"filet" poems
'Today, The Jay...'
I open my eyes to see its a new day.
Today, What's the day?
Is it Saturday or Sunday?
The only thing of which I'm certain
Is that its not a weekday.
So, What can I do today?
Without delay,
The first thing I do is get my tray
Light a blunt to take the pain away.
Inhale and exhale,
Through the passageways.
Chill. . . Then, light another, just because its today.
I'm still in bed, but it's already a good day.
I push the sheets and pillows out the way
Then I get up to empty last night's fluids away.
Then to the kitchen, wondering what I can eat today
What can I do, to keep the hunger at bay?
Maybe some rice and filet?
A little something to kickstart the day.
While the food preps, I go back to my tray.
I smile and giggle as I sculpt my one true love, the Jay
With me at any time, anywhere, in any form, on any day.
Even though I'm already high; 'Hooray'.
I still want another hit of the Jay
The Jay,
Hits, Without delay.
Stays,
When everyone goes away.
Fades,
All the pain away.
My worries, It allays.
My happiness, it brings to the fray.
Keeps my mind, from going astray.
Literally, takes my breath away.
Causes, no form of decay
Keeps me, from getting 'ire'
Doesn't negotiate, doesn't parlay.
Just good vibes, all the way.
The love of the Jay;
Isn't just a single foray.
Its a constant exchange,
Everyday.
It's a feeling, that once attained,
Nothing, will ever take its place.
And there goes the tale of my day,
Spent with my true love, the Jay.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
Big ships, small ships, yachts and dingeys
Floating across the mighty sea
Carving their way, displacing their weight
To keep afloat the Captain and First mate.
Old ships, new ships, schooners and cruise liners
Have crossed paths throughout the ages old
Once to explore, make claim, pirate and fight
Now to wine and dine on a luxurious bite
Salted beef, rock hard bread and weevil-friendly biscuits
A 3 course meal fit for Old Salts alike
Weevils & worms and bugs of all kind
Along with sparse portions of meat, you might find
French wine, filet mignon, sushi and pastries
Buffets and fine dining, variety is key
All you can eat, whenever you'd like
No chores, no work, just eating all night'
What a contrast exists between these two worlds
Only 2 to 300 hundred years apart
Once grimy, risky, arduous and fraught
Now fancy, lazy, and much to be bought
What if the Old Salts could teleport to today
And live aboard our floating hotels?
With no masts to climb or sheets to tend
Would they break or would they bend?
I suppose that switch would be easy enough
But send us back to Pirate-ridden waters
You'd be sure never to hear from us again
Swabbing the deck would **** us alone
Not to mention the food and disease of back when.
- BPW
Dec. 11, 2013
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Tes yeux sont si profonds qu'en me penchant pour boire
J'ai vu tous les soleils y venir se mirer
S'y jeter à mourir tous les désespérés
Tes yeux sont si profonds que j'y perds la mémoire
À l'ombre des oiseaux c'est l'océan troublé
Puis le beau temps soudain se lève et tes yeux changent
L'été taille la nue au tablier des anges
Le ciel n'est jamais bleu comme il l'est sur les blés
Les vents chassent en vain les chagrins de l'azur
Tes yeux plus clairs que lui lorsqu'une larme y luit
Tes yeux rendent jaloux le ciel d'après la pluie
Le verre n'est jamais si bleu qu'à sa brisure
Mère des Sept douleurs ô lumière mouillée
Sept glaives ont percé le prisme des couleurs
Le jour est plus poignant qui point entre les pleurs
L'iris troué de noir plus bleu d'être endeuillé
Tes yeux dans le malheur ouvrent la double brèche
Par où se reproduit le miracle des Rois
Lorsque le coeur battant ils virent tous les trois
Le manteau de Marie accroché dans la crèche
Une bouche suffit au mois de Mai des mots
Pour toutes les chansons et pour tous les hélas
Trop peu d'un firmament pour des millions d'astres
Il leur fallait tes yeux et leurs secrets gémeaux
L'enfant accaparé par les belles images
Écarquille les siens moins démesurément
Quand tu fais les grands yeux je ne sais si tu mens
On dirait que l'averse ouvre des fleurs sauvages
Cachent-ils des éclairs dans cette lavande où
Des insectes défont leurs amours violentes
Je suis pris au filet des étoiles filantes
Comme un marin qui meurt en mer en plein mois d'août
J'ai retiré ce radium de la pechblende
Et j'ai brûlé mes doigts à ce feu défendu
Ô paradis cent fois retrouvé reperdu
Tes yeux sont mon Pérou ma Golconde mes Indes
Il advint qu'un beau soir l'univers se brisa
Sur des récifs que les naufrageurs enflammèrent
Moi je voyais briller au-dessus de la mer
Les yeux d'Elsa les yeux d'Elsa les yeux d'Elsa.
5.8k
Here comes The Change
That has the range
Of emotions
And demotions
And devotions
Of a perilous populous
That likes to raise a fuss
When they eventually learn who I am
And treat me like I'm the Son of Sam
To be specific
They discover I'm gay
And begin to filet
My mentality
In totality
For fatality
Merely by acting differently
If my sexuality isn't the first thing people know about me
I get to witness The Change
Like a dog with mange
I am shedding my hair
While screaming no fair
Because of the shift I see
Because of the **** I need
To make my heart bleed
There is a steady bellowing burdensome baggage
From those that want to ****** some *******
So I search for weight lifters
But only find shapeshifters
That become great grifters
When The Change occurs
And The Change burns
So The Change turned
Me into an interdimensional changeling
And an unintentional rage king
After they use words like flaming
Because the results are so draining
It becomes hard not to hate people
Who are inspired by hate steeples
They say I'm going to Hell
While I notice the smell
Of being buried in their banal ****
While they play their greatest hits
That are as unoriginal
As they are cynical
They say I'm a degenerate
An embarrassment
A parent's lament
I want to change into a carefree bird
Instead I stay in Hell with the herd
Wanting to escape like Lupin the Third
Rather than be oppressed like the Kurds
But there is no relief
Only re-grief
When changes aren't permanent
But The Change is
There's an illustration of my life
That will change your perspective
The picture is in my words
When the painting is what I choose to say
And the canvas is your mind
Whose textures I could never imagine
So I jump off a cliff blindfolded
Expecting to be changed once I land
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 6:13 AM UTC
HEAR YE!
HEAR YE!
SALUTATIONS TO ALL THOSE PRESENT!
GREETINGS!
HENCEFORTH AND FOREVER MORE ...
JUNE THE TWELVE
SHALL BE KNOWN AMONG ALL HERE AT HELLO POETRY
(AND ALL POETS WORLDWIDE)
AS "TEMPORAL FUGUE DAY"
TO WIT:
You will be compelled to go to McDonald's ...
on this date and at any time.
As you step to the counter to place your order
you MUST speak only in rhyme!
You can order salads ...
a burger with cheese ...
breakfast or filet-o-fish
Choice of drink is surely yours ...
order any and all that you wish!
Just make certain
that ALL that you say ...
in the spirit of poets EVERYWHERE
comes out in a rhyming way!
Let's show them solidarity
Tell the world that we are here ...
with wisdom and harmony
finding love and facing fear.
I further compel you
to your language you must translate ...
this declaration so that all the poets in the world will know
to do this on this date.
Not just to show them our pride so fierce
and that it isn't just any rumor.
Let's show the world that poets are amazing
and even have senses of humor!
So ... Plot out your order
and what you will say.
Let's go and have fun with this.
Let's make it OUR day!
WE ARE HERE!
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC
The tags say, "Dry Clean Only" but I didn't have time before I left.
So now my favorite purple sweater, the one with the elbow patches, smells like you and filet mignon.
Rewind.
July:
"Congratulations, it's a match!" Reads my tinder notification.
Little did I know, I'd actually like you.
Little did I know you'd say you wanted something.
August:
I got your number, we planned on meeting up.
Our plans fell through, but we continued to talk and flirt anyways.
September:
I left for school, as did you.
Hundreds of miles away, you could tell there was something wrong through a text message.
You were there for me, everything I needed, you were it.
You told me you didn't just want someone to **** you wanted someone to love.
October & November:
The texts dwindled down to barely any.
All I wanted was for you to respond, or finally text me first.
We planned on meeting up for thanksgiving, you ignored me.
December:
Finals week approaches and I finally hear from you again.
You want to meet up for real this time.
We say, let's meet over break.
January:
You text me, four nights before I'm leaving again.
Tomorrow? You ask me, I obviously say of course.
Terrified, I think you're going to stand me up,
but when you finally walk into the Starbucks,
my heart drops.
This is actually happening.
You come back to my place, this and that happens.
You leave.
But what I didn't think is that we'd be back at square one.
Ignoring my texts, yet snapchatting me and liking my moments.
Now:
I run to rid you from my mind.
But yet you appear so vividly and I can hear your voice saying, "are you gonna come and get it?"
Just like you said that day.
So I never had the time to dry clean my favorite sweater, so it still smells of your cologne and filet mignon.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
Succulent, meaty, ribs falling off the bone and drenched in a velvety, thick, sauce.
“Check please.”
Tender chunks of lobster tail bathed in sweet, drawn, butter.
“Thank you. That will be all.
Heavy, cream-coated, strands of fettuccine accompanied by fresh peas, Speck, and shaved Parmesan.
“I wish I could stay but I can’t.”
Filet. Rare. A veil of Roquefort and sautéed wild mushrooms in a Sauternes reduction.
“It's just not the right time.”
Perfectly seasoned carne asada with a creamy roasted poblano sauce, queso fresco and the cool, half-mooned, sultry innards of a Hass avocado.
“I'll call you tomorrow”
A decadent Kobe burger blanketed in cheeses, caramelized onions, crisp bacon, and a cap of unctuous foie grois.
“But thank you for everything.”
Peanut butter and jelly on white bread.
And you would have me forever.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 4:42 PM UTC
"Hello, and good day; yes I'm ready to order.
I'd like a Big Mac ...
Oh, I want it on a tray
and not in a sack."
"I want a large fry, freshly dropped
with very light salt.
I'll also have a Chocolate Milkshake,
though I'd really prefer a Malt."
"OF COURSE, I want it super-sized,
are you trying to joke?
Waddia mean $8.50?
Well, now I've gone broke!"
He steps from the counter
and goes to sit down.
The food smells great ...
yet still, he frowns.
"I'll need a second job
if I wish to keep eating here.
I can't binge on these gut-bombs
and still have my beer."
"I wonder if there's an employee discount ...
as I've got the lingo down pat:
I have a Filet-O-Fish and a Coke on your order ...
Would you like some fries with that?"
PLEASE JOIN THE HELLO POETRY FLASHMOB!
SEE THE NOTES BELOW!
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC
You call it a violin or a fiddle
Depending on how you play it
The same way life is a riddle
Depending on how you say it
Life can get raw in the middle
Depending on how you filet it
You can dawdle and piddle
Or be somewhat fallacious
But your time could run out
Running a frivolous route
And you can't look back and wish to have more
When you don't know what to be wishing for
There's a vexing question
That needs inspection
It's an intervention
Of introspection
It's a question colossal
Not learned by the fossils
That could cause a heart attack
If there is courage you lack
The question is simple
What will you do when there are no answers?
I feel like a *******
In a room full of dancers
Because they hear the question and ignore it
I hear the question and continually mourn it
I am growing clockwise
To the clock's lies
Telling me I have time
Which should be a crime
So when the judge asks me the question
I plead the fifth
Because my actions upon further reflection
Are crimes I admit
The world
I've searched this
And found
No purpose
Only change
To rearrange
The elements
Of this settlement
Like the flames
In my brain
That are never quite the same
Yet are always a runaway train
I could say God's name in vain
Or look for someone to blame
But when my humanistic duty beckoned
I said I couldn't be bothered that second
Yet now I frantically fret
For I'm filled with regret
I should've seen that coming
When I was mind numbing
But I'll learn it was too late
When I'm dying
I'll learn that this is the fate
I was buying
All just because of a simple question
It takes a lifetime to learn the lesson
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 11:01 PM UTC
Thinking back to Thomas creek and sneaking a peak at the freaky little tweaker
in blown out sneakers a toothless mistress second guessing ******
thrift dressed house guest ******* up my speakers blown out woofer
wolfing down dinner mad slurping curry a beginner at twister
her sister, disaster, got caught ******* the Doberman.. unable to find sobriety
got gang ***** at the sorority doing an impression of Brad Dougherty
shoes to tall falling all wobbly knees knocking hostilely like a rasta in Montgomery
racially outcast Big Boi with a skin tare lash with passion unfashionable bastions
with rashes wear red sashes like Communist fascists I‘m a pacifist with a speeding fist
ready to dis any resistor to this transistor radio I eat filet-minion with boxers on
my mind be gone, like, no one’s home and this body roams all alone
with a ***** I’m a stoner, a postponer, ***** donor, out on loan
bought and paid for, caught with a lawnmower, impersonating a horn blower
like I was Gillespie at the Filmore, or Apollo theatre as a greater Walmart style
wearing a wife beater, not a reader, sort of a ******* not like Kim, more like
a mosquit-er drinking blood like it’s from a hummingbird feeder.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC
I like a tough steak at a regular steak house
(I'm one of those people that doesn't have to have everything tender)
Filet Mignon the spaced out king
pricey Prime Rib
a juicy T-Bone
steak kabobs
a decent well-done steak sandwich,
the non-fatty round steak that
mother used to make
a real rare piece of steak
a cooked by me steak at a
real nice steak house
where the gimmick is cook your own
except for their steak kabob
same with Mister Steak,
that and Outback Steak House in general
Longhorn's will do for something like that!
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 3:06 PM UTC
Did you not take my breath away
The one gift
you can not give
and still stay
Tethered born
from belly
connect
and belly torn
Did I not thrive for life
suckling sure
gulping love
sipling strife
Were we not
all apples
before what eyes
Before the fall
of yours
and mines
Sorry apples
nuts and rut
would ***** come
poured down
the thriving throat
What is regurgitating
other longing
re urging
swallowing
submerging
To diaphram
disruptive
falsely claiming
urgent distractions
What is to liver
becomes malaise
all jibberish
Shoot me
some adrenal-ish
before i get in
or get out
of that monster
fish
Fry me
in your pan cre-ole us
to the suet of your filet
digest me
your way
Something in this burpling
will no longer
pass thee usurping
Hick upped
or gassing passing
selling poses
of the sweeter
smell of roses
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
i will become extinct now
because the cows that i love
to eat and drink will have
no more grass to mow
leaving machine processed
foods for nourishment. eliminating
the use of my four-thousand dollar
orthodontic pretty white pearls and
find worth in the five-thousand
dollar allo-derm gum implants.
i will become extinct now as
my forty-year-old digestive
system in which has been pumping
iron exercises three times a day
testing it’s strength with an
8 ounce filet mignon will have
no use any longer so long
to my habitual adult grape
juice for the vines will have
no place to grow. soon they’ll be
powderized. they’ll capsulize my merlot.
i will become extinct now as
the sun sets but only
because it’s manufactured
like pirates of the caribbean
ride you don’t know you’re
inside. fake flames. fake heat.
fake sunsets which provoke my
deepest feelings. artificial now
emotions controlled to it’s
purest form snowboarding
on snoopy sno-cone creations.
replacing our creator with the
lastest inventions. i will
become extinct now.
for i cannot live this way
because my heart is real.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
The best part of lent
Are the Fridays when
We can't eat meat
Or before sunset
Because my mom and I drive to McDonald's and eat filet o fish while she smokes her misty ultra lights and I listen to her favourite classic rock station with the windows rolled down watching the wind chill work its way in from Lake Michigan to the trees on Chicago avenue
We talk politics and music and god and then our own lives which always seem so small after
I'll try to work the courage to ask her if she minds if I smoke too
And she will try to ask me how aa is going
"You have cheese on your cheek"
"Oh thanks, you just ashed on your pants"
"Oh thanks"
That'll be it
And that'll be nice
And we'll drive home under the wind chill and soft leaves growing again and soft moon gently shining like her watchful worried eyes
It's only forty days
But Jesus spent those forty with the devil
It's nice to get to know his wife
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
I completed your customer feedback survey
circled all the 5's
hoping this will earn brownie points
and move me to the front of the line
I'm not like the other monsters
you are quite safe with me
even though you don't believe it
just give me a chance you'll see
even though i don't bring you cheesecakes
and filet mignons for your freezer
I always bring you my heart
a tiny black spec at the tip of a tweezer
If this is how you were taught to love
could I please meet your mother?
it is so sweet the blade rips sharp and warm
i always need another
and when you're bored and need your fun
you will ask how high to make me jump
be cautious when you reach out next time
you may pull back a stump
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
this flickering heart
has been carved out
and framed
as light
it beats
alongside winks of other lights
from otherwheres
where otherhearts too
are pictured there
eat me
ingest
mine
filet of scarlight
for yours
truly
in these
darker times
so that you may see more
it's not much
but it's all i have
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
Yarn over needle
In the fond hope
That something
Will come out of this union
Stitches that create
Filled squares and empty
Walls that end a cell
Start off another
Like the Maker’s design
The pattern emerges
Unhurried,
Unworried by its beauty
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
Call me the Queen of Hypothesis
I thought it was a good idea
leaving this.
I want to take a razor to the hair I grew
(long enough to enchant you)
but I won't.
I want to spend all I've got
on nothing at all.
A painted, empty fool who is poverty stricken in riches-
filet mignon, a flight to Spain, fancy finery-
but I won't.
Instead I'll cry in the kitchen.
Cry in the bedroom.
Cry at flowers.
Cry at nothing.
But I won't cut off my hair.
I want to give up.
I want to run away.
Leave town, leave society, leave myself.
But I won't.
Instead I'll hurt.
Hurt in the day.
Hurt in the night.
But I won't give up.
This mouth, it does me wrong.
This mouth says goodbye,
when it only wants to be
on your fingertips
on your neck
on your back
anywhere
just not saying goodbye.
These eyes, they do me wrong.
These eyes have seen the truth of things,
when they only want to
watch you laugh
watch you dress in the morning
watch your body moving on mine-
Just watch you.
And blind themselves against the path we have chosen.
I want to take it back.
But...
I won't.
Instead I'll love you.
And love you.
And love you,
love you,
I love you
until I can love me
just as much.
So call us the King and Queen of Hypothesis, darling.
Look at our glass crowns,
how clearly you can see my heart inside,
saving for something more precious
than all the kingdom's gold.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
Captured there in orange
beneath the old street light
a cloud of breath exhaled
hangs heavy in the night.
Waiting on the 409
has never been this bleak
the fierce wind nips your ear lobe
and ice cold stings your cheek.
I watch you turn your collar up
your back against the bite
one hand on that coffee cup
the other out of sight.
Each morning
getting colder
the forecast is for snow
in fleece and wool you face the frost
and how I'll never know
I see you’re green
my blue faced friend
the green before the fall
you've never been about the perks
it's conscience above all.
The last thing on your mind just now
would be to get a Lynx
traffic is lame
road rage insane
And air pollution stinks.
Don't EVEN get you started
on the SUV
spews out nitrous oxide
and guzzles Texas tea.
Public parking,
another rare find
for what you get,
they rob you blind.
and what they miss
the vandal takes
leave you with migranes
the car alarm makes.
better for all
we all take the train
or one car per family
'stead of one car per brain.
Watching you stand there
with ice crystals forming
I despise all your stubborness
you NEED global warming!
I know you're no girly
my Ever-Ready mate
but my Duracel is waiting
and the 409 is late
I get out of my car
and approach you from the rear
my work cut out, without a doubt
the ice lymric is near
poetic license pending
I call for a herione's ending
like a frozen filet, without word or delay
I can lift you without even bending.
Once inside and thawing
you start in about the gas
I turn down the heat,
but turn up the seat
that's warming up your ****
I'm all for the planet, I tell ya
and doing whatever is best
but for mornings like these
with your jewels in deep freeze
come with and we'll heat up the Quest!
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
Raining and thunder and lightening and frightened
What happened to sunshine?
Cold and starving and desperate; hopeless and desolate
What happened to grace?
Drown me in the waves crashing about in your mind
Filet my heart with your calloused hands
Love me in the pit of your stomach, where hatred lies anything but dormant
Kiss me with everyone you are
Destroy me in your wake
You are a burning church, and I am
face-down in the Holy Water
screaming out hymns;
trying to drown out the flames.
I love you
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
Le brouillard est froid, la bruyère est grise ;
Les troupeaux de boeufs vont aux abreuvoirs ;
La lune, sortant des nuages noirs,
Semble une clarté qui vient par surprise.
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
Le voyageur marche et la lande est brune ;
Une ombre est derrière, une ombre est devant ;
Blancheur au couchant, lueur au levant ;
Ici crépuscule, et là clair de lune.
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
La sorcière assise allonge sa lippe ;
L'araignée accroche au toit son filet ;
Le lutin reluit dans le feu follet
Comme un pistil d'or dans une tulipe.
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
On voit sur la mer des chasse-marées ;
Le naufrage guette un mât frissonnant ;
Le vent dit : demain ! l'eau dit : maintenant !
Les voix qu'on entend sont désespérées.
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
Le coche qui va d'Avranche à Fougère
Fait claquer son fouet comme un vif éclair ;
Voici le moment où flottent dans l'air
Tous ces bruits confus que l'ombre exagère.
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
Dans les bois profonds brillent des flambées ;
Un vieux cimetière est sur un sommet ;
Où Dieu trouve-t-il tout ce noir qu'il met
Dans les coeurs brisés et les nuits tombées ?
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
Des flaques d'argent tremblent sur les sables ;
L'orfraie est au bord des talus crayeux ;
Le pâtre, à travers le vent, suit des yeux
Le vol monstrueux et vague des diables.
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
Un panache gris sort des cheminées ;
Le bûcheron passe avec son fardeau ;
On entend, parmi le bruit des cours d'eau,
Des frémissements de branches traînées.
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
La faim fait rêver les grands loups moroses ;
La rivière court, le nuage fuit ;
Derrière la vitre où la lampe luit,
Les petits enfants ont des têtes roses.
Je ne sais plus quand, je ne sais plus où,
Maître Yvon soufflait dans son biniou.
1.1k
Their unspoken opinions
are like a *** of unknowable, unnamed meats
including skunk parts
one morsel of filet mignon
Family or workplace
longer the hours, years of the living
opinions accumulate
perception strained through mortality
This stew of ethics
holds together, blows apart
trees, planets, atoms, galaxies
on or about year 2000
One must not
express the certainty
that the child's coma-induced vision of a dead grandparent
did not actually happen in heaven
One must feign
respect for all beliefs however abjectly
death denying
because they are harmless as
ozone
zebra
xylophone
zygote
A
beautiful day follows
on Jones' Nose
ripe blueberries, black cherries
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
This selfless,
Godless,
Appearance of oneself;
Resistance,
Sub-sequence,
Is righteous to one’s own Hell.
Reprisal,
Derision,
Submission to the abyss;
Arrival,
A mission,
A taste of vinegar and ****
-
Everything you know is fake.
Your mind won’t ever allow you to make,
An intelligent assertion of what is real,
You choke on what They feed you as veal,
As if this filet was the most prime cut,
You even thank Them for what They’ve done.
They’ve given us “freedom” and so much “wealth”
They have, of course, “NEVER” helped Themself.
To dip into Their own Piggy-Bank,
Their bacon-greased fingers drawing a “blank”.
-
What have They done? What do you really know?
-
As far as it goes, there is no such thing as “freedom” or “wealth”,
A man made concept, excused as “help”
And as far as it goes of Their accepted “help”,
Just know that They have butchered our very health.
-
They’ve bombed Their own ships,
Destroyed Their own buildings,
To inspire you to fear,
To inspire misguided hateful feelings.
-
The people They **** every single day
Are not what you would right now expect,
It is not the war over the ocean and waves,
It is here that They attack.
-
Men who run financial institutions
Take from Their companies in dissolution,
Given help from Their own evil friends,
These men claim to own, and conspire again.
The word “greed” is but to low a word to give means,
To these grotesque difuckingsgusting “human” beings,
They take and take and tell us to consume,
That’s all we are, scent to the fume,
The growing pyre of our country’s scaffold,
The base, in ashes, is burning tenfold,
Soon it will fall, and what They fear will come,
And I swear I will help see Them undone.
-
Open your eyes, Open your mind.
Race is Irrelevant.
Sexuality is Irrelevant.
Religion is Irrelevant.
Lifestyles are Irrelevant.
We are wolves ruled by snakeheaded sheep,
Brothers and Sisters, we will make Them weep.
-
Coming Together,
We Will Not Fall.
We Will Not Falter.
We Will Not Fail.
Lay Sacrifice to this Altar.
-
It will soon come,
And we will rise,
We will bring light,
To Their truth, despised.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 7:30 PM UTC