"mussolini" poems
Dear Poet Friends, Here is a poem by a young Canadian poet named Darien, which I found while browsing the Net! I would like to share this with you as a prelude to my poem about the 'Rise of The Third Reich', - which I hope to post on this Site shortly. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi
World War II - ADOLF ******
by DARIEN, Aug 21, 2006
Austria raised a man so vile and vicious
His life was dark, callous and malicious
Passions of hatred engraved in his mind
As he plotted to create his own mankind
A soldier for Germany in World War One
War to end all wars had only just begun
The National Socialist Party appeared fast
Their numbers grew rapidly as time passed
Charismatic oratory and propaganda his tool
False promises made, people he would fool
Were Nazis the one to bring hope? Perhaps
Without their help Germany would collapse
The Reichstag Fire would be a stepping stone
Germany's President died, he took the throne
He became the fuhrer leader of all Germany
And would start the worst war of the century
War had been started with a Nazi-Soviet pact
Together with Russia, Poland they attacked
England and France were not ready for war
Marching of Nazis soldiers was not ignored.
Mussolini became his ally and supported him
For all other countries their chances were slim
Many countries were defeated in a few days
the Fascist and Nazis would give him praise
Blitzkrieg was a strategy that worked most
In defeating all his enemies he came close
The Nazis would spread all across Europe
But it would be at Stalingrad they would stop
Communist regimes were one group he did hate
Yet it was the Jews he would try to annihilate
In all cruelty, bloodshed, war would soon end
There was still so much for people to defend
On V-Day he saw all his armies demolished
****** and fascism in Europe was abolished
World War Two ended the areas were secure
From that evil, monstrous beast Adolf ******
- By Darien. (Canada)
..........................................................................
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
I remember it as if were yesterday
VE Day...well, not exactly
but, close enough for me
The actual surrender of Italy
May 2, 1945....but the **** Americans
Always the Americans wanted May 8
So, it's May 8th, but I'll always remember the second
We were in Milan...I love Milan
****** was dead, Mussolini was dead
I was alive, and in Milan
Rumours were out that the war in Europe was almost done
Nobody had told the Gerry's that though
Word came from Lubeck that they'd surrendered
I was twenty one years old, going on 50
War ages you...and not in a good way
I was in 6th Airborne and ready to go back
When the word came down
I remember kissing the waitress at our cafe
I kissed her hard, and with as much passion as a 21 yr. old can have
I didn't want to let her go
It was over
I kissed her for myself, and everyone in Milan
I kissed her for my folks in Clapham
I kissed her for her folks, wherever they were
I kissed her because we were free, they were free
I kissed her for my Uncle, who we lost early in 1941
Lost him during the blitz in London
England lost 430 people, we lost Uncle Cyril
That was enough, I was signing up
Now, it was over and I was moving on
I kissed her for everyone still waiting for the news
But, most of all, I kissed her for Leslie Testro, Rfn (18yrs)
Lance Cpl Thomas Wray (22 yrs), Lt. Dennis Edmonds (21 yrs)
and all the others attached to 6th Airborne
Who wouldn't know it was Victory in Italy
They were lost, not forgotten, never forgotten
Forever in our minds, our roll of honour
We celebrate them annualy
Few of us left now, but, those that are
go back to Italy every two or three years
back to Milan, and we toast them all
My waitress, Rosa Testrini
She was there as well, every year
Until five years back, we lost her
Now we toast her as well
We all have our honour roll
She was on mine
I found her again in 1950
We were on our second trip back
She met my wife, and I her husband
He's still there, and we talk
My Italian is better than his English
But, we talk as well as we can
I miss her, and the others
But that day, that glorious day in May
I've never kissed like that since
And my wife knows it
Sometimes she reminds me...
I laugh, and remind her....
What that day means...if it hadn't happened
We may not be kissing now
so, she'll never get that kiss
Only Rosa
Rest In Peace my waitress
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
DUMPY TRUMPY
Dumpy Trumpy
Sat on his ****
Lumpy Trumpy
Infamous ****
He is not a friend
To the left or the right
And has no live dog
In the political fight.
Dumpy Trumpy
Pats his own back
Bragging how he is
Way ahead of the pack
Of half-witted politicos
With nothing to offer.
He thinks he will win
On the strength of his coffer.
Dumpy Trumpy
Made a big jump.
His gold plated ****
Made a sickening thump.
He waved his money,
He figured it’s enough
To sway the competition
No matter how tough.
Dumpy Trumpy
His Mussolini face
Deaf to the meaning
Of public disgrace;
He figures that even
If the GOP rejects him
He has lots of money
He’s sure will protect him.
Dumpy Trumpy
Plays to the stands
Of wingnuts and crazies
In disgruntled bands.
He’s sure if he curses
The current regime
He can be President.
At least that’s his scheme.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
They are silent and beautiful,
gorgeous in in the white halo,
cemented in a beautiful terrazzo,
baring the names of fallen soldiers,
the European soldiers that fell in Wars;
second and first and the heinous silent wars,
i hope this is why they have a proverb; white sepulchre,
only baring the white dead, only chiefs but no dead Indian.
Common wealth graveyards are all over in Africa,
in India , panama , Latin America and europe,
the active fronts in which the allies fought ******
they are beautifully placed in silently posh areas,
in langata when in Nairobi, in Mbaraki when in Mombasa,
in Matisi when in Kenya, In Namusungui when in Lodwar,
They bear horizontal silence with white names engraved
on their beautiful face shouting the glory of European empires,
which provoked the evil sense in the heart of the king's horseman
in Kenya, in the city of Nairobi, to steal the graveyard lands,
he made them his urban home with an uppish courtyard,
for him the dead white neighbours are better than in-corruption.
I walk around the commonwealth graveyards,
in the all quarters of erstwhile British empire,
looking for the names of African soldiers ,
who died in thousands fighting for the queen
the royal bloodied woman of England;Elizabeth,
Looking for the sons of Ethiopia who stood with
the second duce Benito son of Mussolini,
fighting for Hitler,for Shintos in the European war,
i have seen no name of any African,
I have not seen Wandabwa wa masibo,
who was conscripted into the first world war,
Along with his father Biket wa Khayongo,
Biket back after seven years in 1918,
carrying Wandabwa's Belt,
Wandabwa died in the field,
Where was he buried, he is nowhere
Not anywhere among the soldiers in cemeteries,
I have not seen Nasong'o wa Khayongo,
who was conscripted in 1940,
to fight against ******
he was conscripted on his nuptial evening,
even before he had had the first ***
with his new wife, he went away crying,
he never came back, his name is nowhere in the graves
the commonwealth graves that bare names of the fallen,
Fallen soldiers, but they all bare white names in the black world.
you come to Africa, Kenya, Nigeria, Malagasy,Egypt,
whatever the geographies of Africa, and you keep keen,
you hear someone is called Mr. Keya, or Madam Keya,
or you come to Bungoma county of Kenya,
you meet a man that is of the circumcision age group,
Known as Bakikwameti Keya, Bakinyikewi Musolini,
Keya is subverted sound for Kings african rivals; KAR
the African sound for KAR is Keya,
in reference to mass conscription of Africans
into the KAR, to fight ******
A child born during that time is Keya,
A man circumcised during the time
is in the age group of Keya,
A simple lesson in regard to our people,
taken away to fight the colonial power
and left to died and rot away in the bush
with a simple courtesy for ceremonial burial,
that come along with the death of soldiers,
who passed away in the battle field.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
we leave by passing through.
by outlasting
roots.
by grooming deep runes
like arabian
horses....
mountainous [ pontoons ]
spine crack
liqueur
of soft doom
and true Orchids...
the ******** aftermath of covenants
at half mast
a limp flag of jolly rogers
pettifogging
dull noggins.
we pass through, phantom roosters
ante-Bantam
in the Bedlam....
Conscience
Chauntecleer
as
Opaque.
our blood has new boots
and now our hearts
can Mussolini
{ you strangle The Headless Horseman; as i lust for your Ichabod }
no cranes.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 8:54 AM UTC
Trump and Brexit,
Two beautiful scrolls in a sync
Singing a song of white nationalism
On the crest in the Ivy League station,
Busy Muffling the **** drop sounds
On the bowls of foot-loose beggars,
A lesson for you dark son of Africa
That tomfoolery is no defense before
The rational altar of Trump and Brexit
Riding on followership’s bitter hangover
For the Nostalgia of the waning glory,
Sired by Machiavelli, groomed by ******
Festooned by Mussolini into a Jim Crow tor,
But fault not them, that is politics or religion,
Always sweet only in full gear of power-piety,
Then Nurture your tiny ***** for no pawn earns it,
To pile your wood for pharaonic winter is obvious
In paranoia of Brexit and Trumpish megalomania
Coming in a stampede with Tigre’s thorax, only
To worry us for nothing as it is the fear of change
Truly, they are not the first clouds in the sky
Of global terror and politics of self-idolatry,
Soon to vamoose in service to their nature
Of aureate appearing to whimpering fade,
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
em...
what's the difference between
refugees, economic migrants...
and ex-pats?
not much...
esp.with regards the latter...
who are ex-pats?
immigrants,
from a de- host nation...
English women sipping tea
with Mussolini...
ex-pats:
out of, what? patriotism?
maybe my latin prefixing is
a bit rusty...
ginger amy adams...
by god....
if a rose... that...
that is a rose...
strawberry blonde...
mmm mmm...
kentucky fried chicken...
f'now i wish for an ***
i can ***** all day long in
Manhattan...
and be like:
yummy and **** me three ways
sinister...
because? why not?!
ginger ninja...
nunchucks up the ***
to replace the ****** or
the cucumbers...
bridegroom of
Bruce ******* Lee...
makes up for a degenerate
market...
slurp an oyster...
bargain on clam economy...
point being?
self-harming of girls
replaces
the tattoo industry...
of girls...
and the world continues
its carousel "enterprise"...
then the world dies...
and then the world revives itself...
self-harming text books...
and then comes along...
tattoo -
the spiral,
deficit woman -
her due, her, own,
her: albatross swoon -
dive into the curtailed unknown -
a woman hindered -
a woman governed by the hinterland -
a scrap of,
what became the scoop of
what later became -
the crown of Poseidon's
scavenger
ushering in...
the last, of what remained:
a peeled onion.
St. Basil -
came the crow,
came the cathedral,
came the gauged out eyes..
came the croak...
came...
the span of wings...
came...
the labors -
a mind, a lost digestion...
came...
a vision of a future...
without the fiction
of an immovable past.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
I wanted so much to like you;
I had heard so much about you.
Your show sounded like fun
Sadly, too soon I had begun
To listen between the lines
To know you, see who you are
To know behind the shallow mask
To see the ugly stained star.
I forgive myself for a bit of it
Because I know that it was
The method you always use.
I would later guess the cause.
Perhaps myself and others
The countless clueless mass
Mistook the rich and famous
As people with any real class.
I had to see the gaudy penthouse
With gold used instead of chrome.
I needed to see the fake opulence
That you chose to be your home.
I saw you hobnob with famous
And calling them your friends
Soon I would be let to see
The photo was where it ends.
So, I packed away any care for you
And chalked it up to my youth.
Little did I know right then
I only guessed at half the truth.
Because you put your skanky ****
Into the presidential race
And this latest **** of your ego
Means I never stop seeing your face.
Running for the highest office
The leader of the free world
Sure seems to have given
Your screwy hair a different twirl.
Suddenly you dragged out speeches
Of Hiter, Mussolini and Stalin.
You shouted the policies of the KKK
And thew your vitriol all in.
Since too many fools in America
Started chanting Trump, Trump
You seem to want to turn DC
Into something like the town dump.
As for me, I have trouble sleeping
Worried your fans might be letting
And idiot in charge of the nukes
So he can bring on Armageddon.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 4:01 AM UTC
Oh don’t you wish you were free
Don’t you just wish you were free?
You’d be a fool to give it all up
Just for peace, happiness, and security.
Poor soul, your state oppressing so many
Maybe some day they’ll see
That mass corporate conglomerates are people too
Just like you and me
All that nonsense, propaganda
About social justice, bonds, and solidarity
Beware, that’s just the sugar coated ghost of Stalin
Mao, ****** Beezlebub, and Mussolini
Oh boy don’t you just wish
Don’t you wish you were more like me?
At liberty to willfully discriminate
On your own private property.
To just exercise your personhood
By buying clothes and watching TV
What’s the matter man, why don’t you see,
Why you so anti-individuality?
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 10:49 AM UTC
muster music muse
mushy mushrooms, mush!
musky, mustard muscles
must museum
mustn't Mussolini
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 11:45 AM UTC
You have your demagogic president-elect,
Dreaming in shades of Mussolini
And will sit in his downtown skyscraper and laugh that all the populists
Were not in on the joke,
And thus could not be in on the punchline.
The progressives hotboxed the shower the night we handed the country to Trump.
Pennsylvania, the center of the cataclysm.
The vortex has opened and engulfed all the steel,
All of the illegal immigrants have been scooped up and swallowed,
Reproductive rights will be voided in a stacked Supreme Court validating the opinions of white male legislators.
Tensions twisting to contort and ignore the onset realization
That all progress is halted to return the country to the era of segregation,
Deportation Gestapo formed with the lone intent to displace the children of those who dared to dream of a brighter life.
America, look what you've done and face yourself with your objections.
Look dead in your eyes and see all the minorities, tears in the diaries of closeted teenagers,
And the judicial dread of the gentleman who only wants to live comfortably with his husband.
You've made stepping stones of the counterculture, all crying in dorm rooms or next to their gardens,
All together in sorrow.
Underground America has been sold out,
We're a social experiment for what can happen when sulfuric acid is poured upon the voiceless.
The silent majority has shut us up.
We've been yelling to change history and now are tracking back.
Bigotry is back in style and I'm terrified.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
The movie speaks
In silence screams
That encapsulates the feeling of the moment.
A black and white
Scene plays out
And I see the sorrow pour.
The reflection of the many lives that costed during
The era
Reflects on the black and white dots
That move around on my screen.
Wilhelm.
******
Mussolini.
Gallipoli.
The Somme.
It's funny how they don't speak
But the black and white dots that
Dance
And flickers on my screen,
Tells the unfortunate story
Of the contextual history
That lies behind,
The black and white dots that
Strafes on my screen.
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC
Jornaleros que habéis cobrado en plomo
sufrimientos, trabajos y dineros.
Cuerpos de sometido y alto lomo:
jornaleros.
Españoles que España habéis ganado
labrándola entre lluvias y entre soles.
Rabadanes del hambre y el arado:
españoles.
Esta España que, nunca satisfecha
de malograr la flor de la cizaña,
de una cosecha pasa a otra cosecha:
esta España.
Poderoso homenaje a las encinas,
homenaje del toro y el coloso,
homenaje de páramos y minas
poderoso.
Esta España que habéis amamantado
con sudores y empujes de montaña,
codician los que nunca han cultivado
esta España.
¿Dejaremos llevar cobardemente
riquezas que han forjado nuestros remos?
¿Campos que ha humedecido nuestra frente
dejaremos?
Adelanta, español, una tormenta
de martillos y hoces: ruge y canta.
Tu porvenir, tu orgullo, tu herramienta
adelanta.
Los verdugos, ejemplo de tiranos,
****** y Mussolini labran yugos.
Sumid en un retrete de gusanos
los verdugos.
Ellos, ellos nos traen una cadena
de cárceles, miserias y atropellos.
¿Quién España destruye y desordena?
¡Ellos! ¡Ellos!
Fuera, fuera, ladrones de naciones,
guardianes de la cúpula banquera,
cluecas del capital y sus doblones:
¡fuera, fuera!
Arrojados seréis como basura
de todas partes y de todos lados.
No habrá para vosotros sepultura,
arrojados.
La saliva será vuestra mortaja,
vuestro final la bota vengativa,
y sólo os dará sombra, paz y caja
la saliva.
Jornaleros: España, loma a loma,
es de gañanes, pobres y braceros.
¡No permitáis que el rico se la coma,
jornaleros!
1.2k
Up the hills, past villas, small groves and arbors. And by the Duomo, which, I swear, moved into our path no matter where we went. The fifteenth century refuses to yield.
That giant rival, Milan, now resembles Hartford: large and gaunt. Rome, thief of the renaissance, remembers Mussolini and Berlusconi more than Leo X, who yet lives in Florence, returned to his Medici home.
Florence is the butter of civilization’s milk; nourishment of the flesh churned by hand. The art, the food, the social structure, even the soccer sated in turned, sweet cream.
Fresh oil, fresh wine. Old recipes. The bread remains salt free. The tripe looks ancient. The streets forever too narrow.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 7:37 AM UTC
Feather light words exhumed
heavy as Mussolini's clock
coo coo times, chimes
and a fascist bird sings;
sweet and succinct
Taken as is
might slight delight
The vitiation of words
in the phrases
Petals dead on a wet, rotted bough
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 5:05 AM UTC
These are voodoo days
When monsters have their way
With the good people alive
So the evil people can thrive.
This is a time when madness
Roams the land to pillage
And rename the boundaries
Of our fine global village.
Children once went to school
And we made sure they learned
What had happened to us all
When dissenting books were burned.
Then too many scary people
Got by with lying to us a lot.
They didn’t have us in mind,
And didn’t care what we thought.
So, their Halloween costumes seem
To only be visible to the eye
When you listen to their chants
Instead of just passing by.
If you listen closely to the words
And not just campaign speech,
You quickly see dictatorship
Is not far out of their reach.
When your friendly candidate
Starts sounding like a Mussolini
Standing up and calling them out
Does not make you a ******
No, it makes you more of true
Patriot caring for your country
Than guys in expensive suits
Who only care about their money.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
.
little Joey comes awake
Hopes he don't get killed today
Oh my god
He's off to school !!
Everybody kneel and pray !!
////
Oh
Poor Joey ... !!
///
Some say they hate him
he feels their curse
Some say they love him
Which is even worse !!!
•
The new meaning of the GOLDEN RULE
is to steal the Money while playin the fool
••
Everybody wants to feel safe
By being a part of the Master Race
They assure you that to be free
You've got to find the new Mussolini !!
•
Oh
Poor Joey !!
•
Little Joey off to school
little Mary cryin in the corner
Holds her hand looks deep on her eyes
Says : let's blow this joint or we're gonna be goners !
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
the supergenius' race-baiting strategy
is gonna bite him in the ***
his base (in every fragrance of the word)
will still boogie down with its war-dance
but he's gonna motivate a lot of people
to put a brake on the fascism
things didn't end well for mussolini
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 10:59 AM UTC
good-luck with marriage!
well, i won't be the one,
a conformist,
can't be bothered,
well no, i can't be bothered,
m.t.v. turned into
16 year old pregnancies,
**** **** a closer inspection
of queen,
that won't happen...
there's no utopia here,
but what comes from being unloved -
'good-luck with marriage!'
i asked i got a reply with arsenic...
well, if a diet is a diet,
we might as well be hopeful...
jealous lovers and the incomprehensibility
of certain people not ever having
engaged in a life that might provide them...
tonne of **** with a touché!
as a vet a rubber gloved hand up to the elbow
to check a bull's prostate via his **** hole...
i'd quote feminism, but i might as well
quote Ezra's lunatic judgement correct
against Churchill in defence of Mussolini...
western democracy's narcissism hit me too...
the constant need to export and never import...
the constant need for traitors to upkeep
a contestant populace rather than a populace
of worthy voters... it was always there...
so many sacrifices attached to a political
movement were never worth it,
the least sacrificial politics always produced
the most successful endeavours with china
and india... just those economic gluttons
and continual iconoclasm with dyslexia as proof...
how hope of heaven was never encoded in
images of sounds and kept therein -
i stead dyslexia, laziness of the communicative
angle, to keep heaven forlorn with stressed
images as a laziness to forget the aesthetic of spelling
a wording... oh well...
good luck with marriage!
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
*you excluded me... and i’m not even mussolini! ah, imagine... i’d bring black into vogue and politicise size 0 in fashion on a political level... imagine... ****** would do a strip can-can dance playing the flute on his moustache; ha! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-DWUNa_Nys)*
like this one english tea lady royal i asked when she said:
boys... really ********
i asked her... can you philophise as in synonym
psychiatry with neurology
within the grit of being entitled with the title dame
or a unicorn?
ah... no... enter applause!
who’d want to **** a pensioner if a pensioner herself?
ooh oh cherry picking paved a way for cucumber
goosebumps... left the right-wing intellectual, gay,
completely imbarassed...
ah **** happens... spelling mistakes... terrorist plots...
you know... cheap education, the iraq war... worth a handshake
if you ask me... if you really ask me... egypt has no
place in islam... it has a place in christianity
and judaism... egypt of my mother in ambitious
realisation of the ambition of reading a book...
and the mother of his act...
then the confusion comes: you were born from a
pigeon egg! you born from crocodile egg!
now we can begin... pooh wait! tee-ger was just about done
on the bongo nullifying the battered bounce.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Ven a Guadalajara, dictador de cadenas,
carcelaria mandíbula de canto:
verás la retiradas miedosa de tu hienas,
verás el apogeo del espanto.
Rumoras provincia de colmenas,
la patria del panal estremecido,
la dulce Alcarria, amarga como el llanto,
amarga te ha sabido.
Ven y verás, mortífero bandido,
ruedas de tus cañones,
banderas de tu ejército, carne de tus soldados,
huesos de tus legiones,
trajes y corazones destrozados.
Una extensión de muertos humeantes:
muertos que humean ante la colina,
muertos bajo la nieve,
muertos sobre los páramos gigantes,
muertos junto a la encina,
muertos dentro del agua que les llueve.
Sangre que no se mueve
de convertida en hielo.
Vuela sin pluma un ala numerosa,
rojo y audaz, que abarca todo el cielo
y abre a cada italiano la explosión de una fosa.
Un titánico vuelo
de aeroplanos de España
te vence, te tritura,
ansiosa telaraña,
con su majestuosa dentadura.
Ven y verás sobre la gleba oscura
alzarse como un fósforo glorioso,
sobreponerse al hambre, levantarse del barro,
desprenderse del barro con emoción y brío
vívidas esculturas sin reposo,
españoles del bronce más bizarro,
con el cabello blanco de rocío.
Los verás rebelarse contra el frío,
de no beber la boca dilatada,
mas vencida la sed con la sonrisa:
de no dormir extensa la mirada,
y destrozada a tiros la camisa.
Manda plomo y acero
en grandes emisiones combativas,
con esa voluntad de carnicero
digna de que la entierren las más sucias salivas.
Agota las riquezas italianas,
la cantidad preciosa de sus seres,
deja exhaustas sus minas, sin nadie sus ventanas,
desiertos sus arados y mudos sus talleres.
Enviuda y desangra sus mujeres:
nada podrás contra este pueblo mío,
tan sólido y tan alto de cabeza,
que hasta sobre la muerte mueve su poderío,
que hasta del junco saca fortaleza.
Pueblo de Italia, un hombre te destroza:
repudia su dictamen con un gesto infinito.
Sangre unánime viertes que ni roza,
ni da en su corazón de teatro y granito.
Tus muertos callan clamorosamente
y te indican un grito
liberador, valiente.
Dictador de patíbulos, morirás bajo el diente
de tu pueblo y de miles.
Ya tus mismos cañones van contra tus soldados,
y alargan hacia ti su hierro los fusiles
que contra España tienes vomitados.
Tus muertos a escupirnos se levanten:
a escupirnos el alma se levanten los nuestros
de no lograr que nuestros vivos canten
la destrucción de tantos eslabones siniestros.
928
I was there
dancing in the blood of Mussolini
I smelt the gasoline and flesh
of ****** and his *****
I even stood at Eden's gate
and watched the fall of man
I have seen the birth of nations
one's I adored I blessed
to those who proclaim to God
when I call her Sister
your guild to glory
sweet glory and light
We to our sin's
we gave you freedom
trusting you would listen to our kind
we were silly ********
you made war in heaven
and all because of you
Yet I have vowed to protect you
as I watch my own fall for you
you have no understanding
what Angels do for you
you think Jesus did a good job
you will never ever understand
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC