"dissuade" poems
Come to a garden of roses with me,
Serene it is fuller with roses to see,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
We shall not try to pluck any roses,
For the thorns dissuade any poses,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
We can't sit guarding the flowers,
Very busy in our mini lives we're,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
*I'll set-up a flaming ring of fire,
Seeking fine protection for them,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.*
Let's care for the roses as if our,
As if our little & young children,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
To help us get them blue & red,
Give them all suitable nutrition,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
Their presence is eye-pleasing,
We let them be in our garden,
They are here,
For you & me,
But just to see.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 1:52 AM UTC
To future conquering civilizations
in galaxies far far away . . .
don't worry about polluting the air,
our smokestacks have shot dirty-bombs
into the clouds for centuries,
mixing rain drops with the
black grime of industrialization,
transforming our children's tears
into cesspools of sulfuric acid and ddt.
We've also drained the bayous and swamps
and between you and me
don't even bother landing in Africa
there isn't suitable drinking water
for miles, you see.
You can thank years of colonization for that.
In fact, you may not want to land
on Mondays, Tuesdays, or Thursdays
in LA either-
on those days the air quality index
is 175 and far too unhealthy for any
biological organism to survive.
But at least you won't die of malnutrition
you've got decisions:
McDonald's or Burger King
choose
cholesterol and diabetes are your shock troops.
Send them in immediately,
there won't be much resistance
we've got these things call lazy boys
and daytime t.v which have
enslaved the population and decreased
the distance
between fully functioning
human beings and mindless apes.
Don't worry about bringing weapons
we've got those too
we've perfected the art of blowing each other away
there's not much for you to do.
we destroy cities with fire from the sky
and our mushroom clouds rise
at least ten miles high.
And god can't see, there's too much smoke
in his eyes
and our radiated children die
with radiated sighs.
While we are on the topic
don't worry about us spreading
propaganda
we've lost the ability to communicate.
We've learned
books turn a peculiar dark yellow
when lighted and burned.
And forget erasing history,
we've done that too.
Our subjugation of native peoples
is masked as 'patriotism'
under the red, white, and blue.
But don't get me wrong,
I tell you all
of this not to dissuade,
please come and attack,
please come and invade.
Here, I'll even turn
on the lights . . .
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
Warning: Use dis list in context.
You decide on which side you fall.
disappear
disregard
disaster
displace
disqualify
disrepair
disturb
dissipate
disability
dispose
dismal
distribute
distrust
disturb
discriminate
discuss
disdain
disguise
dishearten
disinherit
disown
disparage
disagree
disgruntle
disclose
discolour
dispute
disarm
discover
disassemble
disadvantage
disallow
dispossess
discontent
discontinue
disrespect
disincline
discomfort
disrepute
dishonest
disillusion
dishonor
dismiss
disobey
disjoin
disappoint
discipline
discord
discern
discrete
disfigure
disconnect
disapprove
discharge
disbar
disease
discord
disfavor
disengage
disassociate
discipline
discount
disembody
displace
dissaray
disembowel
discombobulate
discredit
discourse
disentangle
disenfranchise
disembark
discard
disburse
disbelief
discover
disable
disagree
disintegrate
dismay
dispense
dislodge
disclaimer
disapprove
dissatisfy
disrupt
dispel
dislike
dismantle
disloyal
disbatch
disrobe
disperse
display
disaprove
disciple
disavow
disconcert
disinfect
disorder
dismal
dismember
displease
dissemble
disunity
dislocate
distort
distrust
distress
dissolute
disassociate
distill
discect (?)
distemper
distain
distasteful
distraught
dissolve
dissonant
dissuade
And dis isn't de end.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Brick walls are incredible structures
The builder must realize the need for the wall,
then for many days must painstakingly
place mortar between bricks.
They must build with intention.
If not, it is no longer a wall
it will be left to decay in the rain.
However,
once finished it will stand strong against the weather,
impede prying eyes and thieves,
dissuade creatures and man alike,
The nature of the brick wall is this:
It only takes a single person
willing enough to remove that brick,
to break the mortar and push the brick through.
Their motivation
does not matter
so long as they find the reason for it being built.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
Help that woman, Lord
You know I tried to
I offered her what I had
My love, sentiment, concern and empathy
But apparently-
I am still all kinds of *******
She brought a friend, unannounced
Which was cool wit me
I just want everybody to have a happy and care free time
But no one can explain the insane's mind
And you brought more food
I didn't want you to, but that's how you do
She wouldn't even consider that to be rude
So we dine and sip and you make nice
But you're really in a frenzy-
A frenzied state of mind
I dare say it was too much wine
But your aggressive nature is impossible to dissuade once you're there anyway
So
I just let you be...You
I did what I did from my heart most kindly
I just keep trying to lock this family together
A strong tightly braided weave of a family tree
It seems like the only one who cares is me
But others too, just like she
Think it must be fun to be who I be
But really, its a lot of ******** too
Really it is
But nobody can see it
They see only what they need from me
Not what I have been trying to do and be all along
But hey- that's family reciprocity at its finest...
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 4:33 AM UTC
the nature of a woman is pain
she lives in silence
not a nail in sole would rouse her
she is not perturbed
but you will believe it
so she won't make a sound
for her voice is deafening
billowing with accusations and slander
how could woman not be happy in her confinement?
she is exactly how she should be
when she is small, mute, and most of all unremarkable
no woman should have the gall to look a man deep in his eye
if not without her clothes
so keep your head down *****
or you will be dealt with
man has the power
the strength
the resources and
the will
to take you
to **** you
to **** you
learn now and in earnest
lest your beauty or pride dissuade you
from finding your place in this world
Jan 15, 2023
Jan 15, 2023 at 11:23 PM UTC
908
’Tis Sunrise—Little Maid—Hast Thou
No Station in the Day?
’Twas not thy wont, to hinder so—
Retrieve thine industry—
’Tis Noon—My little Maid—
Alas—and art thou sleeping yet?
The Lily—waiting to be Wed—
The Bee—Hast thou forgot?
My little Maid—’Tis Night—Alas
That Night should be to thee
Instead of Morning—Had’st thou broached
Thy little Plan to Die—
Dissuade thee, if I could not, Sweet,
I might have aided—thee—
1.9k
See,
None of cottony optics,
Skimming soft tissues,
For pollutants on swimming eyes.
Dissuade,
To leaving sleeping innocence,
As a silhouette,
Lavished by the curtains down.
Outside,
A whirring static,
Underwater sounds.
Who will gather the pieces,
For a sweetheart.
Filtered through amber bottles,
Of honey-speckled moonbeams.
Curled fetus style,
In puddles of obsidian.
It can't be me,
I was left curbside of a floating castle.
Hunted with gabbling bullets,
With their own tongues.
And biting at lobes,
As they barked past.
If you see,
With no obstructions,
By flowery oriental screens,
My staggering paper doll,
Pass on:
The feverish spoon,
Was stirring,
An impossible raspberry leaf.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
When I hear you express an affection so warm,
Ne’er think, my belov’d, that I do not believe;
For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,
And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.
Yet still, this fond ***** regrets, while adoring,
That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear,
That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring,
Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear;
That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining
Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze,
When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,
Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.
Tis this, my belov’d, which spreads gloom o’er my features,
Though I ne’er shall presume to arraign the decree
Which God has proclaim’d as the fate of his creatures,
In the death which one day will deprive you of me.
Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion,
No doubt can the mind of your lover invade;
He worships each look with such faithful devotion,
A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.
But as death, my belov’d, soon or late shall o’ertake us,
And our ******* which alive with such sympathy glow,
Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us,
When calling the dead, in Earth’s ***** laid low.
Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure,
Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flow;
Let us pass round the cup of Love’s bliss in full measure,
And quaff the contents as our nectar below.
1.7k
I wish this was defined as more than limerence,
But I can feel this fact is obsession alone.
My heart is burning loud and vigorous,
And you’re so smothered in the ignorance
That the birds known as passion have since flown,
And our heartstrings together are already sewn.
It’s not my aim to dissuade, divert or disgust.
I just ask that you listen and lend empathy.
For this is not an admission of lust.
Loan dash of sympathy, an ounce of trust.
Call not these reactions droll chemistry.
There is no room for science in this recipe.
These are movements fantastic, explosions of fate.
Yet I’m giving permission to let this one slip
And gifting forgiveness if you decide too late.
This, I am certain, will be worth the wait.
If you disembark aboard different ship,
I can promise I’ll follow by tooth, nail, and whip.
You’ve armed me with passion and know not what you’ve done.
You can insist that there’s nothing, **** this off clean.
Still this doesn’t come from just anyone.
I know you more than a prize to be won.
Even if you ignore this, my mad queen,
I’ve hope, for justice is blind and oh what she’s seen.
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
The closest thing, I've personally seen, to the truth
is that I am fortunate just for the walls and the roof.
Everyone in the United States loves to **********
as they all try in vain to dissuade their innate guilt.
How much a better person will I become for
all of this good that I have done?
Corporations buy lakes to upsell life like
William Gibson thought they might.
Where is the sunset in flame through the eyes
of a younger Ridley Scott like we saw?
Let's start a fire in the heart of the woods.
Everyone will ignite, equally ugly.
Dance through the night with me.
What's your strain?
Would you care for some LSD?
We could die at any time, obviously,
So why not live up to the destiny
Implied by the monarchy?
Peasantry, peasantry.
Nihilistic pleasantry.
Peasantry, peasantry.
I used to think I was
Selesnya, Boros, or
Azorius, but now
I know that I'm a Jesuit--
Or something?
And so belong to House Dimir
Or to the Cult of Rakdos.
Peasantry, peasantry.
Nihilistic pleasantry.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 5:11 PM UTC
You always complained,
hated the way you looked,
Felt you had to compare,
Yet on you I was hooked,
You Felt you were chubby,
you hated having a scar,
Despised the stretch mark tummy,
Said your teeth were quite bizarre.
You, so strong and Independent,
Hating being between Jobs,
Living in poor conditions,
Stuck in a house full of slobs.
All you wanted were the girls,
Who were (wrongfully) taken away,
You could talk of them for hours,
Always having more to say.
You find all these faults and flaws,
You tell me that you're "Broken"
Yet you're perfect in my eyes,
I leave no praise unspoken.
Your eyes, like gems, They sparkle,
The way when you smile, they're amazing.
Your voice, cute, feminine, airy.
I really did love it when you'd sing.
The hair? Good god. That Moe Hawk.
Worst haircut choice you ever made.
And the Beiber haircut? Speechless.
Your independence I could not dissuade.
Yet you were still her, the one I wanted.
The looks always grew on me in the end.
You made me honestly happy, Love.
I thought you'd always be my best friend.
The Piercings? Attractive. The tattoos more so.
Everything I wanted I saw in you.
Your curves? Your body? Your shameless flirting?
Incited a lust in me no other woman could do.
You strive so hard to be individual,
Beautiful, Strong, Smart, Charming,
Even now, that you've left, your smile,
So pretty and pure, still completely disarming,
No matter what I've said in Jealousy and Anger,
You're an amazing woman. I just can't lie.
We may never even talk again after this,
We may not ever be able to see eye to eye.
But I think you were my "one",
Cause I am affected by no other,
I'll never forget you, Jen,
The Music loving nerdy Mother,
But now I'll walk away, while wishing you the best.
Hoping you find the happiness you want so badly.
It seems our chapter has ended, in such a poor state.
If you change your mind, I'll be here. Open arms. Welcoming gladly.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
She cannot be any more for me.
Cannot touch, cannot see or know
What it would mean to lie beside her.
Below or above or inside her.
I cannot kiss her skin enough
To satisfy my tongue,
At root, amid tonsil and gum.
There is nothing between my legs
To satisfy the ache I’ve beshouldered.
Nor to give her what she wants.
And yet to be the bearer of such lofty arms,
I have not the strength
To hold her to me, tight enough
Nor strength to let her go.
Therefore pianist or organist,
No digits can so far reach
To abrade this itch within me.
To what worldly force there is to bray,
No hips move expeditiously
Enough to shake this wanting free
Not rhetoric, charm nor Rationale
Bestow words to dissuade my need.
I have no arms to pull her closely,
Nor shape to fit her skin.
Yet I cannot be any less for her.
Jun 29, 2011
Jun 29, 2011 at 3:25 PM UTC
Nobody told me how much life would change once I graduated. The immense feelings of nostalgia, I barely managed to dissuade it. My heart, in all its complexities and difficulties, yearns for all kinds of things, scenarios, people - feelings. my heart yearns to feel. love keeps me warm, but lately, I've been awake with alarms, ringing like a maddened storm.
I think of the people I no longer talk to, my mind can come up with a few. Do people get over this? or is this a mist you cannot miss, haunting like a broken wrist, a cruel fate twist, that drives you searching for some kind of bliss?
I am undone. There used to be so much sun, but now it's hard even just to have fun. Is it cowardice to want to run? I imagine buying a gun and aiming it at my head, a joke so blunt.
I lay awake yet again. Dreams used to be so grand. But now it's all so bland.
I don't want to be bland...
Mar 7, 2024
Mar 7, 2024 at 11:10 AM UTC
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But ’tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
Nor are mine cars with thy tongue’s tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone;
But my five wits, nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be.
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
1.5k
Hypocrisy,
The equivalent of social ******
Based in double standards,
Tainted by dishonesty.
Victims to this plague,
The devils advocate leads the way,
With nothing but tired contradictions to convey.
We dissuade,
Allowing our facades to fade.
Revealing our true colors,
Painted in spectrums of hate.
Masking the demons,
Hoping no one can see.
Blindly choosing defeat,
Disregarding what makes us free.
Our ubiquitous connection,
Gone without detection.
A crisis that deserves undivided attention.
The equivalent of social ******
Hypocrisy.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 6:15 PM UTC
Having *** in
a car is the most
dispassionate
of locations.
You drive up late,
wait on the curb
for her to sneak
out past her
overprotective and
well intentioned parents.
She gets in,
keep the music high
and the voices low,
any conversation at
this point is
simply to break
the slight awkwardness
of what you both know
is about to happen.
Park in a
shady lot
with no light posts.
You can see an
elementary school
down the street,
buses and pick up lanes,
in a few hours they
will scamper around
like rats
but tonight there
are no witnesses.
Tonight there is nothing
but the back seat
you climbed into,
music still loud enough
to dissuade
any personalization
of the situation.
It is ***** and cheap.
--a personal
preference--
She is nothing but a
quick fix.
She gets on top,
moans a little
as you slide in.
The seatbelt buckle
digs deep into your
back,
but you don't mind it,
this wasn't meant
to be comfortable.
You just want this over with.
She looks at you
and smiles,
you look away.
All of this
is shameful,
but a necessary evil.
There is a decadent
beauty
that surrounds the
cheapest and
rawest of pleasures,
that glory in the gutter.
*** in a car is the most
dispassionate of locations.
You drop her back off,
don't stick around to see her
caught by her
waiting father.
Her shirt is on wrong
and her hair is ******
Not your problem.
You head home,
keeping the music up,
thinking about anything else.
You don't even know
who she is,
just some quick fix,
just another wednesday night.
You try to believe that
it is better that way.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
A passion surges to the fingertips,
of the chisel wielder.
Hacking erratically at the stone,
he is desperate to hone
the elusive allure of inspiration;
the influence that
ensnares his mind,
and blends his days and nights to infinity.
Though he labors incessantly,
fueled by elements that arouse and dissuade,
he is no closer to the cusp
of the enlightened state to which he journeys.
His ardor,
though noble,
is also his curse.
A slave to his art,
he is forced to endure
the miserable delight,
that epitomizes his craft.
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 5:34 AM UTC
Love is a kiss you cannot betray
A fitting of the lips in such a way
And all the mistakes that have been made
And the ones inevitable in all our days
Cannot contend the kiss
Love is a look you cannot dissuade
A force between eyes in such a way
And all the battles that have taken place
And all the falls from grace
Do not impend, cannot contend
Love is a wild thing by the way
Not the wise words that I wish I could say
And as much as at times it tries to be safe
And as much as at times it escapes
It’s found us at this
This kiss in which I will not betray
This fit of our lips in such a way
A force between eyes with all our limbs tied
The craving for you to be by my side
And dive into your kiss
(c) 2015
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
*"You could seriously, date someone who is going to commit to the army in less than a year?"
This question haunts me. I know that you don't really asking it to me.
You just want to dissuade me from wanting to be with you.
But the answer is yes, yes i could.
You don't imagine the sacrifices i would make to be with you. And if that means not seeing you for months, so be it.
We'll find a way back to each others.
I have never wanted to live a normal life, so go on.
Says everythings you want to say but nothing will make me leave.
If you asked me this question to test me, I hope i have made a success.
Because nothing will make me leave.*
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
you stood across from me with your hands in your pockets
and your bow tie hung loosely around your neck,
not quite on properly
and a smirk on your face as you spoke to me.
you always said that you liked to watch me get ready
and said that it was paramount to getting ready yourself.
blue dress straps slung themselves across my shoulder
and the diamond you bought me for my birthday touched at my neck
in the same way that your breath did a few moments before.
you sat beside me, your eyes fixated on the perplex glass
and the mirror before me,
stating your adoration for the way I smelled of cognac and lilac
and the cheap cigarettes we'd smoked together
not hours beforehand.
the whiskey on your breath did nothing to dissuade me
from leaning in to kiss at the uppermost corners of your mouth
and scorn you from not tying that ********* bow tie up properly.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 6:31 AM UTC
Hey!
Listen. Listen you!
I wanted to say-
Yes of course I'm talking to you,
So I was saying-
Don't get me wrong
But when you'd so nonchalantly
Placed your fingers on my shoulder
And had tapped lightly
To say "excuse me",
I'd made an irritated face
But just when I was about to make way,
Then-momentarily-
Oh for a fleeting second it must have been-
My eyes had met your eyes,
And though they were shielded by your thin-rimmed spectacles,
I swear, I could see them beautifully shine.
And the dark black of your hair,
Black salted with those stray strands of white-
Those young white strands-
I hadn't meant to stare-
But they looked so beautiful,
Messed up, mixed up,
It was almost involuntary,
Some sort of magic, believe me!
I know I'd looked for a little bit longer
Than would be considered appropriate
But I'd just got busy following your lips
As they'd curved and took the form of something
That looked like a crooked, confused smile
And I'd kept looking until I'd realized
That it was just your way of politely inquiring
About why I was staring.
That time I'd gone red and had
Averted my gaze
But here I am, I followed you,
Yes I did, I just had catch up with you
Because I had to tell you
That even though we'd met for a moment
Something unprecedented happened.
Nothing major-
And I don't know how but
This heart of mine-
It's really, really so rogue, I agree-
Yes so my heart somehow,
Got entangled into
The awkwardness, the oddness, the beauty
Of that little encounter of ours,
And like it never was mine,
It tore away from me,
And it stubbornly says
That what it wants is shelter inside your chest,
So it can stay near your heart,
And beat along with it.
Funny it is, but what can be done?
Yes, so, hear me out carefully,
I am about to say it finally-
That now that my heart has decided
That what it wants
Is to be yours,
And only yours,
Could you play along with it for now?
Could you, perhaps, let my heart,
Beat with yours, for
Just some time?
I'll try to dissuade it later on,
But right now, this is just what it wants!
I would've ignored it but it wouldn't listen to me
You know how adamant
These hearts can be!
So, tell me, what do you feel
About this proposal of mine,
Would you like to accept it?
All my heart wants is a home near yours.
Please, oh please,
Do keep it.
:)
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 3:48 PM UTC
I promise, I swear I didn't,
I mean,
****
What was I supposed to do?
I'm in the flood waters now.
There's no hazard that could dissuade me.
I remain convinced.
I remain self-possessed.
I remain stolen and broken.
I remain.
And where did you go?
Where have you been?
What happened?
How was that enough?
How does that make sense?
Where am I supposed to go now?
What was I supposed to do?
I didn't feel old or bent or faded.
I didn't feel a surge or a skip.
I felt content, immeasurably at peace
with one foot, two foot, three foot, turn,
turn, laugh, look, smile, turn.
I avoided the touch of gaze
and the strange, knowing smile
because we both saw how years and months
could compress into a few hours
as if they never happened at all
and neither of us wants to know
what that means.
I'm supposed to ignore it.
I'm supposed to not let it touch me.
If you don't irritate them, they leave you alone.
And you can't even touch it.
You're afraid it'll fall apart.
You weren't sure it was anything at all
and you weren't sure it mattered
and you weren't sure it counted
and you start to doubt yourself
and you start to see things
and wonder if they're real
if they're anything at all.
I remember that night,
slipping on Chicago ice and laughing out loud.
In a broken snow globe the glitter still shines,
though it's slowly slipping away.
I caught the drops in a tiny bowl
with lilac blooms and melodic metal double kicks.
I'm packaging it up, wrapping it in cellophane and tape
cellophane and tape
to deliver to your future home.
I'll pass it over our shared picket fence,
hold my fingers on your wrist for too long,
and you'll look blankly or you'll smile wide.
I'll close my eyes and turn around,
walking back to hand chimes and north arrows,
my invitation hanging in the damp air.
You do not know, my friend, you do not know
what life is, you who hold it in your hands.
You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
And smiles at situations which it cannot see.
I will dance a borrowed dance
and walk a borrowed line
and sing a borrowed song
until the words return
and I can control my knees
and the squeaking butterflies shut up
and the ferns are cleared from the path
and I can move forward with grace and intention,
with an open hand
and tenuous direction
and a starry smile
and a space for you next to me.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
On being an old soul
It is difficult to be an old soul
Within this world of ours
I’ve only known a few
Who understand its powers
It is easy to see the grand mistakes
Others will take on
It is imperative we let them be
And let them carry on
For it is within each soul’s contract
To decide the path in which their life will take
We must not dissuade them from their destiny
For if we do, it may change their fate.
Mary Carol Ann Like
Copyright June 2014
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
To polling stations
Going out in droves,
With their unanimous voice,
Electors made clear their choice-
“A breath of fresh air
Would be fair! ”
But as a democracy patrons
Also democracy vendors,
You thought-
“Better an old Satan
Than an angel new born,
The heart of a new angel,
We may not crack open!”
As peace brokers,
To dissuade voters
You dinned into their ears,
“Democracy is a process!
Thus it entails
The gradual unfolding of rights!
Specially in developing nations,
It is tardy in striking roots!”
You also went to say
“The ill-favoured government ,
Though by ballot card made out of play
And adamant to let power away,
A midwife to self-determination
Had paved the way
For the fairness you enjoy today.
Imagine the price it had to pay!”
Tirelessly you pleaded voters
To see reasons
And give the government
A time-out and stalemate,
Also to let it take part
In a joint government!
The hardest way
What people learnt today
Is democracy is indeed a process
That could suffer setbacks,
Or experience a lapse
And down clutters
A tyranny abyss!
Double dealers
Now as a democracy undertaker
You venture to offer
A hearse,
What a farce!
As history
Recorded it in its annals
Go ahead fish in troubled water,
By your very nature
You are capable
To do nothing better!
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 6:03 AM UTC