"reposting" poems
[I accidentally deleted this, so now I'm reposting it]
This is not an attack, it is expression.
*This apparently isn't a very popular subject,
but then again, when has popularity changed anyone's mind..*
--
**** the 'Selective Service System'; the SSS.
It's neo-conscription.
FDR made us a deal we couldn't refuse
which included a stipulation
that about half of us still cannot refuse:
Selective Service
also known as
Peacetime Draft
But only for males. Only the males.
Not the females, though. Oh, no, not the females;
We need the Females
to bake the next batch of mindless soldiers/housewives/neoslaves.
We need the women to uphold the status-quo.
We need our women
to remain passive, docile, and beautiful ******* doormats
for our glorious and infallible western society.
We need our women
to be complaint, subservient, sex-starved, archaic-gender-role embodiments.
I see it as overtly 'cherry-picking' as well as misogyny both ways;
sexist, selfish, and prejudiced on both sides:
'Feminists' (read: Feminazis) claim to plea for true gender equality, but here is my plea:
If such is true, where then are their demands for mandatory selective service?
Why do they feel above reproach when it comes to the unsavory sides of society?
Why do they turn a blind eye to the ******* Draft if they ***** up such a storm about equality?
Why is it not a federal offense punishable by a $250,000 fine as well as up to 5 years in prison
for a female to not sign their life away to the military from when they turn 18 until at least 25?
How is that 'gender equality'?
Huh?
They, too, are cherry-picking.
-
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
now I don't mind taking criticism but those who disrespect me should expect to be seeing light like a prism you shouldn'tve said anything you little troll you never commented on anything I wrote inboxing me trying to scold me for reposting something I found funny you'll learn not to **** with me the blast master you little ******* can't type more than ten Words while I can drop bombs and bars for hours I'll scour the internet and **** you're no original self up on here or on wax if you wanna take it that far man **** it I'm done you're a waste of dissing bars
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
While you cover your profile pictures with transparent flags
ranting how terrorism should stop
retweeting and reposting those gory pictures of the victims
keeping up with the latest news
and trying to flow with the trend
like if this was the new ice bucket challenge
but with blood water.
In all honesty,
Do you really pity the victims?
Do you really feel the sorrow?
Were your families even part?
Were your friends even part?
Were you a part?
Or are you doing it for the sake of Likes?
Only truly
if you hate terrorism,
act like as you really do
because you look stupid,
hating what social media tells you to hate.
And only truly
if you hate terrorism,
You would do something more than a click from social media.
If terrorists terrorize to change the world into their own,
what are we doing to change ours?
Nov 16, 2015
Nov 16, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
If I was a provider of the content I like
Like I wanted to be I’d never have gotten that
Surgery that ****** up my mammary glands
I’d gush a milky **** for all audiences
Even the ones that knew me before I turned bad *****
And spoilt
Even my great aunt and grandma and mom
who have finally befriended me
on Facebook
The ***** in me covers up and cuts off these
Lady parts
But I heat up and cant hide
The spark in my eyes when I see a girl
Unafraid of her ******
Wearing lingerie on IG
Feminism to me is radical or bust
Is ********* your ****** ****** and
Taking lots of pictures as proof
Of your own ****** occurrence,
Reposting if I get taken down,
Moderator of my own **** self.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
reposting a poem from 3 1/2 years ago, when I knew how to write
<>
organizing the day,
while the baby room renter in the adjacent,,
makes dreamy rock n' roll noises,
siren calls to stay~lay in bed,
tho status of semi-alert,
ready to relieve Ernie and Bert,
who have the first shift covered
soon on guard duty,
scheming about dis n' dat,
you are sleeping, dreaming,
wide awake seeing,
multitasking with eyes closed simultaneously.
lesser of a poet, more a notate-er,
list keeper, note taker,
arguing with yourself inside the head,
actually feeling the thoughts
coursing, lurking, seeing both sides now,
parentally, washing the dishes
of the hours and years ahead.
while the woman-mother
makes her soprano dreaming noises,
you laugh at the orchestra of
******* sighing somnolent noises,
a cadenza of love dancing in your
irresistible wide awake dreams.
paying the bills, lying in the dark,
you wonder-worry about the agenda
unknown that will overgrow you,
fast creeping up the grain of your skin,
ivy on stone skin walls.
lala lala
you borrow baby's lullaby,
yourself for to calming,
keeping time, silly rhyming,
organizing the days ahead
in you head, while,
recording the harmonies of
sweet sensory inputs.
the dark provides the cloak
where you alone
feel and hear the worry
and laugh lines knitting
into a single stitch of parenting.
1/20/2013
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
How very lonely HP is,
In the middle of the night,
Reading long ago poems by friends,
Tapping little red hearts,
Only time I'm available,
After dusk; hours before dawn,
Reposting poems, my fingers just as assailable as Moby ****
Or Hansel's and Gretel's witch,
I stare at blank, gray suns,
Wishes I, I had some to use,
To uplift; to free,
All the beautiful poetry,
Even the ones with coquetry,
I rapidly kiss plusses with my right thumb,
Adding to worthy collections,
Of addictive confections,
'Till 2,
When alas I sip hot coco,
Scratch my ****
And fall asleep beside my cat; momo.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
I was in a car accident in September.
I suffered a severe concussion.
Though my body is rattled and
bruised, I believe will heal fine.
I am getting extensive therapy
and treatment.
My brain on the other hand is having
a bit more difficulty pulling it together.
Words don't line up, thoughts are
confused jumbles of messy patterns
that don't make sense sometimes.
This is very scary to me.
As I write everything on my tablet
or my android phone, looking at the
screen hurts my eyes and my brain.
I am very sad as of late. Have been
crying (more than usual). Head
hurts all the time. Getting lost a lot,
like when I drive etc etc etc. Writing
backwards. Everything written,
looks like it is at a slant (yuck).
And I have developed a Very significant,
interesting stutter. Fascinating really...
All I want to do is sleep...
(which I have become very good at)
and to be held...
(just isn't in the mix right now).
I may try reposting some of my
old work at this time, until I'm better.
I will do my best to check in on the Dailies.
I need to stay away from reading and
commenting. : (( : (( : (( At least for now.
I am Sure, I Will Get Better!!!
☆●♡♢♡●☆
I need you all to know how much
I've come to Love and Appreciate my HP Family.
One of the best gifts I have given
Myself. Also, I am trying to join
Kalypso and Gang with Our collection
of Poems on Sound Cloud.
If I can ever figure it out
♡ Peace and Love ♡
▪○●☆♡♢♡☆●○▪
Christi~ MoonFlower~ Fluer de Luna
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Not stealing and did not ask permission but don't believe she would mind if I give credit due. Read this and think it's worth reposting because it's great and it one of those judgmental folks should quit misquoting the bible poems.
Original author is: Betty Ponder · Nov 28, 2013
Truth Regarding: ***** and Gomorrah
Your willing flock of sheep believe your spin on books of Ezekiel and Genesis.
Said you, and I quote, "God destroyed those cities because of same *** dating!".
How can you twist words of literature you "claim" you know so well?, says me.
The tale of the two cities was very different in my view and hope you re-read.
Here's my take on occurrences on that fateful day when sky rained burning sulfur.
God wanted to remove from the planet ones with fantasies of ****** his angels,
those prideful and walking with exaggerated swagger in their steps, the arrogant
suffering from superiority complex, all the uncaring hypocrites who failed to help
those with basic needs and others; but, there is "no" mention of homosexuality.
The time has come for your flock of willing to believe you sheep, to "read" the bible.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 5:22 AM UTC
Shadowic heroic ornamental's, false breed's cometh as incense breather's betwixt lively instrumental's. Macrogram plaza's to abrahamic venue's. Caller's calleth upon themselves to saveth what is not theirs;
Morning breath, to winter's dew, hath thou been born yet? Is the baby yet due?
Constant pain's to loss taken gain's maketh brain's and vein's out of organically made flesh; becometh thine own creator, thou creed of selfishness. Anchor heavy soul dragged away by chain's of past forget-not's, wherein the ground stayeth hot to ruin moronic window's.
Maketh thy bed of silvered spring's thy own rusted medieval pillow; thou grand ol' operatic theme, thou patriarch to a dream, Art ourn day's but a whisp of a second's last?
Thing's hath cometh to the listening one, the earth's spinning to fast; the mechanism's now begun.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prison writing's
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
Travel the deserted mountains?
That I will!
Travel the emptied fountains,
To get mine queens fill.
Travel to ghetto's and dark Alley's,
I must..
Travel to hell and back and purgatory,
Crawl through the dust!
Travel the bane quarters, through shallow wiss,
I shalt,
Travel the churches, mosques and temples?
A holy one I please!
Broken legs, and blistered arms,
I'll do it hence I'll bleedeth ...
Travel through impassible reticent,
No holding all back..
Travel to countries foreign,
To mansions and sleek tidy shacks!
Travel to her home, where ever she may be?
Oh I'm dreaming, tis I'll travel back to me!!!
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Confused and depressed
Not knowing what comes to life next
A promise that started so beautifully
He changed, and now, is he really ending it this slowly?
In the dark, while I savor the pain
I longed to be happy and then you came.
At a brisk, I let you in
Consumed my mind and invaded my soul.
Your eyes, I couldn’t help but stare
Your voice, that became music to my ear
I wish the time was longer – that’s a shame
Why did I meet you at such a wrong fate?
How can I tell him about you?
You belong to someone else while I do too.
Albeit amiss, the times with you felt nothing but right;
Never was I this proud of the wrong, never in my life.
Lost with bewilderment, who does my heart choose?
HIM, the person that I have learned to love?
Or YOU, the person that suddenly caught my heart?
I’m guilty of even having to question myself that.
The negative thoughts, the guilt, the constant fear.
It has now started drowning me in.
I realized, this affected him and I wanted to do the right thing.
So, I had to choose him.
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 3:20 PM UTC
I thank thee all my faithful friends for your following my poems
I thank thee for your comments
I thank thee for your likes
I thank thee for reposting
I thank thee for your encouragement
I thank thee for your friendship
I thank thee for being here and for your poems
I thank thee for bringing encouragement through your inspired writings
I thank thee for being yourself and sharing your unique self here
I thank thee for all these things and many more
I thank thee and your poetry which I so adore!
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
oh you are all so *******
good and god **** righteous
with your Facebook statuses
and tweets and blogs
that you pour your hearts into
reposting better men's works and words
cowering behind a screen
that hides the fact that you've
resigned your life to nothing
but giving others the publicity
that should have been yours
perhaps the more pathetic
thing is that we live in a world
where this is acceptable
and the norm
where people are given the ability
to like, and reblog, and comment
instead of actually making contact
and establishing relationships
**** it, if i want to talk to you,
i don't actually have to talk to you!"
and here i am, the eternal hypocrite
writing a god **** poem on my macbook pro
that i'll post to a poetry forum
so i can get off on all of the likes, reads, and comments
it collects
i mean,
who the **** am i if nobody else tells me who i am?
Oct 6, 2011
Oct 6, 2011 at 12:38 PM UTC
I sat on a rock and stared
At her eyes the color of ink
Wondering what she’s seen
When she is ruffled by something
It is literal
A duck’s feathers are easily ruffled
But that is a minor problem
When we are ruffled by life
It can disorient us for months
Sometimes years
Sometimes a lifetime
I wonder what her life has been filled with
She swims and she dives.
She mates to reproduce, never to love and cherish her mate eternally.
The way (some) humans do. Or at least should.
She never suffers emotional trauma.
It would be so much simpler to be a duck.
No monetary worries
No emotional worries
No grudges
Only the concern for survival
I bet she’s never cried
And I have so, so many times.
She spreads her wings and takes flight.
The way I often wish I could.
To escape situations I don’t like.
Just flying away.
Her beautiful russet wings
But I wasn’t born a duck.
I was born a human.
And I can’t spread my wings and fly away.
And somehow
I’m glad.
I’m glad I can hurt
And I can feel
And I can love
And be broken
My main concern is not my own survival
Because I am not a duck
And I am not a coward
And even if I can suffer
What a duck would never have to endure
I can have forever from someone else
And I can become something
An artist
A writer
A dancer
A poet
An inspiration
A lover
A mother
A father
Okay no not a father
But I can make something out of myself
And the duck will always be
Well, a duck.
Also, ducks are NOT YELLOW.
…I needed to express that.
Rawr.
Please repost if you are happy to be human. Unless you are not a human. And if you are not a human, then I am kind of scared. Or if you just feel like reposting. Then you go ahead and do that. Have fun with it. :) woahifoundagrape!
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work!
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC
Dear (Mr) God
I just want to thank you for
the heartiest chuckle I've
had in some time!!!
Pointing fingers is always
a funny thing. And, friend,
you just received the
Flying Fickle (middle) Finger of
Fate Award for the Millennium!
For those who don't know, here's what ***** stated.
***** points fingers at me.
THREE POINT BACK.
1) I'M ******
Who has hung his (her) shingle
out as GOD?. Doesn't take a shrink to figure this diagnosis.
2) I'm a Jesus FREAK. Seems to me
***** (as Almond) contacted me via the site message system trying to start an argument with me (as a "Christian") with some pretty whacky ideas of His life while on earth. I blocked him (her).
3) My poetry is pointless. What, pray tell, is more pointless than a critic who can't WRITE?
Nuf said.
Your Che Guevara avatar is not out of place, however. What you don't
know is history. REAL history.
Che Guevara was a monster. He would stay in the home of his
peasant friends, then slaughter them all so that his wherabouts would remain undivulged.
You hide behind a false front, Almond. But it is appropriate.
I guess all I can do for you is forgive,
forget and PRAY.
SoulSurvivor
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
Nat Lipstadt
Mar 10
Pradip
Dear Sir,
I can't keep
up with
your prolific, delighting,
creations
This must be
the third poem at least,
for and to you, I,
publicly address
the thought terrifying,
if you took a vacation,
and had really
some free time to write
I do believe man,
it's time for a unique,
reserved, deserved,
and as of yet,
unheard of
special,
Hello Pradip Section
on this site
for this is yet one more
in a streaming video poem,
of me acknowledging you,
Master of the Word,
Wright Templar,
Poet Extraordinaire,
Most Importantly,
Beloved Human,
whose vision sees the world
in ways that
I adore
S. suggests,
I
take a vaca
just to eat your words,
in the lazy, rushed fashion
they deserve
but tween us,
your secret kept,
your parrot and
street dog Hengloo
write
every other one,
cause no human could
thus excel,
without some help
of animal spirits
in between your beloved
Saturdays
Yours Devotedly,
An Exhausted and Admiring,
Nat Lipstadt
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nat Lipstadt
Sep 2, 2013
Pradip Chattopadhyay
Simple verses,
blessed be the uncomplex,
But the visions, the glimpses,
The sightings, in and out,
Are celestial of, in, and on and about
This planet shared.
I will walk with you to
Henry's Isle,
You, accompany me, on the beach,
We will together ford Crab Creek,
When the tide is low,
And afterwards,
Repair to The Poet's Nook,
Where a moss stained Adirondack chair
Awaits the Poet Prince,
Your poems carved into
It's soul, it's arms, it's back,
Giving comfort continuous.
This chai, this chair, this throne,
Reserved for the lyricist of our lives,
The shedder of light upon the special,
The seconds, that fete our senses.
I await you arrival.
Tender this serenade,
this overdue apology,
For having not thanked you properly
For your living kindness,
Yet my words, insufficient, compared to yours...
A special man, a simple homage.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
May 05, 2016: I am reposting this in honor of my wife, Karen, who left this mortal earth eight 1/2 years ago. Originally written and posted on September 17, 2014)
This tree-
Is not just any 'ol tree'-
It's "The Grandmother Tree"
Having grown from a broken, eighteen inch high twig,
taken from its mother by the Texas wind.
Now, in just over six years, it rises nearly fifteen feet, for it was planted, and fed, with the love from two grandchildren, who planted it in memory of their grandmother, my wife, Karen, of 40 years, and their surviving grandmother, Linda.
Karen found it on our patio and placed it in a clay *** watered it, and made a support for it to keep it upright. She wanted to plant it where it stands today. She had named it "The Evan and Emily Tree." When she left us, Emily and Evan planted it in the back yard of their home. They named it, "The Grandmother Tree."
The tree is home to the "Guardians", the "Keepers", the "Watchers", sent to protect their memories, then, now, and future. Enlarge it, and you might see them, if you look closely. There are monkeys sitting in the tree, and the silhouettes. To the left, is cast the shadow of a "little man", with arm extended, pointing upward. To the right of the tree, perhaps an ape like creature, or two, and the face of a "mystery man." Set your imagination "free",
For there could be others-
Look, and see.
You could be surprised!
copyright: richard riddle September 17, 2014 12:32pm
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
This is not so much a poem. This is more a revealing of a high that comes from taking the liars down. This is not about reposting ones own work under multiple accounts (I don't understand it and I don't get it but you can't steal from yourself...) This is a story of being able to show ones true character by pointing out that what they write, how they bask in the muted sunlight of another's ignorance to their thievery, just leaves them looking pale!
You see me as a troublemaker
storming your made up works
just trying to influence your friends
that your not that kind of girl
You see me as an interloper
just jealous of your success
Little Darlin' I don't care for you
except for exposing your lying cheating ***
Stop garnering your self esteem
upon backs that are already broke
Stop making people believe
you suffered what you supposedly wrote
Honestly! If you are impressed
and feel heart whole, then simply,
Say thank you, *I feel what you wrote
I feel you wrote it for me*
Just don't steal their words
and let everyone think
You're a master poet/ess
All you need to do
is
link...
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
There are no tribes in America. This is my annual reposting of my July 4th poem, written years ago. After reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land, I wrote this true story down....
~~~~~~~~~
one July 4th,
many years ago
walking the streets,
of the city of Nice, situe
on the Cote D'azur of France,
on the Mediterranean Sea,
where ships of navies
may safely park,
sailors ashore
leavened to
disembark^
how I came to be there is a
poem for another time
walking the streets,
of the palm tree resort
along Le Promenade Des Anglais,
coming at me,
Three Sailors,
unmistakably
American
One white,
One black,
One from California,
which I believe,
is still part of the USA
how we fell upon each other
in warm embrace,
smiling, bestowing
blessings of grace
not as strangers,
but as fellow signatories
on the Declaration of Independence
brothers,
long lost, reunited
as if it had been many years,
since we had our arms entwined,
one family from one far away united place
dialectical differences ignored,
even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy,
totally comprehensible,
for on that say,
we spoke a language that
encompassed a single brotherhood,
a common history,
all on that
holy day
no tribes in America, no colors,
no religions,
only brothers-in-arms
I need not choose to believe
that should it happen again
twenty years hence,
perhaps with their sons,
my embrace will exactly
the same be,
for I know it true,
for there are
no tribes
in an
American heart.
^disembarked to be leavened....either works
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
We hear the sounds of approaching thunder
Drowning out the cries and pleas
Of people calling out for freedom--
Urgent calls in times like these!
March!
We hear the words that spit and sputter--
That splatter against mellifluous sounds
Of peace, of hope, of promise, of caring,
Creating verbal battlegrounds.
March!
We see the dark and threatening clouds
Looming above, waiting to rain
On love and reason. The winds of hatred
Equal the force of a hurricane.
March!
We see around the neck of compassion
A cruel, ever-tightening noose,
While the henchmen multiply--
A surge of bigotry on the loose.
March!
We feel in our hearts the constant longing
For dreams that should be guaranteed
By thoughtful laws and not by decisions
Forged from ignorance, power, and greed.
March!
We feel the sadness, pain, and despair
Of all who are trampled and left behind,
Of all whose rights are being denied,
Of all who are hated and maligned.
March!
We know that we can transcend bias;
When myth prevails, wisdom departs.
We can flourish by wisely removing
The chains of intolerance from our hearts.
March!
We know that we have the potential
To live in a country governed by laws
Embracing all the people here
And freeing us from tyranny's claws.
March!
March to demonstrate solidarity
With others who hear the urgent call.
March together in peace for social
And economic justice for all!
March!
-by Bob B (1-31-17, 1-17-18)
*This is an update and reposting of my Jan 2017 poem.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
This is for all the boys and girls.
You, yes you know who you are, the ones who go through hell.
Who go through hell day after day and yet are still breathing.
How do you do it?
Well, you do what I do. You fight.
You fight until your knees give out, and then you keep fighting.
It's like we all carry first class gold memberships to Hell.
We're first on the guest list.
God, how are our feet still there after walking through Hell so many times?
How are our eyebrows not singed from the burn?
How are we not dead yet?
Why do we keep fighting for a cause we know that we won't receive?
We won't win?
We won't reach?
The cause we wake up every morning sad about because we don't have it.
The relationship we long for, the happiness we wish to attain, the imaginary world called sanity we wish to discover.
Why can't we have what we want?
Why do we suffer?
Well, I'll tell you why.
And I know from experience.
We can't win because we are the only brave and true fighters left.
If we weren't fighting, there would be no one fighting.
We'd all have what we wanted.
But that's not how the world works, the world needs to have a battle.
Which requires fighters.
Which means us.
The ones who go through Hell like it's our path to the bathroom.
We have to fight the battle.
Even though we didn't sign up in the first place.
We're the ones that wish for what we want.
We make the 11:11 wishes, we pray, we long for, heck, we even follow those stupid things on Facebook that say "Make a wish, count to one hundred, blink twenty times, and repost this and your wish will come true, but if you don't repost this you'll never get your wish."
Well, I guess I have to stop reading that, or at least start reposting.
My wishes never come true from doing that but at least I believe enough to do it.
Believing is what keeps me going.
It's what keeps us all going.
It's the pillow to lay our heads on after a long day of battle.
It's the Nutella(R) to indulge ourselves in when we feel sad, happy, lazy, or even if it's a sweatpants and t-shirt kind-of-day.
It's the last bit of gas in the tank that gets us to the next gas station instead of breaking down on the interstate.
It's the denial in some, but it's the blood in me.
Because I'm more than just a body of blood and bones, and so are you.
You're a believer too.
So fight for your goal.
Reach for it.
Shoot for it.
Repost the Facebook statuses to make it come true.
It doesn't make you a bad person.
We all have our weaknesses, we all have our flaws.
Heck, even on my best days my evil ways still show.
But I don't worry about that.
Because I leave the mystery of me open to the world's interpretation.
And you should to.
Because at the end of the day, you'll never finish the battle you wage with the world.
So never, ever give up.
Even when you're breath is gone and your blood has poured, keep going.
Because in the end, we'll get that dream car we want.
We'll get that perfect job.
The great Hercules-like body.
The relationship we try so hard for.
We'll finally receive the true meaning of what it means to believe.
And when we get that my friends.
Our battle will be over.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Alone, lonely at night
I pick up my pen and I write
About all my wrongs till they're right
Battlin with myself to find the words
Almost like i'm picking a fight
with myself, the one person I don't even like we goin through the same **** different night and some how I never right
Haters casting spells on **** the couldn't even write telling me how to make it better then I visit thier site they reposting poems they didn't even write you thought this was poem, now your in for fight my higher intellect and my thoughts intersect and the words ignite this rap not a poem much to your delight I wrote this **** to take a **** on haters that like - to hate on peoples works, I refute anyone that thought they gave them the right, now things is getting ugly, i'm going in on this track until they give me life, killing this **** and to think this is me being nice
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
i.
Acid skies
Brimmed by dust;
Ancient eyes
Spilled by lust
ii.
Corrupting tongue
Lathered by oil;
A bomb for ourn world
It shalt be resoiled.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Repost
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC