"damsels" poems
The first thing I saw early this morning
When I pulled back the light green curtains
Was a hectic blue 'n orange butterfly
Waving in the fair sun of my garden -
Between the enclosed well and the laurel tree.
On the red radiant sidewalk,
Two damsels strutted together;
A turquoise skirt wore the one,
A chocolate T-shirt the other.
Jubilant they were together,
As the cadence of their laughter
Waved in the air like Tunisian silk.
No harvest did my screen display today,
No mountain range did loom far in the distance;
All that was shown were a laughing sidewalk,
And a quivering sun in a small garden.
(c) LazharBouazzi, April 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 11:27 AM UTC
by— Josiah Israel
Twas oft the way in days of old,
When knight would battle brave and bold,
The damsels hand in hopes to hold,
Worth more then polished Stone, or Gold
For this is what a boy is told
When day is done and night is cold…
“One day my son, thy chance will come
Though courage oft may waver,
When lady waits, through sable gates
For thee brave lad, to save her!”
For when a dragon stole a maid,
Awaiting ransom duly paid,
Twas bravest knight, armor arrayed
With noble steed and burnished blade
Rode swiftly to the damsels aid…
“You have not birth of high degree
Yet be thou brave and fight,
For low in rank thy birth may be
Yet heart makes noble knight!”
And after facing beast and foe
The knight with maiden free would go
Away to fields in need of ***
For seeds ere winter need to grow
And none can reap who do not sow…
“Not all you do will win a prize
Of gold or silver bent,
So reap a harvest good in size
And be thee well content.”
And when the battle horn he hears
The knight must banish all his fears
And ride to war, with battle cheers
On maidens cheek alight her tears
Fearing death, she spends the years…
“To win renown in battle
Might also be your path,
May your enemies armor rattle
As they feel your righteous wrath!”
But after kings campaign is done
The knight to home will swiftly run
From dusk through night to rising sun
Till maiden sees her hero come
Heart moving swift, a beating drum
Her heart a prize which first he won!
“Home is best at warring's end
To be with those you cherish,
A place to rest, your wounds to mend
Where love will never perish”
Though all the kingdom knows his name
And minstrels spread the brave knights fame
His love for she, remains the same
And they live happily, Knight and Dame…
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
I. Neptune’s Theater
A rock spins through the universal tumbler
and its warm blue pools calcify
as turquoise Neptune in his cloudy blue bath bath
builds a lace castle with his fingertips
Sculpts a submerged eden of crimson and emerald
where painted parrots chat up cardinals
butterfly and angel fry sway with wave pulse
and foliated coral fingers beckon from arched windows.
Neptune’s children are flat and bright, spined and notched
free yet entangled in lace mesh ecosystem
beneath an array of bioluminescent stars
as a gangly pretender watches and blows bubbles.
II. Sapien Siege
The hot acidic hand of death grasps
the mesh rends and tangles
the ecosystem shattered
reef’s loosed children scream beneath planet’s stars.
Butterflies impaled
cyanide-swooning damsels
mesh-tangled angels hauled heavenward
coral to potash, corpses to coal.
The pretender to the throne blinks
rubs blurry lenses,
kicks plastic fins
and moves on to the next show
Unseeing and unaware
of the luminous filament in his wake.
Self-appointed divinity,
deus ex machina.
*******************************************************************************************
Ann says: All of the animal and human characters in this poem (except Neptune and The Pretender) are named after coral reef fish. Coral reefs, one of the most diverse ecosystems, are expected to be largely extinct within one human generation. Deus ex machina is Latin for “God from the machine.”
Copyright 2013 by Ann Marcaida.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
Beastly is this monster state yet many damsels cannot avoid
Some may call it disturbingly conflicting and become annoyed
Where rationality coexists with irrationality in an unstable realm
Pretty monster states navigate this journey as captains at the helm
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Wonder is this monster state since the inception of Adam and Eve
Men can only hope to be compassionate, steadfast and never peeved
One moment, pretty monster states can be loving and best friends
Next moment, challenging one’s good nature and spirit to extreme ends
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions
Frightful is this monster state like a suspenseful thriller or mystery
Only those who are not faint of heart can sleuth this case history
Where a profound will of character serves to stabilize one’s constitution
Bringing the monster state to an uneventful but amenable restitution
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
No need to disguise your fury or depressions
Pretty monster states, Pretty monster states
This is just part of your amazing expressions.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC
Moving amidst my Ramona chapter books,
I make out your movement, M, the moody turns
Of your mounts and valleys, the moniker of
Family names, you marked me like a maternal
Emblem of the generation’s matriarch,
You mingled amid reminiscences of former matrons
Maria Helena from the Midwest,
Who crossed the mountains in a wagon,
Madeleine, a migrant from Marseilles,
Who baked warm loaves in San Francisco,
And her own daughter, my Mimi,
Who muttered merde while she drank martinis.
In my own time, you materialized in
Marjorie, my nana, and Maria, my mom,
The women in which I knew you growing up,
Then Molly, who made dreams out of
Magic and Movies and Marie Antoinette,
You embellished my most favorite things.
In my monogram, you aimed my impulses
in your masts’ diametric directions
Towards competence, towards imagination.
In your middle ‘s mysterious compartment I make snug
With magazines and novels and mugs of hot milk.
You nuzzled me in moments of melancholy, then motivated me
To meander among your fundamental family,
The sumptuous L of melt and mélange,
The meticulous N of man or monk or money.
Even W, which matches your mien in mirror
It warped wicked witch while you
Milled maidens and damsels, so I imagined
The mutilation of those two majuscules formed
My image of womanhood. M, Molly Smithson materialized
From a meek mademoiselle into the mistress of mischief.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
At times can be seen melting together
One into the other like a loving couple
At times drifting as a lonely wanderer
The clouds are there to imitate people
It can't move on a journey on its own
Without energy clouds are immovable
It'll stay motionless if not wind blown
Prodding to be productive like people
Some are peacocks parading with flair
Of damsels bosoms as white as marble
Putting air pompous what do I care
Show fame without shame like people
Arms ready for war it's getting warm
They gather warring forces for battle
They march whip up a thunderstorm
Rainclouds hungry for war like people
Clouds can be big cloud can be small
Can be rich prosperous can be poor
Like people accumulate only to lose all
To earn and loss and earn once more
They orbit the earth decorated the sky
Unaware of mortal affairs just rumble
Prone to fallacy or vanity as you and I
Can't help noticed clouds are like people
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
**** men
predatory *** hounds
chasing skirts and tights
aching **** idiots
disciples of Eros
Christs of fetish
reconciling nothing
veiling that principled demeanor
of feminist culture
"of don't objectify me".....translation
sensual form is not natures ruse
machine Eve must
override override override
well the id does not negotiate
the superstructure
of affected political tele-reality
starring
the liberal chattering class
who speculate male motives
to be some vainglorious power trip
while corporatized media personalities
feign out of control lust
as a mental disorder
and
sit up like shuddering Pekingese
yessing the lascivious
as a fiction
no ladies
its not just power
theories are not testosterone
it is pure unadulterated
relentless
irreducible
urge to merge
like the beluga **** channel
sea world as you've never seen it before
where male dolphins
batter and gang bang
the weaker ***
in search of feral harmony
in an overbuilt society
yet to become a civilization
are we
scissored between a wild ****** id
of the damed
and the Victorian sacred
of the damed
oh you silky damsels
makin men moody and humid
pure **** heroine
a poison ivy of ***
like a rash
givin men folk the itch
cant stop the twitch
rubber *******
in a rubbing frenzy
from your soaking heat and odor
we are a rumbling of muttering torments
for the forbidden taste
of you
oooow
oooow
we are pan in a mad dance
for glistening shanks
and buttery kisses
we are the early bird looking for the worm
hunters decreed by the liturgy of heaven and hell
a constellation of infatuation and lechery
mad with adoration
love slaves in a raging furnace of desire
*** addicts
that just say yes
turgid dogs
hole sniffers
voluptuous monsters
all johnny apple seed
and sometimes your salvation
as you are ours
knowing that sometimes
real eroticism eclipses morality
and yes my darlings*
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
NO MAN SHOULD EVER TRANSGRESS ANOTHER
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 12:55 PM UTC
I think things like "weigh my belt"
That weight dowth felt thy girly wirly smell
hand made
sew maid for two plums pie
I cry I cry I almost pass away
way to the future down
down to below. Oh
how can I
be so
naïve before the summer glow
a basement bash of feet below
below a hazard haggard waist
wasted on the belt loop of his father
a potter
plain before your very eyes
a seismic ray of disbelief
a cobble stone of sticks and leaves.
No
I could be a sailor man
and I could eat things from a can
and inching toward a rubber band
Damsels in distress
they're not impressed by you
or shallow deeds
deeds begin to play
beneath my skin and things that float away
and inching toward the silos of
a tribal super plane
a racecar a racecar
I'm ******* erasing it all
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC
Damsels of distress,
Wings of vivid crests.
All elegant in a romance.
Spin my Fairy.
Tilt your head.
Sprinkle fairy dust,
To ressurect the dead.
The dead who don't dance.
Who stand in awe of your crest.
Spin my Fairy,
Recruit the rest.
Vivid streams,
Violet strings.
Strung on thy lute of play.
Spin my Fairy,
Sing your song.
Of Vibrance.
Of Honor.
Of love.
Spin now,
Your wings beautifully carved.
As a monarch or a sprite.
You give life to the crowd.
Elegance above Royalty.
Love above Lust.
Play your reverend strings.
Of Story Springs.
Spin my Fairy,
Flare those vivid wings.
You are the final act.
Praise your Lute of Rings.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 8:23 AM UTC
Although I haven't witnessed
Darfur's eyes run red.
Rivers full of skeletons,
and bodies torn and bled.
I've read about the pigment
of fearful hearts so lost.
A dreaded world within a world;
there are no lines to cross.
Money paid for power.
Power, bodies, bills.
The Janjaweed at noon,
are cleansing for their drills.
Washing down stern orders
with blood on unclean hands.
Babies and their mothers
decomposing in sand.
Weapons worn like diamonds.
Lust and **** colliding.
Torture becomes normalcy.
Living only hiding.
So long as Omar al-Bashir
sees families as roaches,
death is understated.
In greed, he people-poaches.
Pity is for damsels
parading in a tide
of much needed attention
with ego on the side.
To you, my friend
who listens, but fails to comprehend:
Those who live for nothing
are nothing in the end,
I ask you, pray for Sudanese
fed horrors for their lunch,
their bones becoming rubble,
under tires they will crunch.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Our love was crafted from heavenly bodies.
Tow trucks, skyscrapers, and chicken farms separated us.
But destiny, fate, and god came together
And gave these three damsels a gift.
Wrapped in blonde bows,
And dry throaty laughs.
We are one of the greatest platonic affairs.
All of us were given to Hades from our mothers;
Their tears fell on the maps they gave us.
As the gods weep, we laugh
At how we found each other in the mess that surrounds us.
All has aligned.
Nothing is perfect.
But nothing truly beautiful
Was born from perfection.
We are our sweaty foreheads,
Large appetites,
Thirst for a knowing,
And a hunger for a longing.
We are a connection
Conceived from something holy and numinous.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 11:11 PM UTC
Celestial wayfarers of the night
Dancing damsels with the light
Fading phantoms at Phoebes’ sight
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
And our brother, too, the metal shaman
Reaches up, plucks knowledge from the stars
We chant, guttural grunts, primal urges
And fierce grinding teeth clenching and screeching
The shaman dances and
Reaches up, plucks knowledge from the stars
And we SCREAM shrill
Bare our necks and bring the knife across, ****
A sacrifice to the metal beast
The shaman stares straight up,
Plucks knowledge from the stars
And the blood leaves us
Hair turns grey
Daily exploits lost in deepening wrinkles
The macabre ritual culminates...
The Shaman, unappeased
Laughs like Hyena, cackling
REACHES UP AND PLUCKS KNOWLEDGE FROM THE STARS!
The existential cacophony diminishes
Din dimming
Beast is empty
Bits flow like blood
Ones and zeros in a jumbled pool
The shaman delivers
The family sits around the glowing box
A tribe in an ancient ritual
Flip the switch, change the channel
The children plucking out their eyes
Little blind Oedipus
Smashing faces through the tube
To the life on the other side
Celebrities, products, and reality shows
Forget thought
Present your mind
To the beast
A cinematic ****
Send Damsels to appease the Minotaur
Change the channel
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 4:03 PM UTC
in storybook endings ,
the princesses
found their princes.
The valiant heroes
chases away all the dragons.
The lost would find
their way home.
And people would find
what they've lost.
But then, whatever happened
to those who fell in love
with the dragons instead?
The damsels,
who became too comfortable
with their own distress?
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 7:51 AM UTC
So I'm a "fly" white guy,
with "Jet" black tendencies,
Try to be a nice guy,
But somehow end up the enemy.
I'll treat you like a princess,
But I'm a fort,
You can't get into me.
It makes no sense to me.
How did this knight in shining armor,
Get slain by the dragon?
So once upon a time,
I was a hero,
Now I'm a has-been.
Last in the castle for I belong with the Pagans,
Slaying distressed damsels,
Giving hell to the angels
With strangers wrapped in mangers,
Destined for greatness.
Trapped within this labyrinth of my cranium.
But when it comes to blame,
My pigmentation begins to change,
But this time it's not my shame.
'Cause you play the same game
That the dames did before you.
You're no different.
You're not worth a fortune.
Fortunately, you revealed your horns for me.
It's torturing how for me it ended horribly,
and you moved on to the same dude you ******* before me.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
You say it's false,
that nice guys finish last?
Well clarify why I'm starin',
At taillights from my past.
They say when you have everything,
You give nothing back.
So I guess that explains
Why your feelings for me lack.
You're like "You're a white guy,
That tends to be black.
Well how in the hell
Can I get used to that?"
That's ********
You're afraid of commitment.
That's why you had to end it,
Before it could begin with.
You're a cynical, sinister,
Hypocritical minister,
Angelic sinner sent to incriminate innocence.
Evil's equivalent,
Yet as sweet as carcinogens.
If heartbreak were a game,
Girl, you would be winnin' it.
If my soul were a food,
You would've finished it.
I had a confident conscience,
but girl you diminished it.
Listen kid,
I get you're immature and ****
But don't go and slander my name
When you used to worship it.
Love's supposed to be patient,
Love's supposed to be kind,
Instead it's a battlefield
Filled with landmines.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
Fight,
Fight with all your might,
As you can be your own brave knight.
So take a big bite,
Of this new rewrite,
The damsels are about to alight,
From their high plight.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
in today´s virtual worlds we take our avatars
to meet with others of their kind
in that cute coffee shop in neverland
hoping that one of many current superheroes
shows up for a quick drink before another dangerous task
like fighting dragons threatening fair damsels
killing the blinded one-eyed giant
defeating hordes of wild insurgents
saving our planet from superior but evil aliens
old fairy tales and myths
it seems
have donned contemporary virtual garbs
changed names and weapons
to happily exude their fascination
on yet another generation
hungry for adventures
that take them far away
from their quotidian battles for survival
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
I am a damsel;
I need not a prince.
I need not a knight.
I'm a modern damsel with a need for life.
I am a damsel;
Distress is always there.
Challenges are everywhere.
I'm a modern damsel who takes down mountains.
I am a damsel;
I feel fear, and maybe that's a good thing.
I feel uncertain, and maybe that's not a bad thing.
I am a modern damsel who gets to feel everything...
Because that's what damsels in my generation can do.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
Pan
by Michael R. Burch
... Among the shadows of the groaning elms,
amid the darkening oaks, we fled ourselves ...
... Once there were paths that led to coracles
that clung to piers like loosening barnacles ...
... where we cannot return, because we lost
the pebbles and the playthings, and the moss ...
... hangs weeping gently downward, maidens’ hair
who never were enchanted, and the stairs ...
... that led up to the Fortress in the trees
will not support our weight, but on our knees ...
... we still might fit inside those splendid hours
of damsels in distress, of rustic towers ...
... of voices of the wolves’ tormented howls
that died, and live in dreams’ soft, windy vowels ...
Published by The Chariton Review
Keywords/Tags: Childhood, dreams, enchanted, stairs, fortress, trees, damsels, maidens, towers, wolves, howls, oaks, elms, paths, pebbles, playthings, toys, moss
Mar 19, 2020
Mar 19, 2020 at 1:47 AM UTC
Tossing to and fro as if combating a hostile sea/ dark thoughts cloud the inner sanctum of my mind/ the distress, the bitterness, the anguish, the grief, the sadness, the lonliness, the unfathomably lustful pain/ that I face burn with the intensity of the fires of hell that await me/ Guardians of chaos; harvesters of damsels come for me that I drown in their sins/ rip the fabric of my consciousness asunder/ my ***** sing an aria of sorrow, listen to the requiem of the ****** a miasma of death flood my bowels/ decay enters my womb and I plunge deeper into madness/ I'm an error; a fault of life as the demonic servants consume my flesh for what feels like a eternity/ as we desend in to the pit of blasphemy, defilement, pagans, and idol worshippers/ he deprives my spirit of the rightousness, tears it from its mortal bond and it unfurls into a ethereal cloud of emptiness/ being ravaged my capture looks off in the distance as if performing an exhibition/ with every touch I feel dead inside all the while the nightmare watches with a disgustingly grim grin....
This was written for a art history class inspired by "The Nightmare" by Henry Fuseli
Tell me what you think of the interpretation!!
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
My precious
You become a beauty
Only when you languorously
Hug the waists of damsels as cincture
Countless are the times,
earlobes or ankles
Unadorned by you
Inflamed me
A plain a yellow thread has ousted you nowadays
When you swing from an ear,
It is indeed fascinating to watch
You have even usurped my sleep
As a nose-ring, through its keen glitter
Costume jewellery has replaced you too, many times
Still, my precious,
It is when you are pawned
That you become real ‘gold ‘
Like the revolutionary
Who become more so
By getting hanged
Like a soldier
Who become more of a soldier
By getting shot at the border
My precious, my precious
My precious pledged gold.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
*Star light, star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight*
Star light, Star bright,
Why have you failed me tonight
I wished with all my might
Begging for this wish tonight.
My innocence has washed away
The childish wonder
has lost its luster
fading into the dark night sky
Reality has kicked in
Time to grow up
Can't be the next peter pan
Can't live among the stars any longer.
Children are believing no more
Faries, mermaids, and all the glamour.
Pirates, Treaure, Damsels in destress,
children are forgetting, turning their backs
Those wishing stars have shattered
Falling to Earth like meteors.
Their twinkle has fizzeled out
Their magic blowing away in space.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
babbling bard's borrowed blabberpolished performers jibber jabberpinching published stolen cultureverse of a cuckoo, parrot, or vulture thespian thrush corally crowspilfered produce of past masters proseperfect posture, prancing croondotty damsels sigh and swoon shakespearian showman strutting stagesobtaining material from dead poets pagesstudious stealer's theatrical thirstrapturous robber, magpie of verse wisely walter mundane mittypoetical poacher prancing prettyempty shallow pretentious crookcrafty criminal compiling book robber of rhyme from archival shelfcopy-cat crooner can't do it himselfrouted teeth spout from mouth like a troutaudience wonder, what is he on about any question's? the laurete quizzedyes said one,...do you know where the bog is? this is a true story, i was there. and the **** concerned is the editor of poetry wales magazine. who told me that i should study other peoples work for at least five years before i put pen to paper. i promptly answered, .... too late butty, i've already published 3 books, and sold the lot (only locally mind, but did'nt tell him that). he read other peoples poems that night, that were converted from english to welsh, and no one round here speaks or understands welsh.
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 12:36 PM UTC
O silver and black knight of the forest,
what goal have you taken up for the castle?
"I seek to slay with my beauty only..."
"Slay those cries and moans from lonely damsels."
"What business does an evil eye have in the land
of purity and repose?"
"I have many good deeds fine guardian."
"Then enter secure, but let no evil in, or you will be cast
out."
....
"You have no business here until your
wicked deeds are paid for, get out!"
"Hey, that's okay," a fair damsel
allows me to part from my solitude.
Put on the sandy veil of partnership, for the spirit has
reached into the divine female and divine male.
Let those chakras make a transpersonal point,
but sacral business is all I see.
Maidens forever young.
It seems an eunich has breached our display.
But are we allowed back into the land of purity and repose?
It seems the true goal of a babe's heart
at the lap of his mother has entered the lair.
Now is the fair damsel taken to the merciless judge.
Now is a beautiful friend, waiting all this
time, to exchange a breeze
of heartfelt love.
****** purity is sought after, yet
there is no place to hide a ****
Light no longer is transferred from the 8th dimension.
The male/female chakras above the crown open up again
for sacral play.
The sattvic essence remains,
and I am held dearly at this party.
The children outlast me during the night.
I enter through a circular gate of pastel crystal petals
into a deck of superstrength beings
of all colors.
A female face is grafted to mine.
She puts on silver and black armor
and the walls are crimson.
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 2:11 AM UTC
Slowly sinking in such sullen silence
As if allowing all abandonment alike
Very visible verification
Eludes to the epitome of emotion
Maybe making myself mean much more
Eventually eliminates my existence
For fake friends fail to fathom fear of fearfulness
Realizing reality remains
Only to omit the opinions of others
Meticulously matching myself
Tortuous tasks tend to take time to teach to me
However, help hurts the healing heart
Isn't it ironic that insanity is inevitable
Some soon succumb to the substances
Severed skin stings as if saying "slice me some more"
Alone in apparent agony
Daring damsels to determine their date of death
Nevertheless, we need to feel numb
Enough to enjoy every endless evasion
Since only screams seem to silence the sinners' souls
Someone must soon save those suffering
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC