I'm floating on a stream,
crying in a dream,
waiting to be seen,
by you.
See me,
hug me,
kiss me,
love me.
Hate me,
shun me,
as long as you loved me,
then I can die,
I can dream,
in peace.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
Dear Madam Sabrina,
The lonely beach shores, I walk
Tossing seashells of affection in remebrance of you
A pursued love interest that is overwhelm
Overflowed by tears I attempted to hold back
Slithering ghostly as we never embrace
A tender kiss, ponders across the bay
Given a mysterious essence
We are lost
In an oceanview desire
Recollecting inner thoughts about another
A woman I found,but an achor
Abreast from you
Rejection is a raging wave that conquerors
My ability to forget you
A stranger to calm sea
Can float away
From peaceful shores
Of love
Yours truly,
A man without dignity
Sep 29, 2009
Sep 29, 2009 at 4:25 AM UTC
The only thing that ties me to this quilt-patched land, is memories of a flag: red, white, yellow, and blue.
Red is the blood used to paint our doorways—protection from ghostly wolves that sought our firstfruits. It is fight, even if our weapons are terribly flimsy. Bamboo tinted spears, mashed with berry paint and maskara on our brows is our arsenal. We fight in, and with the shadows. Light chases them down. Memories of GomBurZa, Noli Me, Balintawak, Tirad Pass and even EDSA remind me of how the wounds are slowly closing. Red is the color of our scars.
White is the gifts we received from our conquerors. The plow and the print: an awakening of consciousness new. White is the color of skin that polished us. White is also the gift of void, bleakness and forgetfulness. In exchange for the new, we shafted the old: our language, our anitos. A gift of disconnect: resolute Babel collapsing, burying us in tongues filled with sorcerous lisps. We curl in vain our own lips to fit their shapes. We speak gibberish now. The ghosts scoff at us in an even newer language of their own invention.
Yellow is the sweet sun which kissed us tenderly—even as we were surrounded by bolo, spear, sword. The sweet sun fights to give us light, and reaches out to us misunderstood. It shaped our land—softened our soils and gave it fruit. It is mangos, and papaya skins, and ripe bananas. It gives us joy and sweetens our sweat.
Blue are the lakes beneath which linger our roots. With the water is our identity: our hearts, our gait, our dance: the light shuffling of feet, the sway of brown hands, the wind waving at the rice buckets bobbing on our heads. We were never a warlike people. When we are wounded, we seek refuge in our seas, in the saltwater wounds that so painfully clean us of dastard memories. They sting like a freshwater song. Like the harsh howling of the monsoon rains, and the tides rising and falling with our chests. Humming.
We forget and we remember, like the ebbs and flows of the shore, the coastal highways that we leave in peace, like a languid dance. They float in and out of history—as one hops in and out of bamboo rods as they dance the Tinikling. The songs, they string us well. String names like humble Rizal, larger than life, and manic Bonifacio, who looked us straight in the eye. Names that sing of the prairie wind—softly massaging the hard grains that we till quietly in the fertile soil.
Soil—what ties us together is our history.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
the sun burns red in the west
The lovers meet in secret
Following their hearts
in the cropping darkness
It is big and brave
For the passionate lover
He would hand it to her love tonight
Hoping that she would cherish it
Even when he will be away
She gives him hers
Tells him "be strong and intact
Return safe my love
I will be waiting for you"
The heart,
That little body part
habouring all issues
Makes all decisions
The heart,
it strengthens the soldier
in the battle front
Singing to him songs of courage
Reminding him of his sweet love at home
Love from the heart is true and passionate
Its different from lust
and is bound to last
The battle is love
Even though the war is different
He kills for love
she is the only thing in mind
She gets broken a few times
taunted by sociopaths
Telling her 'they will never come back"
She has waited for times and times
But the heart stands all the tests
Most of the times
The heart that
lordship of mind and body
Guides everyody
Decisions of the heart
You can trust
He thinks with the mind for tact
but nomatter what
He follows his heart;
even though he is bruised and hurt
The mind fills him with doubt
but the heart tells him to fight
Reminds him of heroes
and sweet **********
Turns him to a matador
the eyes give him sight
but the heart fills him with insight
Hugging him tight
it neutralises his fright
He marches right
Into enemy territory
She is barely making through
They think she should remarry
News of fallen soldiers devastates her heart
Man's strength is from within the heart
Courage is not from spears
Not arrows and swords...
That small body part!
Emperors and conquerors
Lovers and soldiers listen
Fathers and Mothers
They listen to the heart
He creates devastation
Wrecking the enemy camp
As his battalion joins in
His heart moulding him
Into a hero
That small body part
Endures all in patience
As she waits
Saying its never late
...a time of jubilation
Victory cries are heard
Those back are few
But they removed the enemy
By conviction of their hearts
He is a legend
The man after everyone's hearts
She is joyous
As she runs into his embrace
The heart
That small body part
Endured it all
A soldier's heart...
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
Tigers hunt, Sheep bleat
Eagles soar, Bears sleep
Only one imperfection
One blot on this earth
Only one mistake
In this chaotic universe
The biped that thought
I’m special, they are naught
I will chase them and herd them
I will cow them and hurt them
I will conquer their will
As I sit atop my hill
All that I see is mine
My power is divine
Indeed power is divine
or at least above the touch
Of the lowly biped,
Slave to ego, its crutch
Time cycles around
The circle of life
Each fool with a title
Sits pretty for a while
On a mountain of bones,
Bloodshed, false pride
I’ve won, I’ve crushed them
Look how they run and hide
Oh, don’t you see,
You sad little fool
One of these days that
Boomerang will find you
Your house of cards is swaying
The hounds of hate are baying
Your great successor has arrived
Same delusions, different stripes!
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Love is a flower open to the sun,
Hate is a cavern, a hole, craven,
Black, empty, a dank drowning,
Under light. Love is one season,
Hate is transitory. Love is eternal,
Of vast nebulas, to outer reaches
In galaxy are nurseries with stars
Being born, light, alive with light.
Love is the lasting of conquerors,
The first line, defense, existence,
Love takes all in one communion,
Breaking the dark as the morning
Sun. Love is conundrum, love IS.
Hate is a construct, the blotched
That bleeds where life is seeding,
Rot better to cut, spoil unneeded,
Hate will come to nothing, for life
Is love, love is all and everything.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
My blood is marked by genocide
on the two sides
of these Atlantic lines
My fate was sealed with the blood stains
of cotton workers from Marash
slaughtered by the ottoman
and the mixed blood
of conquerors
and massacred
of masters and estranged slaves
The rot of colonialism
lurks underneath
our 15 second democracy
My eyes were numbed
by what I hadn´t seen
after the ***** war was over
after the bowels of the Earth
had vomited
bones in Uruguay
lifeless infant mummies
in the soft heart
of Africa
after the tide brought in
the loot
of generals,
green men of power and no shame
My past was carved with knives
on children´s bones
in the mountains
of Leninakan
with hanged peasants
on the slopes of Ararat
My human pride was dumped
in Rio de la Plata
one summer night
in a death flight
that time when I
had learnt to sing
before I grasped
the word
The word was born
from the colonial rot
under our soil
and under Africa
The word was black
and cast a deadly storm
before the sun
The word was Genocide
Nov 23, 2009
Nov 23, 2009 at 3:12 AM UTC
The strangers sat
before the king,
their lips were flat
and eyes were ringed.
It was smoky in that
enormous room,
the vapors and gases
being ornaments hanging in the air.
"For what purpose were you there?"
asked the savage king,
whose eyes were darkly burning
in a face deeply sinking
in on itself.
With feathers in his hair
and paint dried on his skin,
he floated in the air
far above his kin.
Cortes knew the power
hidden deep within this man,
though alien in the hour
of this,
a continent's last stand.
With hands as white as snow
so deft so quick so sly
the contract was unknown
to that great man in the sky.
"To see and meet and greet you,
O' great man of this
strange
and foreign land."
Their eyes had locked in place,
two triggers pulled back taut,
waiting to erase
what the other sought.
Be it gold or riches or
love or power or fame or
ivory coated witches
that were taught no shame,
the two titans did not know
the immensity of the moment,
the branching of the seed
from the future calmly planted.
The trees now grow so far
they cover up the room
where two great conquerors once sparred
while destruction darkly loomed.
A storm gathered on the horizon,
thundering like drums,
winds strong like poison
greed as fast as guns.
They say the smoke still lingers
in all the old, pervasive places,
and that the forest still has fingers
in all the empty spaces.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
I'm waiting, for someone to care, for people to change, realize what they're doing and why. I want to stop thinking that I am alonee, want to know there's someone else that thinks like I do you and sees how the rest of these people are so shadowed and blind. I want to see the good times again, and I want to remember these moments, knowing there are more to come. But my hope is falling through my fingers, as each day passes drearily in the same **** way. Without Change. And I wonder why people think their way of life is Okayy. I want to fill the lonely emptiness and longing I have, but they continue to make me more and even more empty, leaving me a shell of the wonderous possibly I know I can be. Just held back by their thoughts of their reality. They can try to listen to me, like anyone should, but I know they just don't understand, and I just wish I could change that, and let them see what I see, how ugly they really are. Allow them to know what their actions really spell.
I want to escape to a place with passion, not passiveness. A place with spirit and soul and color and good vibes, full of true originality and heart. With NO INTENTIONS. Just truth. Just simplicity. Just happiness and laughter and love. No consequences. No melodramaticacy. A place where there are no fake smiles, only unstoppable dimples. Made by REAL and TRUE moments, moments so rare to me now I can hardly remember the last. I just want the truth, not lies. And I want everything the world can offer. Is that too much to ask? I want risk. Where did that go? I want to be and feel like an entire human being living for true happiness and potential, fulfilling dreams, no matter the circumstances.
But these kids, these future conquerors of the world, they continue to allow themselves to be completely controlled by the social norms of our ******* society. I refuse. But it has no mercy, society is a killer, high school it's ally. It controls, infects, then kills the soul. A sad death all too willingly accepted. It hazes the youths real priorities, and takes over the immune system, rejecting difference.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 9:03 AM UTC
Corruption
is an overflowing
abundance of inadequate language.
As few will fathom
the misleading of those in lead,
and those who think they see
may be mislead;
even more than those who don't.
Our ends
are never the beginning
madmen are not our conquerors
but instead the folly of commoners.
It was our lack of a auspicious aptitude
that begets us to lament
even the foggiest of concepts
beyond our notion to conceive even simplicity.
It was only eager creatures
that yearned for the world to be theirs
so instead of uniting the kingdom;
we were segregated into classes
and left without language to communicate.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC
Crumbling pillars of the Parthenon
Like the gods be praised,
Are eroding away to bread crumbs.
And as the conquerors came
To claim the land for the king
Were reclaimed by the gaping tide.
And the forays into memory
Bring back nostalgia,
Breaking into burnt Polaroid past.
The sea swept the tide from under me,
Gone are the gods and their kings,
Gone are the photos of useless things.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
Colorado mountains climb into thin air
And demand two reasons to be speechless
Peaks that quench and ignite existence
And silently demand reverence
Beauty and terror wed
Uncanny companions
Hardest and softest thrive
Unspoken and unspeaking
Ascending conquerors
The spider and the flower
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
to the victor
belongs the
narrative
Visigoths
of the
Info Age
spin golden
zeitgeists
on looms of
obfuscation
tongues of fire
breathe rationalizations
sear acceptance
of a conquerors
sweet dominion
onto pliant minds
Edvard Grieg
In the Hall of the Mountain Kings
10/24/14
Oakland
jbm
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
TRUE CONQUEST
A bird's resting nest may be very small ,
But that is of no consequence at all !
Since the sky above its head is vast and
wide ,
Where it can spread its wings and fly, -
Across the vast expanse of the ethereal
blue sky !
Here on ground where we jostle for living
space ,
Man’s hunger and greed does not abate !
Alexander , Napoleon, and ****** had tried
conquer and shackle this earth,
But their conquests never could last!
I recall Leo Tolstoy's short story once more.
After having covered the furthest corners
of the land under his feet;
Galloping at top speed to make his conquest
complete ,
The rider totally exhausted falls on the ground,
Collapses and dies without a sound !
Only six feet of ground sufficed for his grave!
And so it has been for the bravest of our braves !
Now I recall the great Buddha under the banyan
tree ;
And the Messiah who entered Jerusalem mounted
on a donkey,
With shouts of ‘ Hosanna’ and with palms spread
across His feet !
Were true World Conquerors beyond defeat!
- Raj Nandy
New Delhi
•
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
O,
Ye samaria
Harken unto us,
For this is how far the Lord has brought us
"We Gehazi"
For
By our afflictions
Did thee left us
In the stench over the gates of the city
There
We sat in our rags
And wobbled in the burns of the fiery sun
But
When night invaded the peace of the sun
Was the burns gobbled wholly
Allowing the malicious cold breeze
Pierce through our bones and marrow
Like the arrows of the syrians
Yet
Now and then
Will thy hearts
Befriend compassion
And serve us with the remains of thy garbages
And yea,
Their pungent aroma we gasp with delight
And although,it came with a bruised satiety
It curbed our curse and anxieties
We were wasted,yet death feared to waste us whole
But
In the times
When thy comforting abundance
Was clutch and struck by thine enemies
Did thy desperation for quench
Plunge through our lungs and stomach
Like
Thee,we were hoist by famish
Yet exceedingly
And our souls will bleed relentlessly
When we prayed and wept
"Why sit we here until we die"
There
The spirit of the lord
Descended in our midst
O,we unclean
And made us more valiant than thine armies
We bacame conquerors of thine enemies
When
We stride
Through the valleys
Of the shadows of death
And every step we made scaled our breath
Yet through all,and Truth
His rod comforted us
And oblivious of our fate
He set banquets in the tents
Of our enemies
Our rags did he made the finest robes
And in our care did he bade their luxuries
O,
Ye doubtors and despaired samarians
Harken unto us
For we carry the glad tidings of the lord
Behold!
Ye all on this day
Shall witness the great abundance
Of the lord
And testify his mighty works for all
UNCLEAN
2 Kings 7 vrs 3
©Historian E.Lexano
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC
Hahah Really!?
Just because we err doesn't mean we dumb.
Or that we don't hear
It just means we fail
And lie.
Still victorious conquerors, more or less.
Some heir to dress.
You big G
Talk a walk with me
Follow or staulk it thats up your tree
But error is that flawfasee?
known one as religiously
Scaled eyes your puck stuckin suckin cant
see and im iceman ****
your deviliceofsee ....devise of demons indructreent but still I don't fluctypueight or punctuate till I say best the rest is your jokers test
Freewill defines who a joke and whos left right?
Im sorry. But judges get, not so nice. Cause
Old is light tenned frend bend matters it does to you jedi and saint tho too gamer and player show view. I switch from me and then back to you. But what order is up 2 you.
Good game yo ^-^ hope I showed love more than judgement...
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
You’re a 3AM
Wake up call
With another sob story
About the latest boy
Who pumped you
Then dumped you
And left you
In a sweaty lonely pile
Upon another
Empty bed
And you cry
Baby girl tears
All over my phone
And you wonder why handsome
Boys
With shining white teeth
With full heads of curly black hair
With six-pack stomachs
And tight muscular
Rear ends
Can not be more like
Mature
Older
Men
“Just like you,”
Baby girl says
“Just like you.”
And you cry
Baby girl tears
All over my phone
And you wonder why reckless
Boys
Who party all night
Who down countless ***** shots
Who shout “muthafukka,” “dude,” ******
And other raucous
Victory chants
Can not be more like
Mature
Older
Men
“Just like you,”
Baby girl says
“Just like you.”
You want me to empathize
You want me to criticize
The nasty boys
Who took you for another
Cruel and pointless ride
You want me to father you
In a way he never did
But I’m sorry
Baby girl
I’m sorry
I can’t
Because I admire and envy those
Boys
In the prime of their life
Not yet defeated
Not yet haunted
Not yet beaten
By the disappointments that
Await
They are a national treasure
A precious resource
From the exuberant crude shouts of
Irrational wild boys
Come the builders of shelter
The providers of sustenance
The conquerors of enemies
The explorers of frontiers
From the exuberant crude shouts of
Irrational boys
Come the daring adventurers
The first one into the burning house
The last one out of the burning house
The one still standing when everybody else
Fled
From the insatiable ***** of such
Irrational wild boys
Come the fierce wild girls
Who dance insanely upon tables
Who run naked through the streets
Who make love without limits
In open fields
Upon damp grass
All through the night
From the insatiable loins of such
Irrational wild boys
Come the fierce wild girls
Who cat-fight for their lover
Who **** for their children
Who wail passionately for their dead
From such boys
Baby girl
From such boys
You were born into the world
My crazy baby girl
You were born into the world
Like father, like daughter
And if I could be that young wild boy
Again
The one that you hate
And love
In such a maniacal way
It would be an honor to be with you
An honor to hold you
An honor to love you
Until my dying day.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:04 AM UTC