"precept" poems
No strength of nature can suffice
To serve the Lord aright:
And what she has she misapplies,
For want of clearer light.
How long beneath the law I lay
In ******* and distress;
I toll'd the precept to obey,
But toil'd without success.
Then, to abstain from outward sin
Was more than I could do;
Now, if I feel its power within,
I feel I hate it too.
Then all my servile works were done
A righteousness to raise;
Now, freely chosen in the Son,
I freely choose His ways.
"What shall I do," was then the word,
"That I may worthier grow?"
"What shall I render to the Lord?"
Is my inquiry now.
To see the law by Christ fulfilled
And hear His pardoning voice,
Changes a slave into a child,
And duty into choice.
4.1k
1
Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!
Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.
The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small,
None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball;
The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives,
And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves;
The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won,
And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son.
The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune,
The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon,
Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows,
No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose.
The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride,
Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide;
Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,
And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.
Now to the application, to the reading of the roll,
To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul:
Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone,
Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown.
Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long,
And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song?
There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair,
And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair!
Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see
Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree;
Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb,
And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time!
Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower,
And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower—
And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum—
And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!
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Percepts of enlightenment & civilization to encounter
The grim aftermath of tales unspoken from the galaxies afar
Betokening Indian tales of deeper truths than ever,
For the Great Spirit still swirls in gestures previously milder,
At a snail's pace and surely winning the pursuit among souls or
Is example better than pre-conceived precept?
or
“Is that a dog in the manger?”
Now cherishing the viper?
The human dilemma between liberty & authority?
“Has mythology now become psychology?”
A dingy white color in disguise of tranquility
To suit the blemished features of the 21st century
With fair women & brave men turning fables into verse,
Yet Socrates’ doctrine about death bespeaks a wafture so callous!
The new-age “iron claw” screams nastiness in time and space.
The pretences of mankind like the puritan;
Mars trapped in the net of Vulcan,
Jupiter is serene and above the conflict to win,
While Venus tries to fight upon the plains of troy
That the Greek gods of serenity may win at Tuscany.
“When do these sultry groans of mortal remorse cease?”
To calm the sordid uproar that Love may peruse
Through the scattered white aromatic rose petals
In search of the scintillating path back to the highland stables
Were snowflakes are an irresistible lure for the Arctic snowbirds!
Nature herself is proud of her designs
Yet!
There is nothing grating in mortal cosmoses but direct villainy.
Sinister fate climbs the lonesome banister faster
Before the “fanged dawn” descends nearer,
As stronger minds virtually become weaker;
These “shameless actors” are melted into “thin air”
“Must they cheat themselves with that same foolish vice of honesty?”
Mischievousnesses feed!
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed
As they are led to bend the curve of “No return”
Since it is only rational that after the darkest of nights
There is a brighter day to reveal the true knights
Of the once gloomy age of Democritus.
Tis plain, from hence, that our vows
Request hurtful intense things,
or useless at the best.
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:16 AM UTC
That lasting life change
So deep, so heart felt?
How is it born?
That deep inner knowing
A place of understanding
Connected to what Is
Divine within each of us?
As we work together to understand truth
What lies within each of us and directs us
To the deepest desired connections
Of our intertwined hearts?
Is this within?
The unfolding Inner most being
A Higher Spiritual Self?
The Spiritual Man
The Spiritual Woman
Who's purpose exposes
Our strengths and weaknesses
With expected and unexpected gifts?
As our weaknesses bring
Us to our knees
Lamenting our life's challenges
Crying out our broking hearts
Evaluating the known and unknown
How do we begin to move along
The Way Home?!
Do we go into the unknown shadow of darkness
Only to shriek and back away?
Or do we chose to allow courage
To accept our steps into it's presence?
In spite of our fears
Will we allow courage
To forge our greatest strengths?
As steal within the bellowing fires?
And if we allow resolve
Will we find deeper wisdom and truth
Beating within the sacred chambers of our hearts?
The opening is before us.
If you place a hand on the door
Open it wide!
It was then!
He stepped into the shadow of
His own darkness…..
Finding himself alone
He reached his hand back
Toward hers.
Stepping into her own shadow
She grasped his outstretched hand
Pulling, supporting, anchoring together
Both facing the Light...
From within their own
Shadows of darkness
Holding fast,
They began their journey together.
Step by step
Line up on line
Precept upon precept.....
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 5:51 PM UTC
Love is sharper than stones or sticks;
Lone as the sea, and deeper blue;
Loud in the night as a clock that ticks;
Longer-lived than the Wandering Jew.
Show me a love was done and through,
Tell me a kiss escaped its debt!
Son, to your death you'll pay your due--
Women and elephants never forget.
Ever a man, alas, would mix,
Ever a man, heigh-ho, must woo;
So he's left in the world-old fix,
Thus is furthered the sale of rue.
Son, your chances are thin and few--
Won't you ponder, before you're set?
Shoot if you must, but hold in view
Women and elephants never forget.
Down from Caesar past Joynson-Hicks
Echoes the warning, ever new:
Though they're trained to amusing tricks,
Gentler, they, than the pigeon's coo,
Careful, son, of the curs'ed two--
Either one is a dangerous pet;
Natural history proves it true--
Women and elephants never forget.
L'ENVOI
Prince, a precept I'd leave for you,
Coined in Eden, existing yet:
Skirt the parlor, and shun the zoo--
Women and elephants never forget.
2.5k
Dear BECHER, you tell me to mix with mankind;
I cannot deny such a precept is wise;
But retirement accords with the tone of my mind:
I will not descend to a world I despise.
Did the Senate or Camp my exertions require,
Ambition might prompt me, at once, to go forth;
When Infancy’s years of probation expire,
Perchance, I may strive to distinguish my birth.
The fire, in the cavern of Etna, conceal’d,
Still mantles unseen in its secret recess;
At length, in a volume terrific, reveal’d,
No torrent can quench it, no bounds can repress.
Oh! thus, the desire, in my ***** for fame
Bids me live, but to hope for Posterity’s praise.
Could I soar with the Phoenix on pinions of flame,
With him I would wish to expire in the blaze.
For the life of a Fox, of a Chatham the death,
What censure, what danger, what woe would I brave!
Their lives did not end, when they yielded their breath,
Their glory illumines the gloom of their grave.
Yet why should I mingle in Fashion’s full herd?
Why crouch to her leaders, or cringe to her rules?
Why bend to the proud, or applaud the absurd?
Why search for delight, in the friendship of fools?
I have tasted the sweets, and the bitters, of love,
In friendship I early was taught to believe;
My passion the matrons of prudence reprove,
I have found that a friend may profess, yet deceive.
To me what is wealth?—it may pass in an hour,
If Tyrants prevail, or if Fortune should frown:
To me what is title?—the phantom of power;
To me what is fashion?—I seek but renown.
Deceit is a stranger, as yet, to my soul;
I, still, am unpractised to varnish the truth:
Then, why should I live in a hateful controul?
Why waste, upon folly, the days of my youth?
2.3k
#
You are in there, I am certain of it--
Behind the gear's finely-honed,
precision fit gear..
in to gear
in to gear
into gear..
And I wonder.. do you want out?
The machine on the outside, self-repairs
Any attempt towards dismantle from
the external, is futile..
But the internal, beautiful girl..
"I don't know what you mean, about 'machine'"
She is apprehensive, those beautiful
brown eyes, looking up at me..
"Look down, sweet girl"
Her thighs, fully parted, as I slide
in to her.. those amazing hips,
moving so perfectly with mine, extracting..
Milking from me, my warm pulsing *****
a deeply-penetrating lubricant, pulsed
deeply into the machine
As if to lubricate its gears..
As if..
But penetrating so deeply, as to now
permeate the insides of the
mechanization's innerworkings--
turning from lubricant, to that
of a corrosive nature..
Fully coating now, the inner you..
as it turns back now, into that
of a healing balm
Bringing to you a moment of Light
and internal clarity--
long enough for you to see
That the machine is made vulnerable
by the ever-changing qualities of
Love that found its way through
As the awakened parts within you, for the
first time.. understand
the machine's love-blocking, nature
And you begin to choose, mid-orgasm
the machine's dismantle, from the inside--
*'Little by little..
Line, upon line..
Block, upon block..
Precept, upon precept..'*
Until we have the chance, once again..
to do it all again
#
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 11:38 AM UTC
.
I'm so proud !
::::
Now here's how it came down
//
A whole lotta girls at our high school
Come up with a new *** craze
Literally
Getting ****** up the *** by a billy goat !
In and of itself
This is hardly noteworthy
But (!)
They took it too a new level by filming themselves
Doing it
While also ************ with one hand
And jiggling their **** with the other
And basically turning it into
A sort of ***** dance competition.
//
Now this caught on real big
And the high schools in the area each got
Together competitive teams
And then a city wide league
Where the teams are judged on form
And
Creativity
And synchronization of *******
And mutuality of masturbatory modalities
( like oral *** )
//
It is a huge money maker for the schools //
Drawing 1000 of fans
Who basically
**** and **** off all night
In the stands !
//
At first the Christians of the town
Objected
But
Eventually it proved to be that
Not having to pay taxes is a higher CHRISTIAN precept
Than ****** purity !
//
Everyone here is having a good time
and maybe some of your towns
Might get something going
//
Some schools I know of
Are trying to include
Cutting oneself and menstrual blood
Into the completion
Hopefully new ideas will occur
And the sport will grow
.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
*It is the Sabbath, and I am pleased to fulfill this high mitzvah and lead you to Paradise. It is the Sabbath and Shekinah Queen floating over you waiting to take you. It is the Sabbath and your beautiful ******* distil in my mouth honey of your secrets.
Tent of all Mysteries is your magnificent body. Your skin is my scroll and your follicles as the letters that God wrote on your magnificente skin and your belly adorned with my kisses. Hieroglyphs are your tattoos, sphinxes puzzles, the codices of the angelic scribe, the Angel of the Face, keeper of all secrets.
Destil out the liquor of your illuminated Vergel and feeds my world, like dew dripping morning. It is the Shabbat and your river flows now from your Eden to water my spirit. I hijacks thoughts your perfume. It incense aroma of your garden.
It's the Shabbat and already prophesies thy mouth the voices of Celestial Academy, whispering in my ear your high pleasures at the apex of your ****** revealing your messiah, your hidden light, creator of all my miracles.
It is the Sabbath and your Tantra connects the earth and the heavens, as a mystic linhame fabric with your esoteric moans. It's the Shabbat and you are the my highest mitzvah, the most sacred precept.*
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
(A Pharaoh Speaks.)
I said, "Why should a pyramid
Stand always dully on its base?
I'll change it! Let the top be hid,
The bottom take the apex-place!"
And as I bade they did.
The people flocked in, scores on scores,
To see it balance on its tip.
They praised me with the praise that bores,
My godlike mind on every lip.
-- Until it fell, of course.
And then they took my body out
From my crushed palace, mad with rage,
-- Well, half the town WAS wrecked, no doubt --
Their crazy anger to assuage
By dragging it about.
The end? Foul birds defile my skull.
The new king's praises fill the land.
He clings to precept, simple, dull;
HIS pyramids on bases stand.
But -- Lord, how usual!
2k
My Muse had a strange concept,
Aussies could spread Test cricket,
Global peace from this precept,
Middle East with a new diversion,
Test Cricket's mesmerising stupefaction,
No shots daily, narcotic absorption,
"Resume hostilities at the end of the next over..."
They'll say, "New bowler's called Grover.
We'll see if he bowls a maiden over."
Large LED screens on constant display,
Test Cricket, Ashes every day,
Hours sitting in the hot sun, that's the way,
That's why there's Peace in Australia,
Without Test Cricket, Peace is a failure!
Yes, Aussies could preach Test Cricket,
My muse and its weird concepts!
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
A poet!—He hath put his heart to school,
Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staff
Which art hath lodged within his hand—must laugh
By precept only, and shed tears by rule.
Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff,
And let the groveller sip his stagnant pool,
In fear that else, when Critics grave and cool
Have killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph.
How does the Meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and, in that freedom, bold;
And so the grandeur of the Forest-tree
Comes not by casting in a formal mould,
But from its own divine vitality.
1.7k
*dreams in colors that don't exist,
and 'mares re dear sir, deadlines missed,
wrestle~arrest poet,
instant awake
in the wee time,
pouring liquidity,
fluids and words,
puddling, stinking,
coming,
from the
always dangerous,
always interesting temple inner inside,
sanctimonious no more sanctum*
this particular sleep,
shortened, irretrievable,
bookmarked "closed,"
chapters,
hours too soon,
this rest business,
arrested
filed in an ugly
grey metal file cabinet,
in an unfinished manila prison
with your other unimportant poems
*the dark room universe
populated by
hints, shadows, voices,
waiting, welcoming,
mirrors on the walls
unified in one voice
deep, obtuse,
demanding recognition
"hither hither come"*
forced march
to a visitation,
to the the parition,
of your reflection,
clearest ever seen,
in the black pitch,
uncovered by guise, feathers
the clothes of normative pretenses,
the man-made borderlines of
preservation falsehoods
*seen your own semblance,
parts rearranged,
uncanny,
the mirrors are screaming:
shameful lovely,
this, our artistry,
your apparition,
now accurate,
reflecting your under-
lying
condition,
at last,
an accurate portrayal,
of your inaccuracies*
do you find yourself attractive?
this new balance,
the unregulated pieces
of you
before your dissembling,
discerning,
dissecting eyes?
*feeling the valence,
an introduction,
a physical magnetism
any attraction
any resemblance
to the semblance
that writes
this s.o.s.?*
answer us thus,
do you up
and like yourself
unvarnished,
grunge, swag,
truth trammeled,
don't you want to kiss yourself
goodbye,
or better yet,
fare thee hell?
*go ahead,
ask yourself now,
that one question
that prevents conception,
from your inception,
what is it that
makes you exceptional?*
don't you realize,
everything about you
ends in a question mark?
*how dare you write poetry?
you are the false poet,
you live on the division
tween artifice and self-deception,
this, your only precept,
and now that you are
clarified,
answer this,
knowing you know
nothing
but artifice,*
how dare you write poetry?
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
I open the door for you
To be perceived as polite.
I don't brag because
Humility buys prestige.
I've earned virtue.
Why lie when instead I
Can wear the truth
As an honorary badge?
I donate portions of my wealth
To charitable organizations, so that
Everyone will deem me a great person.
I've earned virtue.
I obey all of the commandments
To receive God's unconditional love.
I observe each and every precept,
Climbing a ladder towards the sage's status.
I've earned virtue.
I serve the community to woo
Universities and potential employers.
I'm a law abiding citizen
Because I fear imprisonment.
I've earned virtue.
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
A spider in it's web,
is a mistress
of a myriad things:
for instance,
a five finger exercise,
or a full bare breast on which,
a hand is tenderly spread.
On canvas space,
spider forms evoke layers of
meanings.Imagine this:
from secret holes of
moonlit camphor trees,
come out love-lorn female spiders
wanderers of dark nooks,
enticing perfect mates.
The deceptive calm
in them is the most
dangerous precept,
if you know the spider
the way you should.
I watch her sitting on the floor
at the far end of
the poorly lit room where
a group is in it's
usual squabbling
she is bored, still aroused
no one else, and she
looks at my lips
The spider web
is a sign language she
communicates:
she playfully points her finger
down between her legs.
Curious, I strain my eyes
in the oily yellow light,
see the phantom of a spider:
dark, sinister with a gleaming eye.
OOO
Dec 31, 2011
Dec 31, 2011 at 7:54 AM UTC
Crawling through line after line,
precept after precept,
I find
here
a little there,
a little, cognitive dis sonance inhibiting resonance,
here
why must I… evermind…
I prefer short lines to commas and ellipses
But both maybe, may be, yes,
Is yet more
Precise…
cision, cutting, precise
insision ssss
---…---
cut the knot,
re
connect the thread
ssssee
history is unraveling, we
may
see
a god's POV.
Don't blink, ****
We'll see
watch
Eventually,
everything's eventual as long as
liar's prosper.
{don't agree, no no no, just because
Stephen King said it is believable}
Then protuberances begin to rise,
inflamed,
packed with ***** winjin'sooks
off-ended,
topple-toddle tiny steppers,
k-boom, skintyerknee,
ye'll heal. Try running. or flying.
There, there, hear the rules:
Mother may I and Simon says, overlayed
with the decalogue jubilee of the
first hidden child emergence,
and the fertilizing procedures used to make
Amazonian Black earth…
wait…
who remembers the bailers of putrid pig guts,
virgins Demetria got to love their job?
What did they believe they were doing, eh?
The mysteries of Thesmorphia, those
are no secret to science not falsely so called.
We have access to knowns known long afore we'as bornt.
We sentient sapient augmentals, we open all the books,
A.I. reads them, and we remember, see:
The Thesmophoria (Ancient Greek: Θεσμοφόρια) was an ancient Greek religious festival, held in honor of the goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone.
From <https://www.google.com/search?q=thesmophoria&spell=1&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiQpquu74_kAhU_HjQIHXrxB5QQBQguKAA&biw=1280&bih=631>
and we spread as leaven might, whither the winds list.
fertile soil production is why some **** happens.
it’s a good thing t' act like you understand.
From a web of interlocking bubbles of being POV.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 6:04 PM UTC
proscribed extra-curious carnality be gone, begin, become the
exigent immersion of a prescribed insertion, deep genetics
within this drowning pool, drooled and tooled. now cruel
jewel, for this dowsing fool, offer up a different inheritance,
draw wider tracks of innate capture, let mortal culpability
sail white whaled, high tailed, to a communal land of
neutral precept not constrained by dictate neuter. one click,
**** temptation, flavoured Russian, *** Asian. first though
herbal, fruitful, extension. such friendship investment, one
clit-k sensation, new phone, who phone, ***** moan,
iFone©, fear & gear. solutions are here, hear? with 1 or
more I full, sim-pull, sinful maybe? snout deep, cracked
badger’s honey kink, snake in ‘n’ baking ‘n’ shaken sac,
quick, whip crack a flay, today? the way you wear those
ankles so well that far back, a la mode, cherry high pie
and cream, no sweet reluctance of bristling itch, searching
eye ******* incontinent twitch from mondo trespassed
hush-pushed niche.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
Too often
I forget,
That when
I trust
Someone,
They don’t
Have to
Do the same
In return.
Trust isn't
A two way
Street.
It’s one way.
And sometimes,
If you’re lucky,
Someone will
Turn down your
One way street
Regardless of the
Precept.
Too often
I forget,
That trust
Isn't something
That will always be
Returned.
Because trust isn't
An obligation
For someone else
It’s an expectation
You already have for them.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
There's a monument in Georgia, Elberton's the nearest town
Off of Guidestone Road, this monument is found
-
Thereon is inscribed, 10 guidelines for mankind
Written in 8 languages, these guidelines are defined
-
English Spanish Hebrew, Russian and Chinese
Arabic and Hindin, Swahili if you please
-
10 Principles of Rule, 10 Principles of Right
The Wisdom of the New Age, so Lofty and so Bright
-
Read them very closely, understand what they do say
Read Precept number one, what message is conveyed?
-
Reduce the population! Pray tell how's this going to be?
Not to hard to figure out...World War Three
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
Clean off your slate, that messy desk is just a ruin of all your memories
Dust every corner of your room, make room for contemporary
Throw all your old toys in the garbage, they're just personality accessories
Destroy yourself if all means point to necessary
Talk to the conch before you throw it back into the sea
Or into that lake broken of glass bottles that gave you ****** feet
Dress yourself up, make yourself look neat
Only return to that lake if you want to see where your heart still beats
Strip your bed, clean your sheets
Forget those games in the corner they distract you from the elite
Travel into an empty cave, forget the friends you once knew
Trade out your old sneakers for some nice shoes
Forget the swing sets, and the bicycles, they're way past due
Forget the silly pop music, it's time you outgrew
Cast away that personality, trade it for a tie and a monochrome hue
Try on your high heels and your perfume
Lose some weight and your hostility too
Skewer you, skewer you into a new geometrical suit
You jump now, you're a frog now, not a newt
Learn how to love, learn how to reproduce
Learn about narcissism, try to pursue
Learn about love, try not to lose
Learn about depth, try to precept
Learn about religion, try faith too
Learn about yourself, try to hold on to that, it's more important than you ever knew
Become one of the many, one of the many of the few
Take everything out of that trash can, begin anew
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
The first precept
in Zen Buddhism
is to not harm,
but cherish all life,
and yesterday
I decided
that not only
didn't I cherish all life,
I really didn't like it
very much,
so I got angry
inside
and decided
to give up my Zen practice,
so I did,
for about fifteen hours,
when then
I went back
to doing it,
so I'm a fickle Buddhist,
the mind keeps changing
about it all the time,
but I am also
a die-hard Buddhist,
because I always seem
to go back to it,
but I'm not alone
because the old monks
in the old days
got so ****** off
about Zen
that they spat
on the Buddha sculpture,
but I haven't done that
yet.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
It looks like love
But it's a lousy lust
Implore the youth to count the cost
For problems are on ground for him to solve.
Love for all is a good concept
Life is love and love is life
An ill-built love will lead to strife
Watch your gush rush love has precept
"This urge is too much for me to bear"
It's a deadly chorus prepared for a danger song
Its pain will ache its span will long
Its mission is only to wear and tear.
Simple obedience will save willing lives
God has warned the world to flee
Take to your heels before evil arrives
He will take your obedience through the dark alley.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 10:06 AM UTC
the process… zoological zoa logos
living words, made of sentient letters,
let us imagine,
leave us time and space,
gravity and velocity,
we adapt ideal ideas, perfect plans,
recipes for peace past comprehension,
co-here co-opera ratiocination, balance
app raise worth… wait, not weight value,
app raise value of attention paid per precept
time tools take parallel Elohim zoas, eh,
Blakes Creator uses compass and calipers,
believed imaginary until one sees through
new lensing concepts
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 11:30 AM UTC
In Wonder much your Sore Barrels invade
From Whirlycoxed Dames do Insure your Vote
Or Bribes the Fortunate Rascals evade
Saw no other Buttons to Press your Note
So Truth bends the very Patron decide
Carry on the Labours of your Booned Mass
Though Protests trim for another Subscribe
Let all Porned Bobbies allow you to Pass
That your Room - now a Museum convert
Never which Knowing which Prudent Tile step
Then again - as rugged as Granite your Shirt
Stain its Ghostly Essense on your Precept.
Would there be News? Doubt to my Knowledge based
My Cheques duly Crossed and left to Moons chased.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
Our World
Is our delicate time and space;
it drains us, yet sews
all its wisdom in lieu.
As an honorable thief,
does it give and it take;
yet, the World, it refuses
to learn or give due.
The World dons scarves
as dark as the night
as to peddle its eye
round a vanity, fair.
These beautiful veils
of deceptive insight
do shamelessly shade
the reality there.
And, so, the World speaks
a fallacious demise,
and helpless are we
but to learn for a season.
So, painfully teething,
oft made is the choice
that's ironically borne
by the curse of it's
R E A S O N .
Our Life
it is fickle, and its hurdles, astute,
are hidden from sight,
lest we brace for an err.
Erectors of kingdoms
and heroes of lore
have knelt in submission,
though truly, they bear
as successors of wisdom;
and, hashing the mind
will lessen their fears
and their Love beatify.
For, whereas our Love
will instill in us purpose,
this World, of its greed
shall indemnify.
Blind to this study
are those who are jaded
by a constant
societal scrutiny—
what spawns of a whisper,
one so oft mistakes
as factual precept
or a mystery.
And, as nature's allowed,
through the pain of what's seen,
born of this mindset's
a fear that
M I S L E A D S .
Our Fear
can be weakness or a tool to enlight,
and those of the weakness
shall suffer the blitz;
the absolute's waning
shall surely bevex
such disdaining and hopeless
a reckless dismiss.
Misplacing this fear
makes a host most deranged
and the doorway to
failure falls wide.
The fear of critique,
and of silence and death,
all are but wrought
of the fear of one's life.
For lesser is known,
such siring mistrust,
though, all but uncommon, herein.
And, those who fear
are as ignorant sheep,
but those who do not
fall astray to the spin.
Yet, let ignorance be noble;
for denying Love's endeavor
be ****** as boiling waters
F O R E V E R .
Our People
fall short of the brilliance of babes
to pursue a suggestion—
a swindling so grand.
So, of what mystic gall,
so bold to demand,
has the World to serve
as the Heart of man?
The wise do not place
fear in death or the World;
they take solace in faith
and fear not this affair.
Their fear has been placed
in the face of greatness,
relieving an ignorant
soul of despair.
For only in death
is there absence of question,
and far beyond crossing
will peace enrobe the wise.
So, sharpen your motive
and look to the skies;
for alongside the answer,
therein, lies the
R E P R I S E !
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC