"rebelled" poems
The mushroom
The unfolding
instant of creation (fertilisation)
not an instant separate from breakfast
It all flows down & out, flowing
but that instant:
not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment
of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating
merging in cool slime splendour
a crushing of steel & glass & ice
(instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide)
far-out splendour
heat & fire are outwards signs of a
Small dry mating
~~~
event in a room
event in space
a circle
Magic rite
To call up the godhead
spirits, demons
The shaman calls:
“When radio dark night…”
We are eating each other.
~~~
The Voice of the Serpent
dry hiss of age & steam
& leaves of gold
old books in ruined
Temples
The pages break like ash
I will not disturb
I will not go
Come, he says softly
an old man appears &
moves in tired dance
amid the scattered dead
gently they stir
~~~
I received an Aztec wall
of vision
& dissolved my room in
sweet derision
Closed my eyes, prepared to go
A gentle wind inform’d me so
And bathed my skin in ether glow
~~~
Drugs are a bet w/ your mind
~~~
The cigarette burn’d
my fingertips
& dropp’d like a log
to the rug below
My eyes took a trip
to dig the chick
Crouch’d like a cat
at the next window
My ears assembled music
out of swarming streets
but my mind rebelled
at the idiot’s laughter
The rising frightful idiot laughter
Cheering an army of
vacuum cleaners
~~~
Mouth fills w/taste of copper.
Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters.
Gyro on a string, a table.
A coin spins. The faces.
There is an audience to our drama.
Magic shade mask.
Like the hero of a dream, he works for us,
in our behalf.
How close is this to a final cut?
I fall. Sweet blackness.
Strange world that waits & watches.
Ancient dread of non-existence.
If it’s no problem, why mention it.
Everything spoken means that,
it’s opposite, & everything else.
I’m alive. I’m dying.
~~~
1st wild thrush of fear
-A phone rings
There is a knock on the door.
It’s time to go.
No.
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The emus formed a football team
Up Walgett way;
Their dark-brown sweaters were a dream
But kangaroos would sit and scream
To watch them play.
"Now, butterfingers," they would call,
And such-like names;
The emus couldn't hold the ball
- They had no hands - but hands aren't all
In football games.
A match against the kangaroos
They played one day.
The kangaroos were forced to choose
Some wallabies and wallaroos
That played in grey.
The rules that in the West prevail
Would shock the town;
For when a kangaroo set sail
An emu jumped upon his tail
And fetched him down.
A whistler duck as referee
Was not admired.
He whistled so incessantly
The teams rebelled, and up a tree
He soon retired.
The old marsupial captain said,
"It's do or die!"
So down the ground like fire he fled
And leaped above an emu's head
And scored a try.
Then shouting, "Keep it on the toes!"
The emus came.
Fierce as the flooded Bogan flows
They laid their foemen out in rows
And saved the game.
On native pear and Darling pea
They dined that night:
But one man was an absentee:
The whistler duck - their referee -
Had taken flight.
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When he left my mother told me something.
She said it's okay and this will pass
He's nothing compared to you
But as I laid there
On my bedroom floor
In the room where he claimed me
Where little girl dreams were shattered
I didn't believe her
Instead I screamed about how I hated life
How he left me like dust on my fingertips
Like the ash of my burned down home
Two weeks later and I'm a shell
Of who I was
Of who I am
Of who I'll ever be
My ribs poked out like piano keys
Just waiting to be played
And my collar bones
Oh they were waiting like glasses
Glasses expecting hard liquor
That I of course drowned myself in
The day her name left his lips
I was done for
I wanted to become nothing but earth and essence.
But my best friend cradled me
She promised I would find love again
That this hurt, no matter how bad it is,
Will only be temporary
I didn't believe her
So I rebelled against them all
It was only me
4 months later and I'm sitting in the car
My best friend sits beside me
I'm genuinely laughing
And she looks proud
Then she tells me how he's talking about me.
From my big black boots
My infatuation with peaches
To how I harbor guitar pics on every inch of my body.
I relapse into him immediately
I wanted him so bad
6 and a half months later and he tells my best friend
That he hates me
My name swims out of his mouth on a raft of profanities.
But it didn't hurt as much as I thought
I think I grew
Little by little I became the new girl
The one that writes again and breathes the air a little deeper than the others.
6 and half months plus 3 days
I caress my fingers over my body
The shower beats down on me
"I want to be your friend" I whisper to myself.
He was nothing but a thunderstorm
But I am more than he
I am the sun
The moon
The stars
I am the heavens
I am the thing everyone revels in
And I made it through hell and back
And now I can finally say goodbye
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
I never could quite imagine the day
When a creature quite as wry and presumptuous
Would break so serendipitously.
She lay ruptured in the desultory plantation
The Stygian colour of her fur rebelled against the sage of the contiguous earth
And her eyes mimicked nothing but the pain that consumed her current thoughts.
Her body was transfixed in an inert trance
The fur on her hunched spine quavered in a subdued zephyr
Quiet insecurities were hid well in her tranquil pained state.
The moon intently watched me
Waiting for me to alleviate the agonized entity
But solicitousness was blank in my frozen psyche.
The moonlight pierced the fox with intimacy
I grimaced in the realization I had failed the universe
With my perennial void mind broken in vain.
The fox gathered some stoicism
The blessing of the moon granted requital
As the fox proceeded to maul my perception.
I accepted my retribution with ratification
As I was the soul who violated the creature
A skirmish that clung to grandeur.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 4:47 AM UTC
He had a habit of forgetting
That the knife should be
At his left,
Unlike others.
Every morning, she would
mechanically
switch the fork with the knife.
When they finished lunch
she started clearing up
and noticed the knife to his right
again.
That night,
after their routine drew to a close,
They talked.
Slowly, at first.
A touchy subject walks in.
It's time.
Even as the air is knocked from her lungs,
She gets up and scrabbles on the floor.
Nails scratching the carpet.
Eyes scanning the horizon, now black.
Her brain decides to get up,
Her body disobeys.
Her body disobeys.
Isn't that what put her here in the first place?
So what if she is pretty?
So what if her eyes are sparkling emeralds?
Her belly renders her defenceless
from his onslaught.
Isn't it her fault
that it is empty?
Isn't she wrong to want
independence from him?
Mentally, physically, emotionally?
He owned her, didn't he?
He owned her, didn't he.
He explained to her the benefits
of obeying.
Her pretty face wouldn't have been
all those ungainly shades of black.
Her eyes wouldn't have been encircled by blue.
All she had to do was obey
and not tell anyone
but obey.
Her brain rebelled.
Her brain rebelled.
Her body, for once, obeyed.
She stumbled through the hallway
She knocked down her favourite frame-
Their daughter on a pony.
Kitchen, her sanctuary.
She broke her favourite China.
Hurled her utensils.
"I arranged them last week, you *****
And then she saw them.
The knives.
The knives.
They were inviting
Her hands were pale, waiting.
His heart corrupt, hating.
"Knives to your left, darling."
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
*Our earth has turned
Our lives are torn
We are able to see light no more
If only for a second we shine bright
We are reminded of our destiny
That of which is death
We strive to survive
We strive to stay alive
Being surrounded with demons of flesh and bone
Demons who are torn
Tattered
Look defeated but are actually reborn
Reborn through blistering scorn they rise
Their numbers are growing
We do nothing for god is showing
Showing his hatred for our kind
Showing his secret and sacred mind
We scream
We cry
For he gives no sympathy
We scream
We die
For he gives no sympathy
They feast off our loved one's limb by limb
We hear their screams as he dies
As she dies
No goodbyes
Just demise
Torn eyes
Black skies
Reaching at us from above tearing our hope from our chest
Our dreams as we rest
Our lives as we suppress
Suppress who we once were
For that is no more
Only for so long can we hide our screams
We will be found
We will be desecrated
Piece by piece
Our mothers torn and brothers death through scorn
Our wives see blood and flesh before being reborn
Now one of them they fight it but only postpone
Postpone the inevitable
The inevitability of turning
Turning from who you once were to a demon
Your birthdays
Weddings
Memories become waist
As you see through the devils eyes you hunt to feast
Inoperational your emotions become
Through the eyes of evil you become ****
No way out
Our end has begun
Our god has given up
On our petty existence we call success
Given up on the killing
The thievery
The ****
The pedophiles
This is why we die
This is why black takes our sky
Why evil is now his ally
Why we are ripped apart before we depart into hell
We become the hatred we once rebelled
The hatred we once repelled
Your children ask you why
Ask you why we have to die
You look into their eyes knowing they will once too be deleted
Deleted from existence
The tattered flesh and blood is insistence
Insistence of his wrath
While we beg to his knees
He returns to his kin with this disease
This plague
This is why we hide
The conquering he takes with pride
Vague emotions to hell we ride*
***This rapture has become our end
This rapture has become our end***
-Joseph B Schneider
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
I don’t remember exactly when Budberg died, it was either two years
ago or three.
The same with Chen. Whether last year or the one before.
Soon after our arrival, Budberg, gently pensive,
Said that in the beginning it is hard to get accustomed,
For here there is no spring or summer, no winter or fall.
“I kept dreaming of snow and birch forests.
Where so little changes you hardly notice how time goes by.
This is, you will see, a magic mountain.”
Budberg: a familiar name in my childhood.
They were prominent in our region,
This Russian family, descendants of German Balts.
I read none of his works, too specialized.
And Chen, I have heard, was an exquisite poet,
Which I must take on faith, for he wrote in Chinese.
Sultry Octobers, cool Julys, trees blossom in February.
Here the nuptial flight of hummingbirds does not forecast spring.
Only the faithful maple sheds its leaves every year.
For no reason, its ancestors simply learned it that way.
I sensed Budberg was right and I rebelled.
So I won’t have power, won’t save the world?
Fame will pass me by, no tiara, no crown?
Did I then train myself, myself the Unique,
To compose stanzas for gulls and sea haze,
To listen to the foghorns blaring down below?
Until it passed. What passed? Life.
Now I am not ashamed of my defeat.
One murky island with its barking seals
Or a parched desert is enough
To make us say: yes, oui, si.
'Even asleep we partake in the becoming of the world.”
Endurance comes only from enduring.
With a flick of the wrist I fashioned an invisible rope,
And climbed it and it held me.
What a procession! Quelles délices!
What caps and hooded gowns!
Most respected Professor Budberg,
Most distinguished Professor Chen,
Wrong Honorable Professor Milosz
Who wrote poems in some unheard-of tongue.
Who will count them anyway. And here sunlight.
So that the flames of their tall candles fade.
And how many generations of hummingbirds keep them company
As they walk on. Across the magic mountain.
And the fog from the ocean is cool, for once again it is July.
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You always rebelled
at the thought of obligation
Obliviously you would rather opt out
than be displayed
as a duty done in insignificance
A sailboat may be insignificant
. . . a tiny speck upon the ocean
But it sits high above the crests
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
I can't believe how idiotic I was.
Loving you was harder than David's stone, knocking me dead mentally, and I didn't realize it until blood dripped along my temple.
Two opposites I thought would go great together only rebelled when close.
Let both stay far apart, for neither were meant to be close, rather "symbolically paired".
(j.a.r.)
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
I admit, I’ve never chosen you.
Falling in love is temporary,
love is a choice.
And I surrender to you.
You’re heart is grandiose.
In search of an asylum,
the delicacy of your love,
softens my core.
Peering into your soul,
through the earthy green
in your eyes, that spec of blood orange
a fire lights inside of you, hungry
to achieve a purpose.
I want to be your motivation,
be your motivator.
We could lose time
but we’d meet back at the equator,
once again, feeding the fire
that lights for you and I.
We’ve survived darkness
time & time again, lost.
In search of that dwindling fire
we find each other, nose to nose.
We are special, We are young, We are beautiful, We are complex,
We are strong.
We are real.
Years spent, trying to navigate
the passion of our love.
We’ve rebelled against time,
against distance...
We are flawed, we are damaged.
But we are stubborn in love.
I hope I’m not too late,
I want a clean slate
I’m not holding back anymore.
For the first time, boo
I choose you.
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 10:35 AM UTC
The rain, it pours a sorrow tune,
The clouds hold shelter to the moon
To where am I supposed to look?
My star, the sky has solemnly took
Lit no more, is the flame we held
His sight remained, yet mine rebelled
Drifting by was a familiar wind,
Without a choice, the breeze flew in
Eyes set focus upon a glare,
Ignoring tremors, I allowed the stare
A whisper begged, who could this be?
Deceiving voices cried, could this be me?
An empty life turned painfully numb,
In my own world, I lived, it turned me dumb
Entranced by my star, a love was sprung
Blissfully so, such a love came undone
By two distant souls, that love could be no more
Louder now, the sorrow tune shall pour
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 11:57 AM UTC
I waited on the front porch,
My knuckles demanded entry,
The door swung open a
Little too fast, or
Not fast enough
His eyes carried a
Salacious appetite,
His lips moist from the
Slow curling of that
Relentless tongue
Before words could escape,
His arms, those steel arms,
With dancing tribals
Caressing his biceps,
They abducted my body
As he stampeded through the house,
Carried me to his satin sanctuary
He threw me down into
A pile of black and white clouds
Who eagerly invited me,
All in the next breath,
He turned me around, pushed
My face into silken sheets,
He had his way, a pirate
With newfound treasure
He yanked my ear
With Rigid teeth,
My neck, his personal towel
For the wicked words that bled
Out the gate of his mouth,
My scalp throbbed from
Malicious fingers glued
To my fragile, mahogany locks
My hands bound in
An unbreakable grip,
So much that I couldn’t get
Rid of the sweat that rained
From his electrifying aura,
It only brought me closer
To seeing stars that I
Desperately craved
Moaning exhalations
Seized my vocal cords,
Tingling sensations
Stung my raw body
As chains of colors
Slashed through me
Sensing my release,
The barbaric pattern
That drove his body,
Turned into a boat
On a stilled lake
He spun me around,
Let my chin rest in his hand,
Our chests rebelled for
The abuse we forced
Our bodies into
I didn’t care,
This man was a feral warrior,
Who shared blends
Of pain and pleasure,
A brutal humanitarian,
He didn’t make me see
Stars, instead,
I saw the whole galaxy
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
Come to think of it, Garrison Keillor reads poetry like he'd feign be Bukowski or something.
(sonnets #MMMMMCCCXXXII and MMMMMCCCXXXIII)
I
Bukowski. If I'd known--and there must trail
Off seeking an excuse to bother hence
With aught. Nor should I have writ these his sense
Of our supposed age could acknowledge bail
For, since his voice kills any spirit's frail
Hope of existance, while he coughs from thence
To fiercely say the madness dictates whence
As chopped, clipped phrases whereby he'd prevail.
And Shelley, who saw further than now's poor
Horizon, said art veils her glass whilst through
The centries curs as ole Bukowski tour--
To vanish, sans a note. Yet here all who
Aspire think vile is tops, our work as twere
In vain and refuse. Cuz such never knew.
II
Lo, ****** Surrey, Wyatt, and aught hence
Who bowed themselves to Petrarch's mincing scale,
Yes, "polished our erst homely," ruder tale
Of lines and poetry, whose manners thence
Became refined thus as we yielded, whence
Far more rebelled than dared submit, t'assail
What set us 'part from beasts as if in frail
Excuse to cavil suited their intents.
He said the "mountaintop" was mine as twere
T'enjoy, but if I wanted friends maunt do,
As they all wallowed in the mud, each boor
Disgusted save by filthy scents. Sans clue
Of our high calling meant to raise th'obscure
Light for our fellow man, ye can't, who knew.
24Dec15c,d
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
Rebel son
Born in the shadow
A fire in the hollow of night
You're the reason
That the angel's are singing
To terrified shepherd's tonight
Oh they did not know
And we don't still
That you came below
For your will fulfilled
Caused us to be saved
From ourselves and the grave
We will sing
To our rebel king
Rebel priest
Baptized in the river
By the one who you soon would save
You loved the least
Like your own sons and daughters
Like your blood flowed through their veins
Rebel love
That raises the standard
Changes our hearts from within
You are above
Sickness couldn't touch you
You healed us out and within
Oh we did not know
And we don't still
That you came below
For your will fulfilled
Caused us to be saved
From ourselves and the grave
We will sing
To our rebel king
Rebel king
betrayed by a brother
Led out like a lamb to be slain
Torn skin
Until you didn't look human
You bore our shame and our pain
Without sin
You were tried as a rebel
Innocent and you bore our shame
We thought you'd win
But you died like a rebel
Bearing our sin and our shame
Every curse and blow
Every blood drop spilled
Oh the thorn torn brow
Oh the life I killed
But then death rebelled
And the grave did too
As the dead broke free
By your death renewed
And your life cries out
In our very souls
Destroying our doubt
Making broken whole
Let my heart of hearts
And my songs now sing
Lifting holy hands
To my rebel king
I've been blessed to know
And be in your will
Let my life be yours
For your will fulfilled
To be saved and save
From sin and grave
Until my life sings
To my rebel king
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 7:33 AM UTC
I think people are too set in their ways
Having to do things just so
Making sure never to disturb tradition
Then you came
And rebelled every thought and action
They didn't like you for that,
I did.
i.c.d
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:58 PM UTC
she sits - eyes darting side to side,
eating the atmosphere, chewing carefully,
rosebud mouth moist, lips open a space,
hands fidgeting in her shallow concaved lap ..
woman leans forward to stroke wayward
tendril from wide forehead - a sign of excellence
to some just that, to others smart phrenology;
tendril defies maternal meaning to spring
like a diver from top board thrill
to fall once more upon laughing brow,
how young child loves the tickling touch
she never receives from mother -
she who urges piano practice, eight to ten,
dancing lessons, eleven to one,
geography, history and Latin tutelage
with woman ancient her and morbid more,
afternoon alternate curriculum and oboe,
catechism, times-tables, spellings parroted..
when night calls child to sleep,
she curls her softness into a knot, tight
and unforgiving, ******** tears from
sea blue eyes so they weep 'pon Egyptian
cotton sheets to dilute the ***** drips of
progidy’s day by day nightmare..
child needs, child yearns for what she
does not know, kettle drum heart throbbing..
longs to run in meadows mossy bright,
longs to see dirt under sweetheart nails;
in dreams she rides ponies ********
and soars sky, dances clouds, kisses moon..
but then, morning vivid with sane insanity
she wakes in an open cage, in a different room..
rebelled, she did, small fragile six year old;
today, today, today her mind is empty,
hands fluttering butterflies, eyes bright, innocence
faded, but laughing..laughing..laughing, free.
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
I have hung my self to dry on the lines of a greater theory
I am not me anymore
I feel pity for the woman inside of me
I feel pity for my greater infant that slowly faints in the darkness
and I feel pity for my health
I feel pity for the fact that I feel pity for my very self
I have lost control of mental wealth
completely embedded in the filthy secrets and the stealth
A simple careless whisper will do me well
the years I have disguised them time and time again
but quite honestly its been nothing but hell
time and time again I fell
time and time again put under that ***** spell
time and time again I have let you in after you rang my rusty doorbell
and time and time again I have asked you to leave or dragged you out
and bid you my simple farewell
from you
love
love
I have rebelled
I cant stand the taste of you
or even bare your smell
Im am sealed in this shell
love
love
you have made me unwell
I speak to you, not a person
but the emotion itself
locked with the carved letters of
blood
blood shed by so many men in our history
and a mortal death for the hearts of many
If I can turn you into something I could touch I would suffocate you
and rid of our exsistence, to speak quite bluntly
oh love how you make the skin on my stomach feel the bone in my back
like a starving child caved into emptiness
I feel the impact of your dread on my body physically
and oh how you eat away at me
and dig me so far into this abyss with your anarchy
how you breathe in me awfully and tend me to be angry
oh but how I yearn for your beauty
in the back of my mind I must admit
for the first time I will release the child confession
of my ample and frigid like weakness
I feel my very marrow deteriorating with thoughts of you
love
love here me when I speak to you
you live in happy homes and in the hearts of few
and have become such a taboo
love tell me what can I do to undo
the witches and warlocks in my souls venue
the black voodoo and the monstrous zoo
that infested my purity and scorned my very tissue
time and time again I have thought this through
but where can I go to repair the damage when love is the answer
when the answer is
you
Nov 16, 2010
Nov 16, 2010 at 3:21 PM UTC
Rebellion smells like apples, cinnamon
and *****
On a gravel road swallowed whole by
a surrounding forest of lush greens
we stood in opposition, revolution
firearms nestled in our hands.
We rebelled against alcoholism.
Drunk, amber soldiers stumbled across
the uneven surface of the log they vacated.
Our bullets shattered them one by one.
The rifle’s kick back slammed against me.
The cracking echo of each gunshot
filled the hollow chiseled in my chest
and tenderized my brain.
Shards of hard cider and hard liquor
spattered the dirt; the bright red
of the Angry Orchards’ labeling
bleeding war into the earth and grit.
We searched for survivors.
The air was perfumed with Cinnamon Apple
and *****
The soft spice of autumn and harvest
wafted gently up my nose
followed by the sharp scent of
disinfectant, hospitals, stainless steel.
It was the smell of ***** my default.
Nudging a dusty bottle neck with my toe
I couldn’t help but think back to
the angry, open-mouthed kisses
I once shared with my bottles
early in the morning until late at night.
A furious thirst surged through me.
I still wanted a drink.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 12:18 PM UTC
What does a condemned man do? What does a man with no hope look forward to? One might say, “Today is terrible, but I will look forward to tomorrow.” But what use it tomorrow for the condemned? Doesn’t tomorrow bring quickly his dreadful fate? What use is the beauty of the sun or the calm of the breeze upon his face and skin? Are these not splendor’s that will add to his misery; memories that will torment his eternal soul. He does not ask to hear the sounds of joy and gladness, for where he is headed never have these been present. He is headed to the deep below, where the wails overwhelm the senses and hope is a soon forgotten fable strictly uttered by those above. The memory of the sunshine upon his face amplifies his unending anguish; the smell of the common morning air will plague his mind. “What caused such a fate for this man”, asks the world? He did not take heed to that which is written, that if you hear the voice of God today, do not be stubborn as your ancestors were when they rebelled against God. He chose separation from God - - the path that leads to no sunshine.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
I do not worship your human gods.
Do not presume to know me.
My gods are my own.
I do not care for your burning woman.
‘Great Prophet’ ‘Lady Redeemer’ ‘Bride of the Maker’
She is nothing to me.
The Circles stripped us of our beliefs.
Unfamiliar names on our tongues,
Like poison forced down our throat.
You expect us to bow so easily?
You are arrogant in thinking you were the first.
We have bled for our land for centuries.
Our cities were burnt to the ground.
And you built upon the ash,
Without a second thought.
And you wonder why we rebelled?
Do not make the same mistake again.
We are not forgiving.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
643
I could suffice for Him, I knew—
He—could suffice for Me—
Yet Hesitating Fractions—Both
Surveyed Infinity—
“Would I be Whole” He sudden broached—
My syllable rebelled—
’Twas face to face with Nature—forced—
’Twas face to face with God—
Withdrew the Sun—to Other Wests—
Withdrew the furthest Star
Before Decision—stooped to speech—
And then—be audibler
The Answer of the Sea unto
The Motion of the Moon—
Herself adjust Her Tides—unto—
Could I—do else—with Mine?
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Oh, How exquisite it was.
The scent and sight of freshly spilled blood.
The intricate texture of the ruby rain,
Spilling a and snaking down my skin.
Like precious liquid gems.
Oh, how glorious slaughter is.
How full of life it left me.
Cloaked in Death,
With the throbs of my heart,
Far lively compared to that of the corpse.
Oh how my laughs punctuated the air.
How I rebelled in the glory of my deed.
I was made in the image of god,
And now I understood the power of death.
This is not insanity, it is purer than that.
It is not rage, it is wilder than that.
It was never about avarice or fear as well.
It was feral blood lust, the legacy of my ancestors.
As I prey on my second victim, she raises the cross.
Sigh, I wonder, as I watch her wilt away.
Why does man consider all that is above it out of God's grace?
In the field of life, one's angel is the other's devil.
And so it has been unleashed.
Upon the earth, the scrounge of heaven and hell.
Man unrestrained and warped into its vile self.
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
As the singer sings his last tune
And the last dancer vacates the ballroom
The forest's divine string their bow
Preparing the hunt of evil, hate, and woe
In the air are sounds of grinding teeth
And swords are drawn slowly from sheath
Out of the trees extends a shadowed glow
While in their guts, the uneasiness does grow
The parliament speaks with the gnashing of jaws
While the public stands impatient with sharpened claws
For the prophets to sing them another lie
And the puppets to dance it's truth to their eye
While they stand idle for their ears to be fed
The rebelled divine load an arrow of blackmail and lead
With sights set upon the political beasts of Nations
Tonight, the hunters will over-step their station
Jan 8, 2011
Jan 8, 2011 at 9:10 PM UTC
Right and Wrong : born by Deeds
As Adam sons : Abel and Cain.
The Bible and the Qur’an ,still,
Are Vedas of the Semitic people.
Eve-wife of Adam rebelled once
And opened the Gate of Hell.
Down they fell leaving Paradise
To toil on Earth - their DNA hold
The right and wrong: we too hold.
Follow Christ to absolve from Sin
Follow Al Ameen (pbuh) for Heaven:
Pray for Peace(Islam) of Heaven
And be righteous to save from Hell.
Both pray and prey each other, Alas!
Even during” holy Ramadan” days.
Unity and Grace both teach us, but.
Their Institutions cheat us bright.
Hindu Vedas too teach us well
On the Unity of souls in a Soul
Also with a path of Its Dualism.
Love all ; sacrifice for others
To attain our Heavenly Abode.
Suras worship idols in Temples
Asuras hate it in their temples.
Right or Wrong :both by the Deeds
They inherit the Hell or the Heaven.
Shall not **** !Desire not others wealth!
For all Wealth is of God, the Creator-
So taught but our lust make us killers.
(26/7/2014)
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC