Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The screaming
children of Gaza
torment the sleep
of a troubled world,
and remain a real-time
unending nightmare;
anointing The Levant’s
fevered brow
with a diadem of
incessant grief.

Gaza is a burning
ankh that sears the
madness of sorrow
upon Egypt’s skull.

Gaza,
an unblinking
third eye
of shame,
peers into
Lower Egypt’s
closed window
ever reproaching
it’s turbulent
conscience;
chiding fellow
Muslims with
the ugly memory
of abject affliction,
the endless images
of a living Guernica
suspended in the hell
of indefinite imprisonment
all Palestinians are forced
to suffer.

As Zionists ***** the
steep walls of Apartheid to
extend its occupation
of Palestine, it
condemns the youth
of Gaza to a life of
incarceration with no
possibility of parole;
hardening the hearts
and steeling the resolve
of a new generation of
militants to demolish the
walls and the wardens
that imprison them.

The Zionist jailers
bestow upon
Ishmael’s Children
phylacteries of shame,
wearing the rolled
prayers of wailing pain
scribed with bits of
dust from the
the broken walls of
demolished buildings
and desolate homes
beyond habitation,
now housing grief
of trampled souls,
forcing recitations
of deliverance
to Allah while
davening an
incessant drone
of anguish at
the Wailing Wall
of Resentment;
decrying the
blood lust of
undying acrimony,
victimization and
the slaughter of
innocents, carried on
with the imperial license
of state sanctioned impunity.


Father Ibrahim's
feuding children may
share a sacred paternity
but remain the
divided brothers
of different mothers;
stoking a sibling rivalry
more bitter then
Cain and Abel.

Our anguish
never dissipates,
the gnawing
impulse of empathy
to assist the distressed
of Gaza is dashed
by omnipotent
powers recusing
the ability to act.

Sympathy is
embargoed
in the black
obfuscation
of religious
partisanship
while timely
assistance
to aid the
distressed
lie netted in
blockades of
realpolitik
affinities.

Gaza, where
Hashim is granted
his eternal rest,
restlessly inhabits
his unknown grave
from the destitution of
his profaned homeland.

Ghazzat,  “the stronghold”
countlessly conquered,
falling to Roman Emperors,
Lionhearted Crusaders
Ottoman Caliphates,
and British Mandates;
slipping from Egypt’s
geopolitical grasp as
as a casualty of
The Six Day War.

Gaza is now a stronghold of
resent and desperation for a
desperate conquered people.

Ghazzat, the prized city of
the western Mediterranean,
a four star Phoenician port of
caravansaries now unable
to trade with any partners
due to ungodly blockades.

Gaza, has grown wholly
dependent on the largess
of UN aid and meager
subsistence portions
doled out by well
meaning NGO’s.

Gaza, the foot stool of
the Levant and surely
the pathway Father
Ibrahim, Jacob,
Joseph and Jeremiah
traveled to escape
Canaan's famine;
finding at the close
of their sojourn
a table set with the
plenteous bounty
the Blue Nile
unconditionally offered;
the veritable feast
of abundance,
the generous yields
of the blessed delta
that sustained the
Prophets of Judah
and a thousand
generations of the
Nile’s Children.

Gaza, the Achilles
heal of Middle East
peace, land of the
Canaanites, Philistines
and Old Testament
heroes.

Gaza, a fortress for
Philistines who
imprisoned the storied
Sampson, revered for
breaking the chains of
imprisonment and righteously
destroying a pagan temple
in a suicidal act of heroism.

Gaza, where the myths and
legends of rapacious
holy crusaders captured
the western imagination
with the chivalrous gallantry
of religious warfare and
valiant last stands of
Templar Knights employing
the tactical imperatives
of terrorism in service to their
higher God.

Gaza, an oasis
by the sea now
lies dry and brittle
as the precious Hebron
waters of Wadi Ghazza
are diverted to serve
the agriculture of
Judah; condemning
a dehydrated Gaza
panting of thirst
to an imposed drought
and a war of
self preservation
to remove
the dammed rivers
of justice controlled
by intractable powers
laying upstream beyond
Gaza’s mean borders.

The Qassams
lunched by Hamas
are desperate
expressions of
exasperated people,
eager to call
world attention
to the growing
insufferable plight
of a people living
in a perpetual
state of siege.

Its a modern day
David slinging rocks
against an armor
clad Goliath.

Each Katusha
serves as
a justification
for Zionist
intransigence
and condemns
any possibility
for peaceful
coexistence
of a Two State
Solution.

The pointless attacks
invite massive
disproportionate
retaliation and succeed
in prolonging and
increasing the
measure of Gaza’s
agony.

The mystic grace,
the divine power
of satyagraha
-a non-violent
response to the
cruel enforcement of
Apartheid- is Allah’s
way to secure the
moral high-ground
and the surest way
for Palestinians to
expose it’s unholy
adversaries innate
contempt for civil rights
and a refusal to
recognized the
shared humanity of
all of Father Ibrahim’s
wayward progeny and
recalcitrant prodigal sons.

Mubarak’s fall
has allowed the
Rafah Gate
to swing open again.

The concertina
wire that separates
Gaza and Egypt
has been removed.

The prisoners
of Gaza have
an open portal
of freedom.

It is a Day of
Jubilee, a day
of pardon for
for the inmates
of prisons built
for victims.  

It is a day of
possibility for peace.  

It is a day to declare an
Exodus from the land
of bitterness.

Humanity is
offered the hope
of escape from
the prisons of
acrimony, to
freely move across
the staid borders
of intractability
and exclusion.

The hearts and
minds of Palestinians
and Egyptians
are free to connect
and unite once again.

Liberation is
possible only
when we uphold
and honor the
affirmation
of all humanity.

Music Video:

Silk Road
We Will Not Go Down

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm
a poem from the epilogue section of Tahrir Square Voices
O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
MdAsadullah Nov 2014
In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.
*********** *****
1. I do call to witness the Resurrection Day;
2. And I do call to witness the self-reproaching spirit: (Eschew Evil) .
3. Does man think that We cannot assemble his bones?
4. Nay, We are able to put together in perfect order the very tips of his fingers.
5. But man wishes to do wrong (even) in the time in front of him.
6. He questions: 'When is the Day of Resurrection? '
7. At length, when the sight is dazed,
8. And the moon is buried in darkness.
9. And the sun and moon are joined together, -
10. That Day will Man say: 'Where is the refuge? '
11. By no means! No place of safety!
12. Before thy Lord (alone) , that Day will be the place of rest.
13. That Day will Man be told (all) that he put forward, and all that he put back.
14. Nay, man will be evidence against himself,
15. Even though he were to put up his excuses.
16. Move not thy tongue concerning the (Qur'an) to make haste therewith.
17. It is for Us to collect it and to promulgate it:
18. But when We have promulgated it, follow thou its recital (as promulgated) :
19. Nay more, it is for Us to explain it (and make it clear) :
20. Nay, (ye men!) but ye love the fleeting life,
21. And leave alone the Hereafter.
22. Some faces, that Day, will beam (in brightness and beauty) : -
23. Looking towards their Lord;
24. And some faces, that Day, will be sad and dismal,
25. In the thought that some back-breaking calamity was about to be inflicted on them;
26. Yea, when (the soul) reaches to the collar-bone (in its exit) ,
27. And there will be a cry, 'Who is a magician (to restore him) ? '
28. And he will conclude that it was (the Time) of Parting;
29. And one leg will be joined with another:
30. That Day the Drive will be (all) to thy Lord!
31. So he gave nothing in charity, nor did he pray! -
32. But on the contrary, he rejected Truth and turned away!
33. Then did he stalk to his family in full conceit!
34. Woe to thee, (O men!) , yea, woe!
35. Again, Woe to thee, (O men!) , yea, woe!
36. Does man think that he will be left uncontrolled, (without purpose) ?
37. Was he not a drop of ***** emitted (in lowly form) ?
38. Then did he become a leech-like clot; then did ((Allah)) make and fashion (him) in due proportion.
39. And of him He made two sexes, male and female.
40. Has not He, (the same) , the power to give life to the dead?
Quran
The sun-setting solitude slowly turning a velvety night
a fine goddess now descending concealing all her might.
a temptress teaching, a mother loving, a judge always right
granting us a freedom from a million corners more to fight.

The dark angel calm shining her blinding beams so bright
searchingly merciful creating still deep inky shadows of light
numb blissfully for those conquered heroes false who slighting
off the straight narrow path of the fair,just and right alight.

Generous is she, the queen majestic enduring all the pain stoic,
our pleasures and folly wise,even joys twisted and distorted vain!

sods poor,fiends rich, the carnal drags and compassionate hearts,
killers cold, sly cons,soaked winos, glitzy stars, gamblers and tarts,
children of a kind all in her ***** mix,playing perfectly their parts
trusting a goddess neither blessing nor reproaching dead impassive
allowing us all a discretion total she is our grand,real mother massive!

I am a son blessed rare,watching neon bathed the nightly circus affected
judging never,comfortably learning with My Nocturnal Angel protected!
Another funny, funny poem!
About a boy; childish and dumb.
One evening on his way back home
As he passed a yard full of worms.

His skin may be shiny and fair;
his hair may be dark as the air.
But on top of all he's stupid!
His jokes are corny and torpid.

He asked the slugs lingering there
If they were venturing somewhere.
He fed them with his bronze coins
and left them among those ruins.

Happily didst he walk forwards;
when thunders started to slap hard!
The earth became full of water;
the sun died as it grew colder.

Into a hut didst he retreat;
To keep his blue shirts dry and neat.
But there he found a ragged old man;
whom was penn'less and had no friend.

For some free foods didst he insist;
a wish the boy could not desist.
Giving him his silver bracelets
Into the rain he swung ahead.

The furious winds clapped and shouted
Until the clouds fin'ly parted.
But from wetness did he suffer
As the storm grew weak and slower.

Sat he in peace by the river,
to dry his clothes and feel calmer.
With greediness he ate his breads,
'till he felt eyes watch him ahead.

Frightened then he raised to his feet,
whilst his enemies reappeared.
Two village lads with quiet chuckles,
sounding as evil as grovels.

Dropping the last three golds he had
With restless tears he ran ahead!
'Till he reached the rim of his house
Next to the farm of eight big cows.

There was a large group of neighbours
Gathering in front of the doors.
Beneath them on the wooden floors
Laid his mother, lifeless and sore.

'Mother! Mother!'
He wept and cried throughout the day
'Till the sun waned and stepped away.
He flung his hands 'to his pocket
and felt the forsaken locket.

He recalled his mother's message
Before he walked to his office.
'Forget not to buy some cabbage
as well as some bright golden fish'.

'For they'll cure me of this poison
which makes me feel like a prison.
And therefore they shalt save my life
as long as thou'rt back before five.'

'Keep yon locket and then sell it;
for it is my only treasure.
Look after and take care of it;
never lose it due to failure.'

But he forgot and ignored this!
As he walked home and met the worms.
He sold nothing and brought no fish
as he ventured along the storms.

Now his mamma's among the dead;
cried he 'till his eyes strewn and red!
With a torn heart he sorely mourned
as into the earth she returned.

And sent into jail was then he!
For he was deemed the one guilty.
Of his wild ways and carelessness;
so is his stubborn childishness!

How he was now a condemned wretch!
Happiness he would never fetch!
As everyone cherished their days,
in his dusty cell he decayed.

In three years he committed suicide;
People found him dead with eyes wide.
Reproaching his own foolishness;
regretting his bare loneliness.
Man Nov 2020
odium
reproaching his fellow man
eyes all with burning coals
yearning for the rising sun

the caveats fuel
yet he is without service,
his engine block rusted
the firing pistons stunted

driving the flat stretch
inching nearer
the blank star
Jamie Richardson Mar 2017
What if I uttered your true name
Would you shrivel and die like a god?
Or would life remain the same,
As you turn to the wall to sob

Before reproaching yourself with tears,
“What's wrong with me” the cry
To which I don't reply
So repeats the chorus of our years

What if we forgot our shame
Would you ascend to be with the gods?
Don't call them by their true name,
Or you'd be sure to find yourself lost

You'd return to me with a shriek
That’d make leaves wither on trees
And as you reproach me from your knees,
So we would repeat another week

Sitting by the sea, reassuring
Grey on gold. Rain spattering
Down. I am the only soul.
And I am the only soul.

What if we both forgot?
As we'd drink the Lethe deep
The past would matter not,
I would again sweep you from your feet

But as we wake the next day,
With heads fragile and sore
All things would be as before
With reproaching holding sway

What if we both called time?
Two Kingfishers flying free
Soaring further to the sublime,
Our paths divergently

A weight would halt our course
Unseen yet wholly real
We have to face our remorse
If we are ever again to feel

Sitting by the sea, happily
Golden blue, sun shimmering
On, me our child and you,
Remember, me our child and you.

What if we accept our fate
And treasure the memories we hold,
Perhaps it's not too late,
For you and I to grow old
Lee Turpin Mar 2012
motionless pull up and drag
sick leans on my bones and up through them,
I look at something else and see death

sitting plainly
not even twenty feet away
quietly seeing back at me,
seeing only black and feeling only what I feel

you’re next to me and a minute later you see it too
and as with you, you see it as something else
you get up, “let me show you that.”
stride, as you do, to its side and as if it were truly a thing,
pick it up
stride back to me and turn it over and over in your hands
and I am shuddering in your affections
my clear reproaching eyes
are adoring you

oh, solemn and before I can think again
I am moving away and seeing in reverse the things I saw when
I was about to see you
the sky is opening up for me
I am flying with the sun
but you’re fading out,
sleeping radio static
becoming still
and I am finding it difficult to remain in motion
Madame Eleanor Oct 2014
Despite what you think you're a pretty smart guy
But you're so dumb sometimes.
Why is it you see yourself in such a negative light?
Don't you know I love you?
Shouldn't the depth of my devotion be enough proof-
That you're nothing less than totally devine?
Silly self-reproaching boy, I'll be sure you never feel imperfect so long as you're mine.
I'll make you love you,
Like I do.
Rhet Toombs Jan 2015
Pity
Isn't it too?
That as I neared a reproaching breath
That I should be pulled under
And with no one to hold me
Funny
Isn't it too?
I saw you running alone the shore
Once more
And kept running
As I swam away
You opened the cellar door
I thought I was the only one
To have these reproaching regrets of not staying in touch
It happens to be a story device we've seen too much
We make everything remote
Finishing this bad habit with a garrote
Is not the most pleasant portion of our lives
But the hammer has to come down somehow
We don't want to be sitting on a table asking ourselves why we didn't try when they were alive.
Sombro Jun 2017
Her
Reproaching, leaning against my attention
Her cupped body, my eyes trickle down her
Luminous hair, jealous dress against her earthenware, earnest skin
Framing what she knows like the book in her hand, her palm
Eagerly charitable, arms
Unconcerned, unlike eyes
Describing tempests I only assume she has
Found within, espoused without, our gorse lining
The blooming of social trials
And her look, glance, flitted worry
Grey eyes not surrendering the reflection
That's not there
Luminous, grotto ragazza
Is what I see, what I see
Ady Feb 2014
Deter my mind of thoughts of you,
expedite the process of reproaching;
before sick in love my sacrifice I promise.
Tell the chilly incessant buds of hate-
to blossom in the land of crimson.
Beg the merciless Son of Venus;
to withdraw his embedded arrow.
Deter my eyes from the sights of you,
truncate the weeds in the walls of my garden;
before all is covered in the ivy caresses of your burden.
Tell the sun to draw its blinds-
to darken the places in which you shine.
Beg the doctor for a poison;
to desecrate the altar in which I find you.
Oh, for me, I pray
Do not stray to the impious mischief that can be-
your compelling ushering of passion.
Satsih Verma Nov 2017
Robbed―
of my aloneness, by
an army of ravens―

thoughts. I
meditate and weave
your face―

in muse. My
journey begins on a
mist scent as the moon rises.

What more you
want, than the silence,
before the bell tolls.
Ashley Kane Apr 2018
I Wish I could love myself
Or
See my own beauty that others apparently see

I wish I could feel my body’s worth and potential
I wish I could live to be the best me

To fill myself with nutrition and goodness
To have wild ambition and love free

To fight for my dreams and feel full and high on life
Why can’t I do this for me ?

Why do I poison myself with sugar and gin
Why don’t I get up and move

Almost brain dead, catatonic
old and to broken
Just a big disappointment to me

My own expectations have fallen and gone
My self respect doesn’t exist

I exhaust from self reproaching jokes and I don’t expect anything of me

(C) Ashley Kane Fb
Folie Jan 2019
Godless black seas cast upon the Sun’s field
Of eyes that vainly crave the light
What good amid this line
Heaven forbid they see you cry
No one dares look to the sky

And as the rain covers this line
of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me
So sad our ocean graves are just beyond the sand
I ask myself the question why
We still wait for light

We’ve been standing here for so long
Of the empty and useless years of the rest
Forever reproaching myself, I hear a voice inside my head
Follow me instead
And I will break from our ranks

Escaping what we’ve made
Of cities fill’d with the foolish
Of the poor miles of land in front of us
And the wages of war will start
I will be in line against the clouds

At last we’ve won, in trade some die
And the powerful play goes on
With the rest me intertwine take me up
Seal the door
Death has received many souls, I am just one more.
This poem is actually my English project
We had to use a 5 line stanza 5 times were we use a poem we've read a song of our choosing and making a song out of it
it goes Self, Poem, Poem/Song, Song, Self.
This was really hard to make but I hope you enjoy it and I hope my teacher does as well
I used the poem Oh me! Oh Life By Walt Whitman
And the song March To The Sea by Tyler Joseph

Make sure to leave a comment on what you think the meaning is!
Joseph Fernandez May 2021
Sometimes we just need to say to ourselves that things will turn out all right.
The fact is, life now is never going to stop being a constant bullfight.

Mental struggles everyday are with us it seems on the hour.
How will we persist, from where will we get the power?

Since things adverse will always find their way deep into our skin.
No sense in our infinitely looking back at the negatives of where we’ve been.

Going forward from where we are is the correct key.
It opens the only door to our positive sanity.

Hence on, when that next dilemma comes along what can we immediately say?
Very simply,
It’ll be okay
It’ll be okay

I know that you are thinking, is this really going to do anything, and in you perhaps is much doubt?
But just think for a moment of all your past problems, and how you thought there was no possible way out.
Was God not always there to make you firm and stout?

The resolution came along did it not?
You certainly didn’t continue in the same confounding spot.

So once again I give you in just three words that with which to combat life’s endless situations of uncertain grey.
It’ll be okay
It’ll be okay

An additional piece of most important and wise advice that will solidify our recovery in all of life’s quandaries.
Remembering always with wisdom from God, all solutions to our deepest problems have no boundaries.

He’ll give us the way out when we don’t know how?
Leave us to crumble when we are in a difficult predicament, he simply will not allow.

If we ask from a heart of sincerity for help, he will always be there.
Please remember, our Heavenly Fathers love for us, is beyond all compare!

As a father most compassionate, when faced with trials, can you hear the reassuring words he to us will tenderly say?
It’ll be okay...
It’ll be okay...


J.I.F.


Matthew 6:34
34 So never be anxious about the next day, for the next day will have its own anxieties. Each day has enough of its own troubles.

James 1:5
5 So if any one of you is lacking in wisdom, let him keep asking God, for he gives generously to all and without reproaching, and it will be given him.

John 3:16
16 For God loved the world so much that he gave his only-begotten Son, so that everyone exercising faith in him might not be destroyed but have everlasting life.

1 Peter 5:6,7
6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time,  7 while you throw all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.
Dave Bosworth Apr 2023
Sleeping cats
And vanquished bats
Are all we're really about

You put on the TV
Pull out the coffee mug
I'll forget the rocker's shout

I loved you from the moment I met you
I never loved someone more
To feel feckless when I forget you,
To witness the whole planet roar

Tonight I'm a desolate crow
Only because you're not around
I'll do my best 'gainst my swelling chest
To be someone Jesus found

But I'll hand it to you
You fixed this clown,
Broken down and all a mess

You fetched me humility
With reproaching tranquility
Guess that's what I needed best

The past has had its time
It's taken its sublime low bow
I think of tomorrow without fear or sorrow
And live in the almighty Now

© Copyright David Bosworth April 2023
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2021
Blaming the innocent…
a form of insanity

Armed with good intention
—reproaching the night

(Dreamsleep: June, 2021)
James Daniel Jul 2023
Lady Bird


We got home in the early morning
The after party on the boat was pretty pathetic
But the night, venue and music itself was tip-top
It's been a long time since I've been out on drugs
And it won't be the last

I went with Ahmet, my legend of a friend and housemate
We've booked ourselves for another next month, but that's the last one ever! I promise!

So I was sitting in the conservatory alone
In the morning sun
And I notice a Grand Lady Bird singing
I close my eyes and listen
We are all listening to her

They are definite phrases
Eloquent and heavy with her touch and emotion
Sighs of praise from the older women next door
I don't even speak her language
But she is singing her best, her most beautiful
And we are all pinned on her

Crash BANG!
The noisy big bird of a ***** crashed into the conservatory ceiling
And squarks like a rude fat idiot
Quiet, settle
He better not make another noise, fat ****

Lady Bird begins out of no-where
3 notes
She stops

We are all supporting her on, in our minds

The not such a good singing little supporter breaks into his best song
No, no, no, no says Elegant loving Lady bird
It carries on a bit, this back and forth, a bit of comedy
No, ahhh, no, ahhhh, no...

Somewhere in this I'd forgot to mention
Lady Bird was angry at me
I'd somehow, unknowingly got her attention
And she was reproaching me
I picked myself out of all the surrounds to be the one that Lady Bird was getting angry at
And I was listening so intently to her song
So you can imagine how quickly I wanted to sink and hide from her view

But later I did get to speak with her
I asked her if I should continue singing
She said yes it was good, and this is from her!
To go for it
But be smart......

So this is the story about Lady Bird in our back yard
I'll try to play with her next time, on the guitar
Let's see, she is out there
Ever since mine boyhood
I experienced abhorrence
toward yours truly,
an extremely introverted kid,
whose parents nor siblings
(one younger and older sister) could
not arouse him out of his emotional torpor
akin being on par with
Peter Peter pumpkin eater...
whereby he (meaning
author who wrote this poem)
kept himself isolated, quarantined, and xed out
within self made shell.

Me mum mollycoddled her only son
bathed him in maternal love
omnipotent motherliness
figuratively guillotined
(unwittingly) healthy maturation,
thus development sabotaged
courtesy figurative apron strings.

No matter his filial relationship woeful
(to thee woman who birthed him),
he registered sentimental value
regarding keepsakes bequeathed,
he still keeps cherished mementoes
redolent when she lived.

Call him a mama's happy go lucky boy
whose later ambivalent feelings
tarnished, undermined and vitiated
short lived tender loving care,
which brief vouchsafed cocooned wellbeing
regarding idyllic rapport between parents,
got staind, suppurated, sundered, sullied...
in later years by incrimination
against being gainfully unemployed.

February twenty eighth ninety sixty eight
marked a tectonic seismic shift as moving vans
transported our household freight
to (at that time) R(ural) D(elivery) 2,
Level Road Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426,
a ramshackle (summer) mansion named Glen Elm
plus whittled down fraction
of original Hundred Acre plus wood.

Relocation with Lower Providence School District,
approximately half dozen mile distance
between former and latter home(s),
nevertheless psyche of mine
property of extremely introverted kid
severely hi-jacked.

Invisible to the naked eye
traumatization (courtesy
chastising and reproaching -
by fellow classmates
and later in life
birth parents and inlaws
dealt hefty figurative jab)
tremendously impacted yours truly
analogous to him moving bajillion miles away
compounded by his withdrawn demeanor

diagnosed when he reached middle adulthood
as schizoid personality disorder,
thus exhibiting obvious developmental delay
bullied courtesy nasty brutes,
who scapegoated and rejoiced
with hip hip hurray,
meanwhile I experienced
terrible psychological melee
escaping to safe confines of bedroom,
where I wanted to stay
for mine remaining years of life.

Retrospective review
now approaching my doddering old age
constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick
played on super tramping urchin,
who traipes across virtual global stage
ensnared within whorled webbed wide
spending his hard earned itty bitty wage
spinning one strand after another.
S Aug 2021
Stead he, once aloft high mountains
the ravine bellowed upon tides unsung,
sought lands unbeknownst to him
far across oceans as daffodils chirped
to be still whilst robins burned
and hound the tasteless nectar
ripped asunder underneath the spiral shelled slimy chained beasts ...

Once it was that everlasting agony
could not fulfill perfunctory oaths whiche'r
sunken tribe prided upon,
the chieftain adorned in his garland of skulls
satiated his pains within lofts of fire.
Sparks clouded the presumptuous begat holy water
and knives wound heretofore hate ridden bellies,
carved with rusted blades and bent iron
With each bell rung, a million epochs tumbled.
and Thus hovered the pledgion, crying hoofs and browbeaten droughts
in all splendor and prose !
Giant trees stood before him
reproaching the presence of bygone feet
loud was the rustle and harsh were the uncurling leaves
to be withered away by blackened seeds.

In halted symphonies did cries of woe recede before
hate blurred lines that fear devised,
and pride begrudged asunder, crones of fruitless endeavour
towards sunken cloth and forsaken joys;
Instinct upon reach lay before he
"Whereupon this glance is my whittled bride
she who prattles about in surreality ?"
the silence followed the swift tail wind and met the brittle spear
****** herein, louting jaundiced rendezvous and accoutrements winked into
by lonely hearts shrouded in frivolous tones of mystery.
But falter not did he,
for men do seldom bathe in the harness of failure
rather than crows mimic the nests of sparrows
so that every twitch lauded and immortality spanned by darkened visages
cawed into the blood, hitherto plucked in tarry reeds;
He came upon a fork
and wondered aloud "why is there but a nested abandon 'ere -
soaked fragrance and ridicule greets but the seldom few
who dare challenge the beast that lay within;
wary of unwoken lust bound in shiny drudgery,
be it ignorance that compels the starving
that voyages sown upon tapestries raw,
could take shape in weary eyes
and nascent tears of milk,flood the bow
yet unstruck by ignoble appetites of unladen treachery
while lurked prey lament the sharpened
sow of her majesty's trumpet ground in dust through
riveting songs of intertwined floods
adorned in destiny and swindled by fate !"

"Now look here, to the west" , the voice cried
for riches to be held in weight vanished the annals writ within
"Cry to me the sorrows to be laden
by growing tendons and grudges herein.
In these pangs of misery do I dream of the morrow,
of countless sunlights upon the flesh of misery
and wings that glide amidst tenuous storms",
For neither did mountain nor river below
do little to fasten a shade of warmth and passionate sin,
halt either stride or furrow
With which giants leaped across corpses of devils
and men scribed souls towards glimpses of voluptuous grins.
"Lend but an ear, to the magical east,
at laughter glowing and talons lauded
with unsung whispers raked in sun belied rot,
and sagely jests upon magisterial gods"

Thus ends his journey to fallowed ravines,
bound in knowledge and in blood,
O Men, Speak no more of his glorious persona!
As mercy beckons for grace to begin
and with fallen stupor groweth wisdom
to be perched upon desire unfulfilled but lulled into unity,
As twilight echoes through dawn like rumbling snow capped peaks
and the orange night succumbs to starlight with fateful longing
So does he peruse the forsaken trail
forevermore, and at ever last.

— The End —