"dividends" poems
In my heart, you are an asset
But in my mind, a liability
You are an entry I can't forget
That's slowly shaking my equity.
Loving you is an understatement
For a beauty's carrying value
And so I made an adjustment
Of the love that I must issue.
But your heart had a preference
For someone who's not me
Who can give you more dividends
Than a hopeful ordinary.
All my hope was expensed
For such unrecoverable loss
And the business I've commenced
Resulted in an opportunity cost.
And so you went depreciating
Ending this going concern
There's this pain accumulating
From a romance unearned.
Now I'm left here to close
All the journals I've made
Correct the errors I chose
For a love that I would trade.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
The heart works for the hard work,
beating constantly as targets are acquired.
Shots fired, money wired and payments aplenty.
Contacts signed, terms and conditions defined,
it could take time, but the ***** rolling.
Touch base as we reach for the stars,
customers in charge, their business is ours.
We roll monthly, comfortably in our own domains,
renew them annually again as the pattern remains the same.
Some days, it's a struggle to get out of the pit,
feeling burnout, lack energy for my daily workout.
The wage ain't great but the dividends could add up to millions.
Some are cynical but I won't listen to those opinions.
I treat my staff as people not minions.
No need for incidents were a team of individuals.
Passionate and driven creatures,
hidden features and secret keepers.
Let's get money and lets get paid,
Theres a million ways we can earn more than the minimum wage.
Let's raise the bar, the city is ours and the worlds not too far away...
Dream tomorrow and live today.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
Fine living . . . a la carte?
Come to the Waldorf-Astoria!
LISTEN HUNGRY ONES!
Look! See what Vanity Fair says about the
new Waldorf-Astoria:
"All the luxuries of private home. . . ."
Now, won't that be charming when the last flop-house
has turned you down this winter?
Furthermore:
"It is far beyond anything hitherto attempted in the hotel
world. . . ." It cost twenty-eight million dollars. The fa-
mous Oscar Tschirky is in charge of banqueting.
Alexandre Gastaud is chef. It will be a distinguished
background for society.
So when you've no place else to go, homeless and hungry
ones, choose the Waldorf as a background for your rags--
(Or do you still consider the subway after midnight good
enough?)
ROOMERS
Take a room at the new Waldorf, you down-and-outers--
sleepers in charity's flop-houses where God pulls a
long face, and you have to pray to get a bed.
They serve swell board at the Waldorf-Astoria. Look at the menu, will
you:
GUMBO CREOLE
CRABMEAT IN CASSOLETTE
BOILED BRISKET OF BEEF
SMALL ONIONS IN CREAM
WATERCRESS SALAD
PEACH MELBA
Have luncheon there this afternoon, all you jobless.
Why not?
Dine with some of the men and women who got rich off of
your labor, who clip coupons with clean white fingers
because your hands dug coal, drilled stone, sewed gar-
ments, poured steel to let other people draw dividends
and live easy.
(Or haven't you had enough yet of the soup-lines and the bit-
ter bread of charity?)
Walk through Peacock Alley tonight before dinner, and get
warm, anyway. You've got nothing else to do.
5.7k
Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos.
And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.
The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.
Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.
The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.
The ‘potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.
At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.
The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.
I saw the ‘potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.
Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.
He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.
4.7k
They say of me, and so they should,
It's doubtful if I come to good.
I see acquaintances and friends
Accumulating dividends,
And making enviable names
In science, art, and parlor games.
But I, despite expert advice,
Keep doing things I think are nice,
And though to good I never come--
Inseparable my nose and thumb!
3.6k
PRAYER IS A TEAM SPORT
[In the voice of your favourite over-excited rugby commentator.]
We're inside the final quarter. We've seen a bone-cruncher of a contest today and there's no sign of a let up, the pray-ers gather for the next engagement, positioning themselves with practiced confidence, skillfully supporting each other, ready for the push. You can see every knee and each hand bears the marks from this long muddied pray, red and brown staining every inch of their entwined limbs; - arms and hands holding fast.
Front row.
Second row.
Back row.
Digging in for the big push.
The opposition has played an intelligent game, taking advantage of any lapse in concentration, any sign of tiredness, looking for any weakness to exploit. The pray-ers know they can't afford any slips now, they need to keep up the pressure, maintain their advance deep in the opposition's half. Every yard of gained ground needs to be defended.
The pray-ers' Coach looks on - look at his smile! You can see the pride he has for his team, he's schooled them on every tactic of the opposition and now that training, that practice has paid dividends. This is a team of pray-ers that so clearly know each other well, supporting each other every step of the way. You can see their coordinated pray, their sustained effort and the sheer pleasure they feel when they are praying together.
The pray-ers drive on. The sound of their groans and deep breaths merge into one. There's a rhythm to it, a cadence as together they push and PUSH.
The opposition's footing is slipping, the pray-ers' momentum gains pace and, YES! the resistance collapses. Oh, that must have hurt!
But there's no time for complacency, the pray-ers re-form their line looking for the next opening, the next opportunity to push forward.
This is a joy to see. The Coach shouts his encouragement - this was never going to be an easy struggle; you can't dismiss the opposition - they are a seasoned though sometimes disorganised team and they can take you by surprise. But as we've seen here today, the Coach knows that if his team of pray-ers keep to the plan and pray to their strengths, the opposition are surely in for a hiding. The pray-ers will triumph and they will take the winners' crown.
- Now back to the action.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 2:14 AM UTC
Nothing is more important
than your sanity and your safety.
Achieving that is your choice and
your topmost priority.
You can say no not now,
or no not yet but don't forget you
will be burned if you don't give your
best to diligently work hard to achieve
it daily for the cosmic law fulfills.
What can be more important than
your well-being and happiness.
Do the right things for today and
tomorrow will be alright just for you.
Have you ever thought about helping
someone else in your own little way
to achieve their goals or excel in
their chosen projects.
Always remember that when you do help
with the abilities and resources available,
you are also be investing in yourself,
it's like an insurance,
a protective way that will guarantee
your place in the scheme of things.
Everyone is as unique and irreplaceable as the stars.
When your life is full of incessant activities,
you will not have time to check time.
You are filled with vim, vigour and vitality,
put it to work and be the best you can be.
And the universe will be kind to you
by giving you the right dividends to equate
the effort you put in place.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
I'm eating chocolate,
the kind the Swiss
keep for themselves,
the quality kind
that can only be delivered
by security truck,
Chocolate that the Incas
would **** a thousand in cold blood,
Chocolate that's so good
it will turn a committed ******
into a ******* sweet ****
*Touring Venice with the Chocolateer is paying current dividends!
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 10:21 AM UTC
1.
I feel
fractured splintered defeated
entirely insular
and spread to thin
all at the same time
covered with insecurities
like a cheap suit
or hollow exoskeleton
nothing more than a lie. I grow tired.
I'm bluffing my way through this life
a brutal honesty
I lack the courage to accept
hiding my face
from every mirrored surface
a halfhearted attempt
to prolong this detrimental denial.
I can't ******** my way
through self-reflection
and trying to improve my image
feels positively improvised.
I lack sincerity and authenticity
an individual breathing without zeal
I need a break.
2.
Here I am again a lonely itinerant migrating
to the proverbial and often visited crossroads
rather than contemplating
a direction worth navigating
be it following in the worn footprints of others
or a path long overgrown with neglect.
I'd rather lie down on the gravel road
and nap in the open air
just to wake up confused and temperamental.
The destination remains unknown
my indecision remains intact.
I give impetuous a bad name
by reputation and repetition alike
conjoined twins that speaks to
fate and circumstance.
Like Houdini
I'm secured in a long sleeve shirt
dangling upside down from a burning rope
placing blame on the flame.
I need a break.
3.
I'm not as intelligent
or insightful as I once thought
my wasted youth is a testament.
A modern ruin
like so many a Blockbuster
I've outlasted my usefulness.
I imagine what could have been
clueless as to what lies ahead.
A jovial repentance
seems as likely as
success, or stability, **** simplicity.
Is it all too much to ask?
I've been on break too long.
4.
reboot jumpstart
Alleviate my stagnant, vacant lot in life
and cast off these first world problems.
Consider not the flat champagne
or the distance that separates
today from death.
Speak positively to the people
that would not otherwise attract minimal attention.
Set goals both grand and plausible
with no worry of dividends
and release cynicism
and determine a trajectory
that I may see through to completion.
If for no other reason
but to say that I tried.
It's not so bad this imagined and dire circumstance.
Relax and go on break.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
My dog eared heart
Is a stray paper heart that is worn at the corners
I liked to worn you that it's been used and abused
In many different ways.
Like a monetary paper note it retains its value
But it looks ***** in its present form
It's a reflection of my being
Valued the same but used and carried in many peoples pockets
Sometimes spent, sometimes used for a higher purpose
Never worthless but paper thin and fragile
I'd cash in but I am not that shallow
I want someone to take it and invest in me
To take time to gain my interest
and spend my dividends.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
I was just reminded why
my pencil is so dear.
Commented on a post ...
...replying in poetry to the host, the battery died
and one if my best pieces
just disappeared.
I struggled in vain
to write it again but
gave up ....
had a fit in a hurry.
Had I subscribed to the prescription I apply,
I wouldn't be sitting here worried.
I still have poems I wrote
when I was 13
because I write old school
.....in pencil on paper.
Sure they maybe faded,
torn, have some folds
but at least they
didn't just become vapor.
So if it hasn't happened to you, learn from this fool
cuz losing prized verses
is not ever cool.
And if it already has,
beware....
technology again
Is not your friend,
It won't pay dividends
So don't be crass
Cuz you'll be
near the end
then **** ...
its gone ....
having bitten you
right on the ***
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 1:28 AM UTC
Like, it's like life giving you bonus points for being a genuinely good person, but not exactly dividends come out.
It's more so like a lottery.
There is some high or low going out Karma, but if you're doing less than others, it doesn't mean you don't have a chance of striking gold.
More like they just did things more often and allocating their karma point count, and I don't know maybe, maybe not, influences you winning the Karma Lotto.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
It's Sunday again for you cloistered patricians
aloof from the madness, the magic and myth;
who trust in your wisdom, investments, physicians
unready to answer forthwith:
"Why bother with worship—in church or the zoo—
why weaken the links with a dull set of tools ?"
you ask yourself over your high-end Tarrazu,
bemused at the fables of fools.
You've bartered salvation for New York Times articles,
sipping on bitterness (shade-grown organic).
You settle for molecules, atoms and particles
unfairly-traded, satanic—
while you celebrate emptiness, general futility
musing on nothingness, sure of specifics
ensconced in your kitchen of pampered gentility
flirting with atheist physics.
Those simple plebeians: you'd love to enlighten them
help them, like you, to become a free-thinker
but you remain tasteful, for boldness might frighten them
reeling in fairy tales: hook, line and sinker.
Yet somebody, somewhere has uttered your sentence
(though you abhor judgement, let's read it again).
Sheba and Nineveh, versed in repentance
await you—not whether but when.
The darkness is brewing unholy filtration;
the wine of the harlot approaches the rim;
your guilt is augmenting in slow percolation;
you shrug it all off on a whim.
The souls of Assyria rise from your paper
they watch in amazement, prepare your abyss.
Your coffee now brims a more sulfurous vapor;
oh sinner—there's something amiss:
The crypts of Marib and the tombs of the Axumites
shudder and groan while you're reading the Times...
(immune to the words that some Christarded poet writes
mixing psychosis with rhymes.)
Royal Sheba will chastise your erudite unbelief,
smug self-importance and cynical squawk.
Then she'll sigh with immense Ethiopian grief
and her Highness Queen Bilqis will talk.
It is Sunday in Babylon. What if your sunlight ends...
why are there mobs in the streets of the nation?
Shall you have breakfast—or calculate dividends...
what would you pay for salvation?
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
the compensation for my competence?
a can of Coors occasionally crowned
with sticky notes instruction-filled and dense,
with worn old shoe string thick and tightly bound,
a brief hurrah before a list to do,
if time were air, with duty i'd turn blue,
a present given as a false pretense,
his recompense? a crushed Coors can atop
the boss' desk, a drop spilled on the wood,
a single sticky note stuck to the drop,
"your list of things to do, i could, I should...
yet reach up to that single book, top shelf!"
("Learn How to Fix Your Life--Do It Yourself!")
soon management will purge all its dead wood,
and driftwood i will be among the planks,
and crates expelled above board for to stay
afloat, the company in all its ranks,
will learn that without wood the boat will stray
not only from its sure intended course,
but from the surface to the floor of course,
to join the tiger shark and manta ray,
soon supervisors, managers and such
will join department heads, vice presidents,
chief officers valued, appraised worth much,
thrown overboard to chase those dividends,
that sink so silently to ocean floor,
where there exists no air lock's safety door,
when futures join the pasts through these presents,
my recompense for knowing when to quit?
a can of Coors occasionally crowned
with smiling lips and laughing breath of wit,
my happy feet in new shoes leather-bound,
a new ship where appreciation rings
the ship bells of respect on many things,
smooth sailing through safe seas without a ground.
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 8:25 PM UTC
Keeping my composure with a
Composition pad.
I'm committed to compassion
And I'm passionately sad.
I'm competing with competitors
That show no competition.
My work ethic is persistent,
All my wisdom blocks the ignorance.
But I can't stay that optimistic and
Surrounded by indifference.
The injustice is indignant.
See, my mind can tell the difference.
With all the hate I be deflecting,
And my love they stay rejecting,
I'm simply drifting in the mist of
This.
The mystery of wishfulness;
It glistens and it whistles so blissfully,
But licorice
Is sweeter than the outcome of
Me laughing while I slit my wrists.
But not as bitter as a Hell on earth. I
Step on dirt and cigarettes--
Disgust me much, but marijuana
Seems to bring deliverance.
See, Mary wanna be a ******
Joseph is so sick of this.
I'm praying to my God regardless,
Let Him add his finishes.
Can't stay here long, I got to go,
I swear, I'm getting rid of this.
These ain't tears that's on my cheeks
Love, see, these the roads of distances.
Let's not settle out our differences.
Should've settled all my dividends.
I should be held and given kisses
*****
Not accused of having mistresses.
My love is warm, my soul is kind,
And yet my heart receives these
Hits so brisk.
Maybe if I bleed out by the end,
They'll finally miss the kid.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
One foot in front of the other.
Days passed by.
Walking was said to be a spiritual practice which yielded many dividends. The replenishment of the soul and the connection to all around you. Pilgrimage to sacred sites, walking the labyrinth, meditation. Strolling, cavorting, frolicking or wandering. As we stretch our legs, we stretch our minds and souls.
Few philosophers and writers had ever penned the absolute, gut-wrenching torturous boredom of the walk as Ronnie James now experienced it.
Fifty-six bones, one hundred and twelve ligaments and seventy-six muscles of dull, throbbing pain.
Who could tell how long it had been? He had but only the tedious task of counting his steps to judge it by. He'd long ago lost all track.
Sauntering alone through the barren ocean of sand.
Indeed, Thoreau wrote that the word itself, "saunter," may have been derived from “sans terre.”
“Without land or a home,” murmured Ronnie.
With every step we take, we leave some ghost of ourselves behind,
He who sits motionless, watching life pass by through the window, may be the most awful vagrant of them all – but the saunterer is no more vagrant than the meandering river.
Days passed by.
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
1
Congratulations
on your maturation:
now our lust's "love,"
not infatuation.
2
Romantic "deficits,"
confiscatorial "trends" --
**** your "benefits" --
where's my dividends?
3
I tried to really kiss you,
not co-impregnate a tissue.
4
I must confess
I love that dress --
more or less!
5
-- I'd die for you (you said)
-- I'd mumble you in bed.
6
you me us me
us-me-you you-me-us-you-me-you
us-me-us-meyouyou-us-youyouyou
youyou-us-me-youyouyouyouyouyouyou!
you-me-us-us-me-me-me --
us
7
Three coins in the fountain?
Who in hell's been counting?
8
Nod, smile; I'm playing along
while they're "playing our song."
9
Monogamy
demands its peephole:
*Maybe we should see
other people.*
10
"The last time I saw her
she'd hired a lawyer."
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 2:03 AM UTC
She was smoked
salmon so spread
Like his creme of
the crop
Smoking hot circles
0-0 0______No-No
The points... Dots
And shoe size petite___-
The whole website
To love and honor
Whats in her moves
The private Dancer
May I never be dropped
To be overly loved
I am not asking for more
The score more or less
can be
The greatest dancer
O yes, so many pretenders?
More spread like_______
Mr ((Mayonaise__meeting
Handsomely Hellman
Falling into your
embrace Tango-Tie
I- Apple creme pie
to phone U
May I tango 4-U
Sweet lips of mango
Don't shed one tear
Listen to what is said?
How her dance step
to be read
next year to be wed
Like your hot rods
and hubcaps near
your bed choices
To sweep me off my
feet well said
The tango soprano voices
The Hub
Rubbing my
dancer's feet his treat
Wildflower Salsa beat
Emotional dance
The Tango
Graphically
Cool______ design
Contacts to sign
To his excitement
Steps are well
worth
the dividends
Drinking tapas
The fine tip of gratis
Sign sealed and
dance delivered
In an instant
dancing contract
Two bodies dance
as one__________*
Flaming intertwined
Brazilian Silky- hair
Mr. May-0 tango pair
Mr. Hellman
merci beaucoup
His desires came with the loop
The mixture mango scoop
May-0, not the May Day
No clouds passing
in grays
So festive never passive
Well made beaded
Peacock Miss Marrietta
The Birds of the feather
Expression of sensual faces
To impress the right man
Distinctly dressed
Explanation point
May I interject my
point______________
Tropical sandals high-point
Tango dancers have a
the certain way
The lovely maiden
Names day and age
Eyes engage contest page
He to her side fancy
May- 0 in her Prime
(Hello)
Another Day-Oh!
Don't move her dancer
days to sail away
Sea breeze perfect per day
Her fancy dancer
shoes not on
layaway
* * * * *
In the now a dancer
nowadays taking flight
Every day always
the dancer's way
You Amaze so blessed
Like your possessed
* * * *
Titans in a blaze
How it may arise
He was dancing to her
movement ****** salsa
To her toes up to her
Tango lips amazing dips
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
Trends come and go,
friends remain forever.
Friendship transcends love.
Family, are genetically bonded.
Friends, are experience bonded.
Both are needed, both are loved.
Family and friends both pay dividends.
Richer to be loved by friends that become family,
than hated by family that pretend to love.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Broken not spoken. Injured not healing for what have we done? This garden of ours where we wind away the hours amongst the roses has all but gone - for the world is broken, damaged and beyond repair as we all sit in our lair, of consumerism and capital divide.
Why can we not live as one? Instead we resort to bombs, collateral damage without any thought, for this war is never won. Oh COVID what have you done? You came along at the worse time a clear year for many without fear - now that has all but gone, the instigation of fear you bought with you that runs deep. Creating dividends that divide and not untie.
For the world is broken. Damaged and makes no sense. Did we ever learn to heal or does the war that has been raging still go on?
Now what have we done? Damaged you beyond belief and yet as we go one, no turning back to previous life. Instead earth you are punishing us. For damaging you throughout humankinds existent. But don't worry,
we created a broken world.
Oct 30, 2020
Oct 30, 2020 at 6:08 PM UTC
Listen, children
I'm calling by phone
to teach you
of a bourbon sunset;
a time when it's best
to sit alone
on a river's beach
and drink and try to forget.
Forget about the past,
the sorrow and the pain
drink them down fast
or they'll slowly drive
you insane.
Drink away the pleasure
douse out the memories
Tonight I drink for leisure
and to burn away my arteries.
Listen, children,
quick, to hear
the story of the whiskey sunset
will surely bring you to tears;
This knowledge, do not forget
will pay dividends in years,
the doctrine of the bourbon sunset.
Now my tears flood this river's bank
and a blind man could see
this bottle's drank
so when the time comes
it's me you'll thank
for teaching you of a bourbon sunset.
Listen, children, really
do not curse lie or steal
just drink away the fiction
all that remains becomes what is real
you will die stone
cold and all alone
no matter how much love or hate
your heart feels
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 7:25 AM UTC
I can't wait till once again
We have a president who's sane;
Whose meaningless words "No collusion!"
Don't become a daily refrain;
Who cares about people and country
More than profits and dividends;
Who places trust in allies and doesn't
Treat our adversaries as friends;
Whose charitable foundation isn't
Merely a personal slush fund or scam;
Whose kids aren't part of shady deals;
Whose spouse really gives a ****
Who has integrity and doesn't
Give hateful fringe groups praise;
Whose job applicants don't need
The word "crook" on their résumés;
Who wins elections honestly
And doesn't rely on outside assistance;
For whom the use of lies and deceit
Is NOT the path of least resistance;
Who wants border security but doesn't
Constantly harp on a senseless wall;
Whose behavior is much, much more
Refined and LESS Neanderthal;
Who truly believes in democracy
And fully supports the rule of law;
Who doesn't expose ignorant views
In daily tweets of blah, blah, blah;
Who, when putting words together,
Could prove to be more prolific;
Whose daily repertoire has more
Adjectives than "great" and "terrific";
Whose team is not constantly
Involved in ethics violations;
Who in his first years of office isn't
In seventeen investigations.
Sooner or later, things will change.
But judging from every indicator,
It's suddenly starting to look as though
Relief might come sooner than later.
-by Bob B (12-19-18)
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
You are so much more
invested in
domesticated
or non-domesticated
furry friends
then Syrian refugees
who look more
like you and me.
You are so much more
invested in
a piece of multi-colored cloth
that ***** in the wind
a symbol
of an idea
that has not been
fulfilled
then the victims of
drone bombings.
You are so much more
invested in
a barely ancient book
then women’s rights.
You are so much more
invested in
police authority
then those oppressed
for centuries,
those brutalized
incarcerated,
demonized,
enslaved,
and murdered.
You are so much more
invested in
sports and reality shows
then education
and the pursuit of truth.
And here is what
your investments
netted you
apathy, violence,
greed, destruction,
pain, suffering
terror, and the dividends
are still pouring in.
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC
Can I imagine a future home
Which brothers and sisters could loan
And bring their blossoming born and bred?
And play and dance and keep well fed?
Could work be kind enough to bring
Dividends for me to spring
A coup to conquer the village's heart?
With smiles from all my parts?
And bring my multitudes of strings
And teach the young to strum and sing
And build a body: strong and bright
So God will keep them in his sight?
I am averse to scheduling
But sometimes love is a roof: therein
Lie memories to study and
Transform into the promised land.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 10:41 AM UTC