"horde" poems
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
15.8k
I'm a gamer
The things I do
Mapped new worlds
Slain a god or two
Blown up stars
And lead revolutions
Gained experience
And Increased my Constitution
Drove a tank
A star-ship
A dragon
Killed a zombie horde
Drank some mead from a flagon
I've built cities
and worlds
and life
I've ended wars
and Famines
and strife
I've lived more lives than one can live
I've seen the work of hundreds in the span of moments
More personal than literature
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
Could I be any lamer?
This is the disclaimer
of an avid pc gamer.
The original doom sayer.
Not your average KrakPott priest
Resurrecting the deceased.
Carrying raids to keep pleased.
And a night elf none the least.
While your out chasing hoes.
I be on my MMOs
Healing tanks of heavy blows.
Mind controlling enemy foes.
Check me on my youtube channel.
In an epic arena battle.
My heals to great to handle.
Got the horde all screaming 'Scandal!'
My reality was so droll
that I decided to re-roll.
Maybe next I'll be a troll
to fill this empty hole.
Could I be any lamer?
This is my disclaimer.
An avid PC gamer.
The original Doom Sayer.
The End Is Near!!! 0o
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
Oh dear brave knight,
Who ventures into the wilds
Please draw your sword
And fight away the horde.
She's a hero into my heart
With the strenght to tear us apart
Come here and fight away
The monsters that are wide awake
And then eat this piece of cake.
She's always into a fight
Because she is my brave knight
Come here and claim your prize
Because this is the tale of the knight.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC
Clouds don't lie. They tell the truth
wherever they may go.
Their shadows give relief
to creatures down below.
They change their forms and colors
the chameleons of the air.
Majestically, they soar above
to play with angels there.
They weep to nourish growing crops
and bring the snow and hail.
A crown of lightning lights their heads
before the coming gale.
Clouds can ride the jet stream
like a wrangler on his steed,
Then float serenely on the breeze
and other cloudlings breed.
They soak up sunset, changing hue,
vermilion, saffron, gold...
Then soar to higher atmospheres
to frolic in the cold.
Free to roam the open sky,
they mock the earth-bound horde
And blithely glide upon the wind,
no passengers aboard.
Oh, how I'd like to take a ride
upon a breaking dawn.
But clouds don't lie, and so deny,
a chance of getting on.
Unpretentious are the clouds.
They care not for our awe.
They graze upon their crystals
and are quite above the law.
The mysteries the clouds have kept
since Mother Earth began...
Are kept behind the truth they tell,
as part of heaven's plan.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 12:18 PM UTC
*Beautiful are the stars in the dim sky
When fireflies, in the silence of the night, shine
And the leaves dance with the tempest wind
As the clouds clad itself with darkness.
Beautiful are the things in life
Even if given with a horde of trials
Consider the roses robed with thorns
Or the cactus in the desert grown alone
On how they have dealt with life thus spines born
And on how their spines have made them strong.
Let the troubles opt to mist on its own.*
- qyf
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
What happens when we all live to one-hundred?
I am expecting more wrinkles than I have now,
A year before, at ninety-nine.
I've lived for so long,
Death shall I make it past that hundred mile mark?
I feel so tired in these days of Fall,
I'm wilted, I think, like untended petunias,
Like leaves scalding in the midday sun.
My wife is long gone,
My wife I loved and made love to,
Well past the age of fifty,
She died at sixty-one,
I sit remembering,
My time alone.
This horde of trees reflect exactly how I feel,
This decaying oak,
The willow tree caving in,
The bent, broken sycamore tree,
It's branches growing towards earth,
Weighed down, like me with heavy sins.
Butterflies flew now, the kind rare to winter,
Like old people having their slow, careful version of ***
You might not want to watch it,
You who are young,
You who are convinced,
That when it comes to old age, an exception will be made.
But they still want to do it,
Weird love is better than no love at all.
-Firefly
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
Listen to my words
the kids they going crazy
Getting locked up
All they can clutch,
Miranda rights
at the same time
alright
Miranda writes
Our thoughts put to paper
Play it out on the stage
Never know the difference
Its a turn of the page
Some use their bullets
some wield a knife
Others preach the dollar
Is How they take our lives
Grab you by the collar
And break you down with lies
Don't matter what your searching
Only what you find
This is our misfortune
Blinded by distortion
Someday we might wake up
As we struggle to align
You cannot be free
all that blood in your eyes
Round and round in circles
A place I call my home
Just a lonely misfit
With the strength of a stone
Wonder round these valleys
While you sit upon your throne
Sometimes it's hard to admit
The scale of this dismay
Indeed we are alone
Some use their writing
The bullet is a pen
I killed oppression
Does that mean
That I'm insane
I killed oppression
What's left to be?
waiting in vain
I killed oppression
a fury made of fire
Brought down all the people
We were never equal
I killed oppression
Standing on the sun
The flames
You can keep em
They killed oppression
Shot it right between the eyes
Third, you may see
Lead you to your destiny
They killed oppression
Look at the world
Crumble let it be
No one really cares
About the people
No one really cares
About the people
They killed oppression
The wars about a dollar
Corporate oversight
Disguise pain with laughter
Gotta feed the horde
Seduction is their nature
They killed oppression
Read between the lines
They. Have drawn for you, as
We **** oppression
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
I am the Great Connector
I was born to unite The Horde
I am the Great Collector
Of souls felled by my Axensword
They all call me subhuman
And revile me as a beast
But they do the same to you and
For that they'll pay the price
(No Peace)
We are strong, We are brave
Though they wish to see us caged
We are wild and Untamed
And we will never live as slaves
Conquerors, We Are One!
Same blood in different skins
At last you'll see, when the victor is me
I am the Lord of our Kin
Wastelanders, Join the March
The World will burn as we sing
When the battle is won, I'll announce to everyone
"I am the Ogre King!"
I am the Great Divider
I was born to brew up storms
I am the Annihilator
My path was forged in war
My reign began in chaos
In Bloodshed, so it ends
All this Strife has nearly left me with
No Kingdom to Defend
(Descent)
We are Violent and Enraged
Now that we have been Betrayed
There are Consequences Grave
For Manipulated Faith
Revolution, it has come!
Same blood but different sins
The Empire Falls
And all Hear the Call
For A New Order to Begin
Decapitate the Tyrants
& Slaughter those who Resist
When the battle is won,
At the top of my lungs, I'll cry
"Long Live the Ogre King!"
I am the Great Destroyer
The Throne is mine to take
I will be king at any cost
Dead nations in my wake
I am the Great Conniver
With Sinister Designs
Never cared how much is Lost
So long as what is Left is Mine
(Arise)
We are rabid and insane
From lives of misery and pain
Now that the world's ablaze
We fall into our cages
These Horrors have just begun
Same gore from separate veins
What have we done,
To our daughters and sons?
A History Bloodstained!
We threw our lives into this war,
And lost more than we gave
When the killing is done,
I'll tell everyone,
"The Ogre King is slain!"
Now Our Planet is a Grave!
"The Ogre King is Slain,
Long Live the Ogre King,
I Am
The Ogre King!"
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
whom do you trust
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor....
what eyes see the meaning of the blind
what tongues listen...which lies
in the picturesque morning
beauty spins its deceptions with golden hued sunlight
weaves its hand puppet theatricals made of
fleeting wisps of smiles
kissing gestures weakly delivered
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor...
they gather round the dead man
some come to mourn the lost
some come to rifle through his pockets
some come to silently wait for their own fate
he sits in his worn chair
in a pool of lamplight
with a small hammer in hand
his spectacles on bridge of his nose
tapping tapping ever so gently the thin metal mask
tinker...tailor...sailor...solider
the uniform of his mind shifts according to his lie
his tool is always the deceptions and misdirections
a sly smile...firm handshake...a signature style
'to whom do you trust' is a phrase that troubles him
her perfume lingers in the air
years have buried the cold war
but not its warriors
not their handiwork
they dress the dead man for his burial
with his decorations and platitudes
with his shiny sword and neat uniform
with honors they lay him
with truths his secret they bury him
why did he do thus....to whom did he answer
to the tomb with his truths and lies
to the tomb
he gathers the long coat
and the umbrella
walks out in london's chill spring night
to a bridge
and throws a small box into the river
long years after the cold war died
these men of shadows still play
these keepers of the gate still watch for hannibal and his horde
solider, sailor, tinker, tailor
whom do you trust
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
There, she lies on the altar
Almost held the sun she—
almost in her hands
Opened up, a rose-bud chaste
petal by petal by blood, with
a sting, so sweet and sweet, as
sunset reborn a bee; she was
gold and silver and black at once.
Almost held the sun she—
and no wax wings used
Oh, Icarus, love you did a wild sky,
— yourself a light-licked doom
as your father cried,
Your father cried for you.
A veil as simple sour starlight she wore
as wings of wasps as beetles she giggled
Icarus, flew that you
—and with tongue-tied elation too
Icarus,
she rambled on for hours long.
A letter she held in spring kissed hands
—I will wed you to the sun, her father had sworn.
The sun—and a sun he was,
child of the sea, some sword in honey
dipped; now her awaiting.
And blushed she did herself a dawn
The altar, on the altar.
Almost held the sun she—
Swallowed a mayhem for the father's sin.
Icarus, tell me of the plummet.
Tell me of the greens you saw,
of blues, of whites, of the whirling world—
Men go around around her
their soles all ready
to crush lost skulls an empty moor.
Twirling,
the dust, like may have her hair
before the wedding day
Strands and strands, gently styled—
Spears, swords, rubbed to mirrors,
to lakes lifeless
Armors and ships laden with life, with
sails, the fluttering doves;
As the winds dance once more—
as harbors vacated, as waves torn apart for the horde, as move they on— on too the sun— as
She still lies.
Icarus, Icarus, was it the ocean
that cupped its palms, or did the soil cave in
as down into dark's slick throat you slid?
Surely, was soft, the sea's well-loved mouth,
Surely soft or true
She lies on the altar
a trinket glossy on a hoof, a ****** in the bell,
how does one say—
the valley of lilies, she grew it inside.
Spilled out on the stones, they are fed
to the flies.
Almost held the sun she—
Icarus, must you know
You did not sleep a wretched silence
within the womb of war.
No crescent blades you drank down a leaking throat—
She lies on the altar, vanquished for moon
— for metal upon bone
for blood, for blood, for blood.
A father’s green promise—
Seasoned to rust before the king
Icarus, on the altar she lies—
a ripened land far, far away lures her king
to another rosy worship.
Icarus, Icarus,
on the altar
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 7:45 AM UTC
The land...
Its quiet and peaceful for now.
In the distance however,
holds a war of all.
A guardian watches alongside her sisters,
They see the world through the eyes of the creator.
As the sun gleam's upon the water,
A massive horde comes closer.
Valkyries are strong,
beautiful but deadly.
We fight together for the Light,
but the darkness can overwhelm thee.
Only one Valkyrie stands out,
above them all.
She is unique, wise, and tall.
Her blue eyes only see thy soul.
As this horde comes to the waves of white.
Valkyries spread their wings to take flight.
Now she knoweth the world and becomes,
The demon they fear, Kekay the Young.
Rising into the sky,
not fearing the dragons who surround.
She looks to her ****
and stands...her ground.
Her wings turn black and her sovereign soul abides.
As she summons the Catalyst on the heights.
Tempest Suthrane as deadly and black.
The lightning kills off anything death.
The Valkyrie stands before her sisters now,
Who watch in terror of the darkness overwhelmed.
For now she is known as Kekay Suthrane,
The Valkyrie, The young, Dragon Rider today.
Know the war that takes place within her soul,
She knows not the worldly fall.
The end will draw near of the sisterhoods kin,
The blood will show the way,
To her next ****
The Valkyrie of light and Darkness,
The Archaic one.
Shes the one you should fear,
For Tempest comes to her call.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 9:52 AM UTC
Can we see,
or have we lost sight,
of what is wrong,
and what is right.
Are we lost,
or do we know,
where we are,
and where to go.
Propaganda,
and temptation,
both lead you,
to a damnation.
A clear mind,
attempts salvation,
of your thought,
and your temptation.
Are we blind,
to all the lies,
corporations,
we despise.
Feeding them,
aimlessly,
giving them,
our money.
Propaganda,
and temptation,
both lead you,
to a damnation.
A clear mind,
attempts salvation,
of your thought,
and your temptation.
Why are we giving them,
our hard earned money?
For them to horde away,
in endless bank accounts.
For them to use,
against us.
Dangling it above our heads,
giving them power!
Propaganda,
and temptation,
both lead us,
to our damnation.
A clear mind,
attempts salvation,
of our thought,
and our temptation.
Stop giving them money,
that's what they want.
Stop giving them power,
that's what they need.
Jul 2, 2011
Jul 2, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
For forty days and forty nights
We had no reasons to fight
So the planet was flooded
By the warm blooded
******* soaked
Visible ******
No more cloaks
No more loners
For everyone there was a match
But here's the insidious catch
It didn't take long for people to get bored
And start cutting and crossing cords
Until we resembled a chaotic horde
For forty days and forty nights
The Earth was flooding
Until things got muddy
And clouded transcendence
In the form of independence
Our lives keep knotting together
Our lives are rotting endeavors
We were completely happy
But felt that was too sappy
We sought edgy darkness
In a world that was shark-less
We made the world we live in
By putting on shark fins
And eating those that fall overboard
Out of their relationship
We try to be their overlord
Or add them to our list
Love grants a clenched fist
When there is value to a kiss
For forty days and forty nights
We turned on Earth's floodlights
And the world was flooded by love
Until we decided to try to look above
To see nothing there
Just the empty air
There was a time when there was love
Now there is none
Only a gun
And the number one
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC
The first thing that you forget, when you stop talking to someone is the sound of their voice.
So I suggest with every voicemail you receive, save it.
Whether it be from your grandma or your aunt or your boyfriend
You'll miss them sooner or later if they leave you.
When It's a healthy time for you, and you miss them a lot,
You'll still have their voice.
The way they spoke, every lisp every stutter
You'll hear it in that old voicemail.
I once loved a boy.
Some know most of the story, some only know half
But only he and I know every end and out of that year and a half.
I still have his voicemails,
but they aren't only the happy ones.
Matter of fact, he only left me a voicemail when he was angry or when he had news he couldn't keep to himself long enough.
I deleted the happy ones after we broke up.
But I didn't do it because I was angry,
I did it because I wasn't worthy.
And yet, they're still in my trash bin waiting, ready to be recovered.
Because some days, I wonder if he's happy.
Then I'll hear his voicemail telling me he got his GED.
And it was because of me.
Because some days I wonder if he misses me
Then I'll hear his voicemail telling me he loves me and always will
See, I have a problem: I'm a hoarder
I horde voices.
I horde the sound of laughs and cries,
I horde the angry and the happy times.
I take them all and keep them close.
And I try and keep phones for as long as I can.
Because when the phone goes,
So do the voices that I hold dear.
So darling if you wonder if I still have every old voicemail you've ever sent me the answer is clear.
If I miss you, I press my phone to my ear.
But now it's been so long that your voice scares me.
The old voicemails sit and take up my data since I'm too afraid to delete them.
That means your gone forever
And while I may have broken your heart I hope you forgive me
And I hope this voicemail makes you smile.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
To write of Love, of Heaven, and of God,
Hills of joy, o'er which Angel pursued
Of that Boy, a sublime hippie shepherd,
Who in Heart the wisdom of Heaven had,
My pen, it labours, I give sweat and blood,
To paint world in cerise, a sweet red flood:
Or Prussian blue, depending on the scene,
Let Poets tell true folk from chess piece Kings,
Feign benevolence, when they are mean,
Who strut and rule above, superior things,
Who on the carcass of the suffering wean,
Drunk on power, Almighty sovereigns.
To write of Love, Heaven, apart from days,
Spent in drudgery at whim of Lords,
Who sit engorged by gold, wealth as they graze,
Upon the fruits yield by the mass, that horde,
As mass toil deep 'neath sun's sweltering rays,
To give and barter time they can't afford.
But they will be the ones in Heaven crowned,
As all time vindicates the plight of souls,
Who in port, or wine, have never drowned,
Rich gluttony the faithful mind abhors,
Upon which Saints and angels incensed frown,
So to tyrant's whims take pious war.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 6:39 AM UTC
(I hate poets.
They annoy me deeply.)
I.
There are the balladeers,
Working in service of their inner Service,
(Though, despite the seeming impossibility,
Their hackneyed verse is even worse)
Creating tortuous rhyme
Which slows down labyrinthine narratives
Ending up in some deus ex machine
So implausible that it would make Euripides blush
(Most often courtesy of some unforeseen projectile
Or sudden viral contagion;
Would that their creators meet such a fate!)
II.
I come not to praise the so-called sonneteers,
But to bury them.
They are an earnest lot,
(Lord knows that they are earnest)
And they will make their fourteen lines rhyme
(Though sometimes the rhyme scheme screams for mercy)
And hang the cost.
Though their narratives are head-scratching things,
And their iambs proceed with the steadiness
Of a nonagenarian church pianist
Doing her damndest to fight the wedding march to a draw,
They are content, nay, proud of their work
Because babble rhymes with Scrabble
(Though they are not particularly proficient with the latter,
They have the former down to an art.)
III.
Let us not forget the Buk-zombies,
Those apostles of aphorism,
Most of whom speak of their departed deity
As if he were an old drinking buddy
(Never mind that most of them were two or three
Or perhaps not even a bad idea
In the back seat of some mom’s Buick
When he exited this mortal plane, stage left, even.)
One’s mind is boggled whilst considering
The expanse of the bar required to accommodate
Everyone who would like to
(Or worse, have claimed to)
Buy old Charlie a beer, not that he’d stand for a round.
They are a sullen horde, this lot,
Best dealt with by aiming for the base of the skull.
IV.
Ah, the confessionals, Lord have mercy upon their souls
(For they shall have none upon ours.)
They feel so many things so deeply
As such things have never been felt before
(They have not read their Sexton, their Snodgrass,
Their Lowell, their Pl--well, no,
They have all read their Plath.)
It is, from the moment they arise in the morning
Until such time they set aside their fears and let sleep take them,
All too much for them,
And they bravely face the days
Until such time they care bear to take action
And fling themselves from some convenient precipice.
We should, as a service to them and ourselves,
Ensure the soles of their shoes
Are sufficiently worn and slippery.
(I hate poets.
They annoy me deeply.)
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
A kilo of fish brinjal pumpkin
Cauliflower raisin and bean
Washing soap and eggs one crate
Need to buy bring from market!
Mustard oil some milk and rice
Cashew nut and a horde of spice
Gourd and potato spinach cabbage
The list is long fills a page!
Feel confused from where to start
How to pile and stack on a cart
Shoeshine cream to adhesive glue
All calculations and maths to do!
Ticked what’s got unticked what’s not
Cash dwindles with much unbought
Trudge back home in sweated daze
She checks items and fumes in rage!
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
it was the moon that fell through. a lump of gray astronaut
pale acne-blasted, an orphan of the dome, floating in a pond
face down; gasping... green brass minnows surge through diatoms
that have no word for moon; a legion of blind unicorn gall stones -
invisible to naked eyes; uncountable geometries horde the dark waters
they cannot disprove or disobey. large mouth bass inhale calcium polygons
they have never met; that have no word for large mouth bass -
that hasn't always been unknown as september is meaningless
now, even more so, the meaning is less,
without the moon... so
the last tide is false. a satellite has lost it's grip and displaced a placid
jewel of ice cold pause. in the backwoods of these. words. a. moon.
is. breathing. in. a. void. teeming. with. ancient. life.
it is a void, unfamiliar to a native of heaven. this void used to rise and fall
in obedience to the wax and wane. in accord with her orbit.
but now it burns the ocean of serenity with irony's forge.
pounding the stainless steel of unfathomable loss;
even the dross sustains a shape of things to come undone -
when the hammer falls and the blacksmith is a poet
born to ****** fables from mayflies. a natural.
the hammer was in the hand before the moon gained
a face or an ocean to adore it. it was there,
ticking like a season, burgeoning with locusts -
holding off the mob; the moon was long ago, slipping off the roof -
long before firemen met lightning.
the tide was a pious fool.
the measure was not the span of the impending verse, but the hour of it's
callous beauty, assembled. a lunacy, stripped of all moons.
and only the sun remaining -
to behold the uncanny descent of a faithful, vestigial goddess.
a yellow throne. a yellow eye. and the sun's first chill...
as wave after wave of syllables sum succulent sorrows -
savoring sacred symmetries, asymmetrically... summoning -
super luminary strawberry switchblades,
saving sanity for questions with question marks.
this poem fell through. a lung collapsed or not.
and the moon is at the bottom of my heart.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:17 AM UTC
I'm an addict.
I need it.
I want it.
I hate it.
I love it.
I suppress it,
hide it,
horde it,
keep it all for me.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the regret,
but with the high,
I forget.
It's wrong,
I shouldn't,
...I shouldn't...
I know I shouldn't.
but I do.
I'm an addict,
and you know what?
So are you.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
It’s astonishing how you knock me off my feet
Enrapture spoken, sentiments we savor as we greet
A relishing secret catered for me, my needs, as we mental feast
It’s getting harder and harder to breathe
Echoes turning, twisting, as they blissfully weave
I wish I could take a journey through your mind
Dine on the emotions you refuse to hide
Cautionary pause, where are you, do you no longer reside
Tempting fate of awakening emotions dancing inside my head
Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread
Dreams of roses, chocolates, wine, a silk covered bed
Beautiful images of a love to be shared
Where feelings could suddenly vanish into thin air
No safety net, no sure bet, hotter than July, to have let
Nurses cannot heal thyself
I need a quick cure from sipping the tale of Sleeping Beauty’s lover’s cup
SOS smoke signals has been sent up
Rescue me Destiny, Fate knows I cannot swim
Horde of feelings have quickly flooded in
Melody of the heart sounds sweeter than the violin
No shore, no dry land
State of mind standing upon quicksand
Tarzan swing me from your vine, refuge needed in this moment in time
I need an escape from this deep ocean of carnal designs
Mind management, intoxicating as sweet wine, softly trickling from off a grape vine
You’ll be the one who brings the pain
Bring the umbrella in the pouring rain
You’ll be the one who makes me cry
Bring me the tissue to dry my eyes
You’ll be the one my heart can’t deny
Sending my body beyond pleasure while entwined in the sky
Whispers in time are arresting, strong
Tarzan embrace me, cocoon me with an escape song
As I tightly hold onto your body as we swing in ecstasy all night long
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Where art thou?
Come hither unto me
And take me somewhere right now
I need a change of scenery,
snap snap, take me there
I need a different memory,
Who, what, where?
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Thou hast my heart
Approach upon me carrying
My new start
I require your assistance,
My demons are close behind
They follow with persistence,
How I wish they were blind
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Taketh mine own heart
If thou cannot save me
At least let me restart
Rubber onto road,
quick before they see
For my demons, they have growed,
and are still chasing me
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Thou hast the only escape
To be or not to be,
Breaks the image agape
Barreling down the alley,
faster please, oh dear
this may be my death valley,
the reaper, he is near
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Thine hast tried so hard
"Here, buy yourself some new wheels"
I say and give my card
I'm cowering upon the horde,
they're towering up above
Oh my, what I would reward,
to my peace dove
Taxi cab, oh taxi cab
Run while thy has the chance
Pitter patter down the road
Don't give me another glance
They dive unto me,
I wretch and scream
The scene plays out violently,
Sadly, not a dream
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
He was only one, that day,
Standing alone to fill and gap the breech.
No one else, but he, stood to face the onslaught,
The terror that charged forward,
Toward where he stood and held his post,
Where someone before had drawn a long line on the ground.
No one there to help, all had fled,
Intimidated by the imposing, closing threat
That was coming near.
All, but he, had run, and the time and the foe drew closer;
Making a last stand was not even on his mind,
Resisting was not a choice,
He would do what he could,
What must be done, until he could do no more.
Death took the defender that day,
But not easily.
He fought until he had no more blood to shed,
With a final gasp, onto a bloodied ground he, at last,
Fell dead.
His enemies, his foes, stood in awe,
At the red-stained, battered corpse,
With sword still in hand.
After much deliberation,
The horde decided to turn and leave.
If this one, lone sentry had courage such as this,
How much more an entire army that probably laid in wait.
Tactical retreat was the best option, and,
With that they turned about,
They left to conquer other lands.
His comrades came; took his body;
Pinned medals across his chest;
Said a few words reserved for heroes, and
Laid him to rest.
They glanced into the distant, disappearing dust and thought,
What cowards they must have been
To have let one lone soldier frighten them such
That they turned away.
There was only one, that day,
Standing alone to fill and gap the breech;
One soldier who stood the watch,
Who did not retreat.
Armies are made of
One soldier at a time.
Mar 17, 2010
Mar 17, 2010 at 1:03 PM UTC
Palestine
The blank screen is watching me
to say something about flower and the landscape
I refuse to oblige.
My thoughts today go to the suffering Palestinians,
Who had their country to pieces by a horde from Europa
claiming it was their land as promised by a Jewish scribe.
They were pushed away from their land and cities
and mercilessly sent to exile, the survivors were given
a piece of land by the invaders, who called it the West -Bank,
There is no county by that name.
There is Palestine, the people there although outgunned
resist the invaders it is a David and Goliath fight
and we know the stone thrower won.
It took some time for good people to see the catastrophe that
befell the people of Palestine, but the world is
catching up, and no longer listen to the what a fake
state's propaganda says.
I'm old and will not live long enough to see it, but
I know Palestine will be free.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC