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Shawn B Jan 2018
I dream of peace and just assurance.
I have stood for it all my life,
with constitution and vigor.

My hope and that which I have defended,
stood bright and noble in the light of love.
It has been as I have seen him
true,
honest,
quietly brave,
a perfect encapsulation.

The wind has not shaken him in his innocence,
he shall stand beside me in nobility
unscathed.

I will defend this glory.

In innocence and grace,
as a child, you stand and walk.
I will work this day in your honor, with ease.

We will watch you in all you stand for victorious.

Together we are ready and true, within and beside you, our hope.

Innocence tempted,
standing unprotected,
with all hope inside, and promise.
All that is of value, tested, to be refined.
The day has passed and that which was gold is a fooled fool.
Standing in temptation as many a desperate ***** desire,
unquenchable.

We cannot lose hope, this is a test.

I must continue, to put you forth to your destiny.
Leaving the darkness into arms much worse, knowing betrayal.
You will go to glory but I must forsake my own, crippled.

I am destitute, in my flippancy,
I realize that sin is a filth not able to be removed.
But I know the code,
the law of fire and grace,
I can use it to my advantage and forsake the trials,
and continue in love, but what love is this?
A mentor lay in my path.

The show must go on.

It is loss to move on,
it is loss to forsake,
is is loss to do nothing.
No bearing of truth do I have now in this gift of victory
unearned.
Move forward to prove. Fall back to loose again?
Or loose all gained by grace's ennoble gain?

He washed us white as snow.

Works or Love?
Entwine the two...
We will carry you, the broken of my deeds,
from white to grey to white, through blood and fire we go,
as you have shown us oh mighty man,
now wasted.
For this is the way understood.

I see you on the edge, not swiftly turning.

What's that you carry?

The wreck of the mighty's ambition.
For it was not just the faithful
who brought me home,
but the vision of might and of noble in glory.
The glimpse of both from which I strayed in vain curiosity
broken.
Now mending myself and you in mighty ambition.

Noble, faithful, and true we carry on.
This is one of those poems that could go on forever but you have to stop and come to a conclusion sometime. So I hope it ended well, in hope in a mixed up life vowed for something better. I know I'm not perfect and but this is my hope that I will stand faithful to what I have given myself in Jesus. This poem is a reflection of my life and it's struggle in poetic form, obviously not literal. Anyway I hope whoever reads it likes and thinks about your life too... :)
Sam Cardinale Mar 2011
Tree stand high, temperature low
this hunt has never been so cold.
     This mighty forest bare no more than two souls,
     Destined for one another, someday? Much hope.

Much hope.

Tree stand high, temperature low
the hunter starts to grow.
     Becoming one with this mighty forest, oblivion melts
     like the snow on the pines. Peace.

Tranquility.

"the game is one of great trophies, to boast, to play."

Oblivion is bliss, and the hunter grows humble.

Tree stand high, high, high above the pines, temperature ever so luke.
Gray skies become orange, as the sun breaks through.
     the hunter puts down his gun, deciding to break tradition.
     The longing for the trophy melts like the ice on the creek.

This mighy forest is beautiful. Tranquil. Peace in silence.
The hunter climbs from the highest stand in the trees.
     Stumps, moss, grass and mud.
     Is the hunt more than a game? But one of true love?

Peace.

The hunter stays quite, at the foot of the tree.
True love became more than a silly trophy.
SøułSurvivør Mar 2015
... would you hear a sound?

Where's the sound
of a heart breaking?
Is it a mighy noise?
What kind of music does it play?
The lullaby destroys!

Where's the crash of a soul cracking?
Is it in the rushing wind?
Is it in leather'n flapping wings
As all of Hell decends?

Where's a bass cocophany
In the wrist that bleeds?
What sort of soil accepts and grows
The poison crimson seeds?

Where's the green stick fracture?
Where's the ruptured spleen?
Where's the cancer in the brain?
Where is the pain unseen?


And what if the
Entire moon should crack?
And all the high stars fell?
There's an end... and you decend...

... into the pits of HELL.**


SoulSurvivor
(C) 2014
Rewritten
(C) 3-18-2015
This poem is written for a poetfriend.
I sincerely hope that
Things get better!

♥ Catherine
Davy Jun 2015
I'm Davy, an 18-year-old boy from a small town in the Netherlands. My hobbies are drawing and writing poetry. You mighy not see it, but when you take Route 66 through my eyes into my soul, you'll see a distorted world, full of chaos. I tell people I am what I am and they just have to accept it, but deep down, I know that I'm a nobody, a waste of space, just another leaf on the tree, just another drop of rain, nothing more than a piece of thin air, hoping that someone will make me feel special and loved again...
Sorry for the lack of quality in my last few poems
Peculiar Sep 2018
I bear witness to the lies
As they roll off the blackened tongue
The forged talk

I bear witness to the distortion
The talk of slander while accompanied with others
O’ LORD GOD do they not observe the deception?
Instead they accept illusive perception
O’ LORD GOD protect the ears of those who listen!

I bear witness to the dishonesty
Satan Forbid those who speak lies to accept
Instead they hide behind a mask of phony
Scamper towards shelter made of baloney

May all be forgiven to those who lie
Those disguised authentic
Are all hypocrites
Forgive them LORD ALL MIGHTY

May all be forgiven to those who listen
Ears perked as the whispers utter
Credulous minds
Gullible ears
Forgive them LORD ALL MIGHY

Save them all from the shackles
Release the bounds
AMEN we say AMEN!
This poem takes the form of a prayer concerning liars who hurt others
Ken Pepiton Apr 2022
In my time, I learned of wasted prosperity,
wasted production,
time spent destroying unsold goods.

All we were saying, we say as well once more,
give peace a chance, we all were dissuaded,
we all were led to this, we followed… we all did,
none among the numbers related to my mito mom,
knew how far mortals can see using knowledge,
the stuff in the Platonic form of science,
the tree, and all the fruit of the tree
which is in itself, ipsa sapientia

from former time,
I learn of earning daily bread
I learn of waking ready as known
I learn of patterns proving order
I learn of the flickt wrist whip act

Crack the whip. eh, knack is not knowing
how  it happens, knack is knowing
how to make it happen, knowing the effect
-- shh specter of spinoza- snap
pay attention, this is amusement, not folly,
affectionally called the crack of the whip,
or finger and thumb,
hear it, not feel it, know it means, quiet
listen
-crack of the bat

snaps the ear of any near enough to hear it,
and know that is not the sound
of a cat correcting a sailor's needless will,
breaking the boy, oh, yeah,
we seen it done, on TV,
we seen the boss punish the shirker,
we seen the pioneers take son's
to the woodshed,

rod for back of the fool,
whip to call attention to the snap, look up,
stand straight, and tall, upright,

faulter, find mine, whip me into shipshape,
saint's and land's sakes alive
all ye truth teller alliegiance pledgers,
be ready to face all the reasons war holds.

The commit-ed-tee, apart from any we, I'm in.
Mittere, carry the signal, be gone,
as we say, so be it,
amen,
launching prayers for fulfillment of our
godgiven heart's desires, yessirree

the history of our current we, the people
of earth, cognosticators of the cloud of all books,
articles, poems, songs, blogs, and posted memes;
-all searchable to original con-text captured expression.
So, that all being true,
it seems, we are the aftermath of all before now,
today, while it is called Hueta, or whatever, this time
between sunsets,
whiling away - amusing my minds imaginary board
of advisors, it is permissible to say, videlicet, viz.

the rule of law, is fulfilled
in that which truth
makes free, as free can be,
on the only one choice planet,
when it comes to living like a mankind creature.
- all who read these words can, that is special
Common gnosis, letters form words we all read.

Let letters serve as sounds, silently singing to you,
I am a ware, a functioning self-forming will to be,
a thought, or a wish, or a prayer,
come be, being seen
as that which lets until it be taken
out of the way.

Posited points. {the box of all gods thoughts}
Laws of the Medes and Persians, oaths to truth.

Mighy men of valour and reknown, completely
known, first error of the mother, secured by a god.

Then there were the promises, all the desires
in the heart of our kind, available in story form,
since ever ago, in the beginning,

we made words, letters let us know, with music,
whistles and cracks, and snaps, and claps, and stomps.

LOUD likka lightning sound, some three claps ago,

Boom come a roaring down the canyon,
echoing off my walled in self, hermit me,
ever learning, never coming to the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth,
so help me God,
' assume you are in my taxonomy, then
assume we have relegated the affects of tehkne
in extending our vision in to the imagined realms

we have seen the insides of our bodies, our own,
heart's pulse, our own colon's polyps, stripped
of flora and fauna, for the procedure.

We know oh so, oso, a bear totem load, more
than any super position non universal intelligence,
among the elohim, the plurality of spirit beings,
mentioned in the beginning
of the part of this story with this story in it.

---------- I always wished to be a writer,
but, I knew, I wasn't, really, I knew,
and then I became what I was at my core,
you know, a life unlived, is not worth the exam fee.
So, it stood to reason with me, that truth,
known makes free the use of that known,

no lie makes truth, it finds truth and twists it,
much as men find flax and form from that linen,
and from linen spin near everlong thread,
from distaff to spindle, a line,
on another, each
make a reason to wonder, shine it in the sunlit
spider kite, gleaming reason to wonder, how
anybody ever learned to make priests garments,
on contract, I mean,
somebody makes the uniforms to signal symbios-us,
we who let letters be taken out of the way
and we listen to the thinking thought way

to go
slow
jell-o air, breathe and find template con fi
density commonly sensed as we

like on TV, those people, on all the channels,
even YouTubers, et al, okeh, we
are who we imagine we are
as seen on TV, but mmm some of us read,

and we cheat,
we let go the letters on the page,
bookshelves stuffed backdrop
to signify power and authority to make right use
of all the potential
attained with a little will to access the actual science
in our collective unconscience, yes, happy

state real, as el camino real, amigo, we be
of one mind,
most of the time.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
cheapskates:

what a nice,
and at the same time
privy word....

    recognised within
the framework
of people

          who don't bother
to pay for art...

because they think,
well, they don't exactly
think with
any orthodox care
to state a fact...

    this is going down
the rough & tumble...

        people stop paying
for art,
   they stop earning a soul...
i can't blame them,
but i also can't earn from
them...

   meaning they're neither
appreciating nor
consuming
      the adequate response...

the mob rule said:
20th century artists had
too much fun...
          
am i going to side with
chopin piano antics
or that of sonny clark?
d'uh... obviously the latter...

imagine free cabbage,
and free meats...
   for some, ******* oblivious
reason, there's free art...

    at this point artists mighy as well
cite herr ******...
  the "failed" artists...
and that's implying
a non-inclusive stance
for the man regarded as
a anti-jew-****** with a jewish
girlfriend that was eva braun...

christianity has no other patron
saint of artists, other than
kinder adolf...

  fa-king irony...
                
as far as the current zeitgeist states:
thieving is o.k.,
          stealing is smart...
          so, stop, complaining,
you, dumb, ***, *******,
whether, you, like, or, don't, like,
the karaoke, import,
into mainstream, media:

i just hope you choke on this
cultural output,
   and take it like a *****,
that i know you are;
  i hate cheapskates...

                  i just imagine these
people having as much knowledge
of music, as the music
farmers used to hear,
i.e.: grunts of horses, snorting of pigs,
clucking / clocking in of chickens...
            
  never, in the history of man
has stealing become so normalißed...
so nonchalant...
                up yours and the a.i.
cherokee algorithm...
                
              what a bunch of wanks
and yanks put together...
  you just feel like
              smashing them with
the edge of a cricket bat...
   till they resemble a crimson
balloon stuffed with plums.
Vladimir Lionter May 2020
He remembered Khrushyov, Brezhnev.
He remembered the mighy USSR’s fate.
He remembered a lot, understood he a lot.
Fidel Castro Rus was so truly great.
He wanted to be a powerful dictator,
Like Stalin being with a great power.
“We can do a lot!” told he friends therefore.
He led people to Revolution farther.
He could change hundreds,
thousands of people’s fates
He achieved him great, bright goal. We won’t
Exactly forget him, him deeds, him life’s dates,
Do lie with peace, Fidel, was great your own lot.
{26.11.2016}

ФИДЕЛЬ АЛЕХАНДРО КАСТРО РУС
(13.08.1926 – 25.11.2016)
Хрущёва он помнил и Брежнева помнил,
Он помнил могучий Советский Союз!
Он многое помнил и многое понял –
Таким выдающимся был Кастро Рус!
Хотел быть на Сталина очень похожим –
Диктатором сильным с великой страной!
Друзьям говорил он: «Мы многое можем!»
И вёл к Революции всех за собой!
Он смог изменить сотни, тысячи судеб
– Достиг он великую, светлую цель!
Мы точно его никогда не забудем –
Покойся же с миром великий Фидель!
{26.11.2016}

Translator - I. Toporov

— The End —