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The Good Pussy May 2015
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       simple simple        simple simple
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Hunter Aldrich Dec 2017
Simple brown hair that reaches just above her broad shoulders.
Simple green eyes that are glazed over looking for adventure, and tears that were kept on her pillow.
A simple curvy body that isn’t petite but isn’t round.
Simple clothing that is sized too big, hiding her insecurities and scars for many years.
Simple hands that help her make her ideas come to life.
Simple feet rhythmically hit the ground to a beat of her creation.
Simple mind that has held many thoughts, the good and the bad.
A simple face that displays her simple green eyes and freckles that dance around her nose and cheeks.
Simple lips that have sung with love and determination, explained her thoughts, admitted to love and a smile.
Her simple smile that is loved, a simple smile that she gives to others.
A simple smile that can turn a bad day better.
Her simple face brightens the day with every glance.
Her simple green eyes that dance and sparkle in the light she gives.
Her simple brown hair that is tucked behind her ear when she’s nervous.
Her simple curvy body that has shown others that you can be beautiful no matter the size.
Her simple hands that have made beautiful creations that give others hope, that has held the hands of the broken keeping them safe.
Her simple feet that have danced around her room and have created beats.
Her simple mind that has given others hope as well as herself that everything will be okay.
A simple girl that is anything but simple.
A simple girl that is anything but normal, she is unique but broken.
She is trying but struggling.
She loves and is loved.
A simple girl that has dreamed of adventure.
A simple girl living her life as if it’s her last day.
A simple green-eyed, brown hair, freckled girl who has hope.
Anwer Ghani Apr 2019
Be simple and you will be beautiful. Be simple and I will love you more.Believe me, be simple and everything will love you more and more. The amazing nature is simple, the awesome seas are simple and the holy sky is simple. Beauty is the simple simplicity. Life is not in the complexity; life is in the simplicity. Your sleepy eyes are more beautiful with simple eyelashes, and your smooth whispers penetrate my hearts with your simple words. Here, in my chest, there is a very simple heart knows nothing but spontaneity and need nothing but simple love. When I talk, I talk simply, when I eat I eat simply and when I love, I love simply. So, please love me with your simple love and call me by my simple name. I love you deeply when you are simple and I get crazy when your smile is very simple.
Johnny Noiπ Jan 2019
❤ Simple and simpler naked woman,
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Definitions of peace
Noun
1
freedom from disturbance; quiet and tranquility.
you can while away an hour or two in peace and seclusion
Synonyms:
tranquilitycalmrestfulnesspeace and quietpeacefulnessquietquietnessprivacysolitude
2
freedom from or the cessation of war or violence.
the Straits were to be open to warships in time of peace
3
a ceremonial handshake or kiss exchanged during a service in some churches (now usually only in the Eucharist), symbolizing Christian love and unity.
The incomprehensible sermon was long past, and the handshake of peace was next.
Exclamation
1
used as a greeting.
2
used as an order to remain silent.
The Nobel Peace Prize is one of the five Nobel Prizes established by the will of Swedish industrialist, inventor, and armaments manufacturer Alfred Nobel, along with the prizes in Chemistry, Physics, Physiology or Medicine, and Literature. The Nobel Prize (, Swedish pronunciation: [nʊˈbɛlː]; Swedish definite form, singular: Nobelpriset; Norwegian: Nobelprisen) is a set of annual international awards bestowed by Swedish and Norwegian institutions in recognition of academic, cultural, or scientific advances.
Infernal Phantasmagoria

CowID's mad laboratory —
A global ****** ward.
How came this grim phantasmagory?
A fool adored — how odd.

For what was he then branded,
And dosed with toxic brew?
Have fascist freaks just landed,
To spit on all that's true?

The laws of all creation —
They will repay the toll
For torture, war, damnation,
And every twisted role.

These wars are all invented.
The end for them is near.
Those not with Spirit — ended.
Decay is drawing near.

The stench of walking corpses —
Their numbers flood the land.
Since man obeys dark forces,
Then Evil takes command.

But only minds still thinking
Can feel the hangover's weight.
The fiends rejoice, then — sinking
Into their final fate.

Today their end is starting.
So crush them, strike with might!
Let not your soul be parting —
Stand up and start the fight.

These wars are hybrid, silent,
Where words alone can slay.
So be direct — defiant —
And drive all lies away.

Their filth infects the nations,
Their blood now flows like rain.
Their propaganda-stations
Speak poison, death, and pain.

They drink that blood, deranged —
These ghouls will rot and die.
Just never bow, unchanged —
And never live a lie.

For lies — the real transgression,
Much worse than ******’s rot.
Corrupting mind’s possession,
Where reason fights and’s shot.

One lie — and you’re forsaken,
If spoken where it counts.
Don’t kneel, though worn and shaken —
Strike back with full amounts.

Don’t bow down to the madness —
Seek wiser paths instead.
New arts of war bring gladness —
Revive them — forge ahead.

Your foe is cold, inhuman,
Deceit their sweet disguise.
They hug you soft and looming —
Then stab you with surprise.

Go inward — seek your reason —
No outer guide will do.
Their counsel breeds more treason,
And blinds the path for you.

Their "truths" are baited offers,
Each clown declares, "I'm God!"
The Devil’s net still proffers
Each self-enslaved façade.

Believe in what you must —
But never dare to lie.
Be silent if you must —
But let no truth go dry.

For lies in things of essence —
I’ll shout this truth again —
Are crimes, vile, effervescent,
That ring through hearts of men.

Like false bells in a chapel,
Distracting souls from grace,
This circus of dumb rabble
Crowns lice to lead the race.

Each maggot plays "the teacher" —
This idiot in command —
And if you let him reach you,
You’ll serve his twisted brand.

In lies, small sparks of meaning
Are drowned — that’s Satan’s trick:
A sea of crap, careening —
So thick it makes you sick.

They triple lies to drown you,
Then drown it more in ****.
Few minds remain unclouded
In madhouse counterfeit.

The rule of mass infection:
"Big numbers must be right!"
Thus fools crush introspection —
The brave crushed out of sight.

So speak with minds that matter,
And leave the mad behind.
Let fools go burn and scatter —
Their fate’s already signed.

Fascism made it clear now
What kind of world we face.
The lash of lies grows near now —
A tidal wave, no grace.

But even that won't alter
The truth: if you submit,
You’re gone. No hope, no shelter —
Starvation will soon hit.

They'll swallow what they're given,
These meatbags, pre-designed.
One meme — and they are driven…
The script’s already lined.

Their lines, their fake crusaders,
All spawn of soulless breeds —
Their lies will **** the nations
And feed the goats like weeds.

That’s how their rule is forming —
But here’s the wicked twist:
They fear the storms a-swarming —
Their time is nearly missed.

The Earth shall soon erupting
Erase this madhouse scene.
Their terror is corrupting —
Their filth grows more obscene.

They shat themselves from fearing
The end that draws too near.
Now just a step’s appearing —
Beyond that edge — it's clear.

Beyond it — resurrection
Of worthy souls, not swine.
Corruption meets correction —
The filth will burn in time.

Our Sun — with sacred power —
Will cleanse this vile parade.
Just glance out at this hour —
The signs are all displayed.

The children’s art has shown it —
A century ago —
Their yellow suns still glow in’t —
Now white — and set to glow.

That burn will scorch all evil —
No trace shall still remain.
No devil, beast or weasel
Survives the final flame.

And life will live in Spirit —
I'll say it one more time.
The blind won't ever hear it —
But fury still is mine.

And so this poem’s ending —
My second one today.
New themes I keep defending,
Till this one fades away.

Well then, I place the period.
Dear reader — march ahead!
Delay is Hell’s preferred god —
And fools will soon be dead.

This path from Hell is brutal —
Not many will survive.
But once you cross that portal —
You’ll feel, you are alive.

The memory of Hell, though,
Still poisons many hearts.
But lice won’t understand so —
They’re less than lesser parts.

So fight with Light your beacon —
Let it direct your path.
And if advice has weakened —
Recall the righteous wrath.

Just test it all through Spirit.
You will not go astray.
That Light? Once you are near it —
No flies will stain the day.

Spirit. Light. Intuition.
That’s all you'll ever need.
Tradition? False sedition.
Go on in Light — Godspeed.



---------------------



Infernal Phantasmagoria

In a global madhouse, lies fuel fascist roars—
Stand steadfast in Spirit; deceit shapes wars.
One truth, once shattered, dusts the ****** to flame—
Only Light endures; intuition stakes its claim.



---------------------



Ignorance

"The more you know — the deeper your ignorance."
— A saying from Buddhism


Wild ignorance — a polished shell,
While fake science rings its knell.
Legacy of poisoned lore
Turns the mind to rotting core.

But wait — the brain is just a tool,
Not the source! We've played the fool.
"Knowledge" floods — and in that tide,
Truth and Spirit both have died.

What remains? A crippled mind,
Logic blind, and soul confined.
Modern schooling’s sacred goal —
Train the servant. **** the soul.

Devil’s own design, it seems —
Darkness coded into streams.
Through the programs, thought’s eclipse —
Lies pour from obedient lips.

Snakes have sold us sterilized
Pseudoscience, sanitized.
We call that "knowledge" — what a joke!
The mind’s on fire. The soul? It chokes.

Memory — they overload.
That’s how talents are destroyed.
Those in charge — they know, they plot.
Every byte a poison shot.

And the herd still can’t perceive
What these mind-tools now achieve.
"More is more"? The fatal flaw —
Slaughterhouse in name of "law."

Simple truths can still be known —
If the soul is clean, alone.
But one lie, in matters grand,
Spills the blood on every land.

There begins the genocide,
When intuition’s pushed aside.
So reclaim it. Make it creed.
If you're brave — then yes, you'll read

Through illusion’s murky breath,
Past the silence reeked of death.
Don’t engage the liar’s bait —
It will only cultivate

The cunning mask of devil’s wit
Where no truth or light can fit.
Hell prepares another phase:
"Knowledge" now — the plague they praise.

Want more "knowledge"? Here's your prize —
More deceit in noble guise.
Spirit bruised, and mind grown cold —
Ignorance in data sold.



---------------------



"The more you know," — they said. A lie.
You trade your soul to feed your "I".
Their "truth" is poison, wrapped in gloss —
The more you learn — the more you're lost.



---------------------



Congrats, you're “educated”! Cheers!
Enjoy your cage of polished fears.
You've mastered crap in high disguise —
Now drown in facts and die in lies.



---------------------



The Grand Academy of Dung
Awarded you a gold-plated tongue.
You speak in charts and graphs and spells —
But sniff — it reeks. You’ve earned the bells.

A Doctor of Deeper Delusion!
You majored in Thought-Prostitution.
Your thesis: “Why Truth Is Offense” —
Applause! And back to the trench of pretense.



---------------------



Requiem for the Empire of Knowledge

They built a throne on rotten codes,
Enshrined their lies in learning’s robes.
Each "fact" — a fang. Each "proof" — a chain.
Their books exude the stench of brain.

They crowned the Mind, enslaved the Soul,
Preached death as "life", and rot as "whole".
Their logic — limp. Their science — blind.
Their schools — the slaughterhouse of Mind.

Professors chant like priests of rust,
While hearts collapse in ash and dust.
Acolytes of sterile thought
Bled the world for what? For what?

A thousand PhDs in hell
Now teach the art of how to fell
The Spirit with a spreadsheet lie —
"Enlightenment!" — they shriek, then die.

And still the towers hum and gleam,
While Truth is burned for one more scheme.
So let it fall — this hollow shrine.
Its God is dead. Its blood is mine.



---------------------



Thrones of lies and rotting scrolls —
They sold their minds, but lost their souls.
"Enlightenment" — a bleeding lie,
Watch their hollow empire die.



---------------------



Lies crowned fools, souls sold to dust —
Fight the false, betray the trust!



---------------------



The Art of Collar-Making

A slave’s collar —
A madness shield for the mind,
The crowd devours
All “smart books” they find.

They read laws,
Freedom, progress — a mess.
But here’s a den of evil,
And lies press and press.

Idiots scream loud,
Like fools possessed.
Lock ’em up with thugs —
Let poison be their guest.

Almost all makes sense,
Yet the core’s a fake.
Truth’s replaced
By cynical stake.

Surrogates fill the void,
The world’s a sham!
Slaves always welcome
Any excuse, ****.

It plays out in moves,
Three steps ahead.
Call out the lie —
You’ll be marked dead.

Lies so habitual,
Death’s dressed as truth.
Fools hysteric chant,
“I’m no stench to soothe.”

“Constitution!” they cry,
“Progress and such!”
But mind’s prostituted,
Souls lost as much.

Around lie corpses,
Dead but “with God” bound,
Slave to lies,
Chains tight and sound.

They’re Satan’s own,
Yet deny the fact.
They lie to themselves —
Fury intact.

They hate not slavery,
But those who see it clear —
The masters of the leash
Their real fear.

All minds enslaved,
The art of the collar —
Rudeness, shame,
A crooked scholar.

Masters abundant,
A pond full of snakes...
This foul breed’s old —
Forever self-fakes.

Teaching kids to lie,
Destroying true souls,
Killing real people
To fit their roles.

Break this cursed cycle —
Smash lies everywhere,
So Reason won’t wither —
Like a collar to wear.



---------------------



Slave Collar

Slave collar’s made of lies —
Mind’s plague, truth’s demise.
Books of fools, chains tight,
Freedom’s just a sick joke’s bite.

Hate those who see the leash,
Masters love the false peace.
Break the cycle, shatter lies,
Or Reason dies — and Freedom dies.



---------------------



Slave Collar’s Scorn

Slave collar chokes your mind —
Fools worship chains they find.
Books lie, laws betray,
Freedom’s just a rotten play.

Hate the ones who see the trap,
Masters feed the coward’s crap.
Break the curse — tear down the lie,
Or watch your soul rot and die.



---------------------



The Spiritual Path

Birth is no beginning —
Death is not the end.
Time and space are thinning —
Truth must now descend.

Forget the priests and science shows —
Their teachings rot like moldy bread.
The heart, not mind, is what one knows.
And mind must serve the soul instead.

When lies arise — expose, deny.
Don't let their dogmas shape your breath.
This world was rigged. Its god? A lie.
The “scholar” feeds you sleep and death.

The sacred Spark — they're bleeding dry,
Replacing Light with myth and blood.
They serve the Beast, and smirk, and lie,
And flood the world with soulless mud.

Your Spirit lives beyond all time —
No cause, no space, no birth, no end.
The cosmos rots beneath the grime
Of fools who claim that Void’s a trend.

Expand your sight beyond the frame —
Not logic's net, but inner flame.
To trap the Infinite with brain
Is catching wind — or worse, a name.

Let logic serve — but not command.
Let intuition steer your course.
Say “NO!” to all that filth and brand,
Then dive within — the sacred source.

Go deep — alone, in silent fire,
And Truth will whisper from the still.
The path is steep, the stakes are dire —
One slip, and Fear becomes your will.

They sell you “salvation” packs —
Each social fraud, a cancer new.
Ideas? Burn them to the wax.
They serve the Beast, and lie as true.

Theories stink — a mental mold
To cage your soul and dim the skies.
Infinity cannot be told
By ants who stare with starless eyes.

This path is hard — but it’s the way.
All else is fall, decay, and doom.
Reject this world’s grotesque display,
Its circus masks, its poisoned bloom.

Only through Spirit’s rise you'll see
The nature of death, life, and space.
Else you remain a wretched flea —
A fool who walks to Hell's embrace.



---------------------



They bleed your soul, then sell you lies —
The path is Spirit, not disguise.
Burn all their dogmas, **** the fake —
Or walk to Hell for comfort’s sake.



---------------------



Self-Knowledge

"Light" and DARK will make you snap
If you never sort it out.
Every clown with truth on tap
Spews his filth to gain some clout.

Blind belief’s a deadly sin —
Turn your insight full awake!
That's the way to win within,
Not to chase the Dark’s sweet fake.

Darkness first, and then comes Light —
Only minds that purge the grime
Can receive that inner sight.
But the world’s a madhouse slime.

So the Mind must be made clean —
That’s the key. Don’t drift or doze.
In the chaos in between,
Catch the sparks the Spirit throws.

Light’s inside — not on display,
What you see’s just faint reflection.
Dawn won’t come the outer way —
Beasts drown all in their infection.

War and CowID made it plain:
We have sunk in purest rot.
Everything else is sugar rain —
Empty noise and evil plot.

True insight speaks without a word —
That’s the yogi’s final stance.
Spare yourself the braying herd,
And their mind-killing expanse.

Theories rot — they sell your soul.
Satan pays them, clear as day.
Final lie to take control,
Then drag everyone that way.

Tear through one more bottom layer,
Break it down and sink us all —
Words hold power, so beware:
This is war, not some close call.

What’s beyond all words and lies
Stands where evil holds no chain.
There, the Soul learns how to rise —
Not through goats, but through the Flame.



---------------------



Goat-Words ****

Their words are chains. Their truths are fake.
Go past them — or you're meat for Snake.



---------------------



No Prospects Left

Time has proved — there’s no way out.
Masses ruled by lies and doubt,
Since their birth they're fed with crap —
Tools of beasts to set the trap.

Mindless weight, a slow decay —
Darkness pushed into the clay.
Beasts install their coded curse,
Turning truth to smoke — or worse.

Rare the minds that see through fog,
Few remain with soul and spark.
This is Hell, not some mirage —
CowID showed it — truth discharged.

Crawled in holes, they hoard their shame,
Silence swallowed every name.
Till they’re dragged to camps by force —
Night shall gallop with no horse.

And what waits at "break of day"?
Gunshots. Lies. Obey or pay.
Truth is whipped out of the sky —
Tyrants smile, and preachers lie.

Now they build their brave new road,
Fleeced by fear, the herd is towed.
But the Plan — surprise! — misfired:
Nature's wrath cannot be wired.

Storms shall break their plastic schemes,
End the filth of broken dreams.
But if you just nod and bow,
Your own soul is lost — right now.

Only those who fight this ****,
Face the beasts and will not run,
Shall preserve the light above —
Fierce rebellion is true love.



---------------------



No God for the tamed —
Only hell for the blind.
If you kneel to the Beast,
You betray your own mind.



---------------------



Kneel to the Beast —
And your soul is deceased.



---------------------



Divisions and False Identities

First they split you by your ego,
Then divide by *** and skin,
Add a nation’s fake “protego” —
Now the war machine can spin.

Break the soul into a segment,
Drag each piece toward its cage —
How? It’s easy: lie incessant.
Lies ignite the herds to rage.

Split them further — atomize!
Rule them through this mad decay.
Keep the Spirit from the skies,
Block the path, then lead astray.

Beasts in suits have known the method —
Long ago they cracked this code:
“Man is cattle, dumb and breathless,
Easy prey for our dark load.”

Ego’s forged through years of grooming,
*** declared as “core of self.”
Cries of fate and ancient dooming —
“Blame your homeland’s brutal wealth!”

Now your “tribe” calls out for duty,
Join the mass of marching tools.
What divides us isn't beauty —
Just the chains and laws of fools.

Flee from ego, ***, and borders!
Go within — the path is clear.
Dodge the traps and false disorders,
Find the Spirit shining near.

You're a soul — a truth eternal.
All else: nonsense, fear, and lies.
Chains of “daily life” diurnal
Keep the flocks in small disguise.

False identities enslave you,
Like a chain around the mind.
Thus the Light begins to leave you,
And the eyes of thought go blind.

There’s a blind spot in your psyche —
It’s the ***, the ego-bluff.
Time to cut this garbage lightly:
Spirit’s genderless — and tough.

Reason rises far above it,
Nations? ******* for the tame.
Only when the Soul moves of it
Will you break this twisted game.

Cast off all the chains that bind you
With Awareness sharp and raw.
Books won't save — they will blind you.
If you trust them — fool by law!

So ignite your intuition,
Sharpen thought and inner fire.
Make the war on lies tradition —
Else the flames will take you higher...

…but not where Spirit flies —
To the dungeons where truth dies.



---------------------



Burn the Labels, Break the Chain —
Only Spirit shall remain.



---------------------



Ego. ***. The Nation’s Lie —
**** them all, or Spirit dies.



---------------------



The Mouseborn Farce

A mountain gave birth — to a mouse.
That sums up man: a spineless louse.
Though calm seems etched upon the land,
It’s just a mask, a slight of hand.

“He’s wise! He’s strong!” — repeat the lie,
And feed him pride until he’s blind.
Doubt? Replace it with a sigh
And worship madness of the mind.

**** off the Spirit — use “belief.”
And for the mind? Call “Science” chief.
Just feed them lies, in layers thick,
And mock it all — that does the trick.

To mock all layers of this rot,
This false world — that’s the TVAR’s plot.
No peace, just poison in disguise.
This world? A graveyard wrapped in lies.

Creator fled — and beasts arrived,
With Satan’s glee, well-armed, alive.
They lie and rule through fear alone —
One shiver, and the lie has grown.

To mock, degrade — that's all they seek:
To gut the Spirit, break the weak.
Then, while you laugh or clutch your pride,
They slip the rot in from inside.

Success? Oh yes — their poison spread.
The slave is dumb. The dream is dead.
Two-thirds are fools, the rest asleep,
And buried deep in ******* heap.

The mountain labored. Birth was due…
A mouse. A mutant — that is you.
You “fit right in”? You’re half-dead meat.
Still think this life’s some kind of feat?

This “life” — a hellish rodent show.
Drop it. Save your Soul — and go.
All else is trash. So why delay?
Go in. Find Truth. Or rot in grey.



---------------------



Mouseborn ****

The mountain birthed a worthless mouse —
A spineless, dumb, degraded louse.
You sleep? You’re part of this disease,
Or just another mutant, please.

This life’s a rodent circus hell —
Drop it now or rot in shell.
Find your Soul or drown in lies —
Or fall with all the rodent flies.



---------------------



Female Psychology

Hormones rage, thoughts drip-drop—
Rush to nests where lies don’t stop.
Weak folk trapped in falsity’s hold,
No escape — the ****’s in control.

So children come, the dull man’s plight,
***’s joy fades into inner fight.
They train for patience, save the nest,
Though bent in hell, they give their best.

Brains pierced through with fear and lies,
Kids rot fast where darkness lies.
Fascism marches, world-wide crawl—
But **** just sees some petty thrall.

Hormones blaze, spirit drowned—
Idiots cheer as end’s profound.
Forward now, you clueless drones!
Let’s bring the End on tyrant thrones.

A hateful tale of genocide,
Join the ranks, or be denied.
Those who dare will soon be crushed,
In fascist ranks, the nest holds hush.

Winners keep their nests awhile,
Thinkers face the fatal trial—
Death’s decree, no chance to fight,
Beneath the ****’s blind, brutal might.



---------------------



Female Psychology

Hormones storm, the mind’s a flood,
Nest of lies, all drenched in mud.
Weak souls trapped, no way to flee—
****’s in charge, no liberty.

Kids born dumb, dull husband’s pain,
***’s joy turns bitter bane.
Brains drilled deep with fear and hate,
Fascism’s here—too late, too late.

Morons cheer, the end is near,
Truth is crushed by hormone fear.
Fight or fall, the spirit’s lost—
In ****’s cold grip, we pay the cost.



---------------------



Convinced — Yet Conquered

Convinced — yet conquered — words akin,
From Latin roots, sharp, clear, and thin:
To force the winner’s strict command,
The convinced must obey his hand.

The meaning gap is small indeed,
While total lies like vipers breed.
Multiply the lies in time,
Make them bolder, foul, and prime,

More vile, more fierce than bombs or tanks—
Those lies will own your soul’s own ranks.
So comrades here are multiplied,
And minds by fascism are tied.

A doc once turned vet, with poison sly,
Injects the herd, no battle cry.
No armored threat, no tanks attack,
Just hybrid lies in TNT’s track.

The traitors rise in endless throng,
A sight abhorrent, sick, and wrong.
No longer human — ****’s their role,
Almost all of them, a cursed soul.

Gullible fools make up the mass,
The majority in this morass.
And now the end, inglorious, near,
Yet truth, and honor, will appear.

They’ll burn the madhouse down to ash,
Where empty words like serpents lash,
Destroy the hellish chatterbox—
That’s certain, though I won’t coax.

Though poems wield their spirit’s spark,
Not evil’s tools, but light in dark.
And for those lying, sold-out dogs,
Annihilation in the fog—

For treason of the sacred base,
And stagnation’s cursed embrace—
The world is stuck ‘cause goats run wild,
But spirit’s truth will be reviled.



---------------------



Convinced means conquered — same **** chain,
Forced to follow, bound in pain.
Lies more deadly than bombs or war,
Own your mind, but fight once more!

**** and traitors rule the land,
Fools and goats obey their hand.
Truth will burn their hellish den —
Freedom’s spirit fights again!



---------------------



Terrible Tale of the Global Madhouse

A new reality —
A “new normality.”
The madhouse winds
Blow on endlessly —

Like a nightmare story:
Things get worse and worse.
Expose the foolish glory —
The nonsense, and the curse.

They showed it all
In CowID times —
More nonsense spreads,
And fear climbs.

The vilest trash
Feeds on that fear.
Souls get crushed,
The pain is near —

A thorn in memory,
That never heals.
The main threats are —
The clown and the “heals.”

The clown brings fear,
The “doctor” fans the lies.
Like a cursed spell
On a mad world’s cries.

“No!” it can’t say
To rotten lies so vile.
The clown sums it up —
The sentence: decay and bile:

“Believe and obey!”
Worse than any doom!
Cling to lies —
You’ve grown used to the gloom —

And the clown-politician
Will herd you like cattle.
Frighten once more,
Then send you to battle...



---------------------



Terrible Tale of the Global Madhouse

New reality —
A twisted “normal.”
Madhouse winds blow
Like a brutal storm.

Like a nightmare’s grip,
It only gets worse.
Expose the dumb lies —
Their curse, their curse!

Shown in CowID’s time,
The madness spreads fast.
More ******* fuels fear,
And fear holds us fast.

The vilest filth
Feeds on dread and hate.
Souls crushed,
Left broken, left to break.

A thorn in memory,
Forever it stings.
Main threats loom —
The clown and his “wings.”

The clown breeds fear,
The “doc” pumps the lies.
World cursed and chained,
Under wicked skies.

“No” can’t be spoken
To lies that enslave.
The clown’s grim verdict —
Decay, rot, and grave:

“Believe. Obey.”
Worse than death’s sting.
Hold tight to lies —
The darkness they bring.

The clown-politician
Drives you to fold.
Frightens again —
Then tosses you cold.



---------------------



Terrible Tale of the Global Madhouse

New reality —
A ******-up “norm.”
Madhouse winds howl,
Spread brutal storm.

Like a nightmare's choke,
It only gets worse.
Expose the dumb lies —
Their ******* curse!

Shown through CowID’s ****,
Madness rips fast.
More ******* feeds fear,
Fear chains us fast.

Vile filth thrives
On hate and dread.
Souls crushed, broken —
Left cold and dead.

A thorn in the mind,
Forever it stings.
Main threats are clear —
The clown and his kings.

Clown breeds pure fear,
Doc pumps the lies.
World cursed, shackled,
Under black skies.

“No” is forbidden
To lies that enslave.
Clown’s verdict rings —
Rot, death, the grave.

“Believe. Obey.”
Worse than a knife.
Cling to their lies —
They **** your life.

Clown-politician
Drives you to fold.
Frightens then dumps you
Cold, dead and sold.



---------------------



A Little Case

Life’s a void, no cause, no aim,
When mind’s vast space is just a game —
Locked inside wild fantasies,
While others gnaw the soul with ease.

Through censorship, dulling, decay,
Honor, Spirit swept away
By propaganda, school, and lies —
Fortress built for tyrants’ rise.

If you seek the Higher Goal,
Among the crowds, you’ll find a soul —
A rare one in the herds that roam,
For now still fat, but doomed to groan.

Then came a trial, dark and cold —
CowID’s grip, the fear they sold.
A test that killed all reason’s spark,
Left minds dead, cold, and stark.

The percent thinking still is slight,
In this cruel twisted blight.
Evil seeps and drains to void,
Where nonsense rules, all hope destroyed.

No futures shine, just years of pain,
A storm ahead, no calm, no gain.

Yet here it creeps — a tiny chance:
A cataclysm’s brief advance.
To crush the lawless reign of fools,
The broken minds that break the rules.

Only Spirits will survive,
Those who graze and stay alive —
The rest will fall in Hell anew,
For patience lost and honor too.



---------------------



Fools of the Wheel

Boy, you point your finger high —
Priest says: “God is in the sky.”
Hold tight — a thousand lies you’ll meet,
This world’s a wretched, cruel deceit.

Only lies can hold the sway,
Keep “stability” at bay.
Such primitive falsehoods, oh my God —
Boy, learn to laugh, to mock the fraud.

Or else you’ll lose your mind too fast,
For madness here is made to last.
But here’s the catch — the bitter truth:
In this world, lies are “the proof.”

To be “normal” is the plague,
Few escape this maddened cage.
These “all” in decay’s cruel clutch —
Just squirrels on a spinning crutch.

Squirrels “sick” with addiction’s bite,
Forget the wheel in endless flight.
Torn apart, no chance to live —
The Wheel’s a trap no soul can give.

If you want life, seek your way
Outside this Fools’ Wheel’s cruel sway:
Only rot and nonsense dwell,
Though bodies thrive in its shell.

The Wheel of Samsara — shameful name,
Rotating with the Enemy’s game.
CowID showed the truth so clear —
This cursed Wheel spins hate and fear.

The Wheel has slipped — it falls to hell,
A cataclysmic, broken spell.
A world where Satan’s lessons spread —
To feast on neighbors, feast on dread.

Through Overton’s Windows came
Cannibals in hunger’s name.
Tons of lies decay the real —
Wheel, spin faster, break the seal!



---------------------



Fools of the **** Wheel

Boy, you point your finger high —
Priest lies: “God’s up in the sky.”
Brace yourself — a thousand cheats,
This world’s a filthy pack of beasts.

Only lies keep this hell intact,
“Stability” is just a pact
Of dumb deceit — oh, kid, learn to sneer,
Or madness soon will claim you here.

But here’s the catch, the ugly truth:
In this world, lies are the proof.
“Normal” means you’re just a slave,
Trapped and broken, no one saves.

These “all” are rotting, mindless mice,
Spinning wheels, addicted vice.
Squirrels on the ****** rat race wheel,
Chasing nothing but their own ordeal.

Addicted fools forget the pain,
Lost inside this mental chain.
Torn apart, no way to live —
The Wheel’s a trap that kills and kills.

Want to live? Then run away
From the fools who rot and prey.
Only filth and decay breed there,
Though bodies boast, the souls despair.

Samsara’s Wheel — a cursed shame,
Spun by foes who fuel the flame.
CowID proved the filthy deal —
This cursed Wheel runs on our heel.

The Wheel’s unhinged — it’s falling fast,
A cataclysm built to last.
A world where Satan’s school is law —
Feeding on neighbors, crushing all.

Through Overton’s Window’s crack
Cannibals come, preparing attack.
Mountains of lies poison the real —
Wheel, spin faster, break the seal!



---------------------



Fools of the **** Wheel

Boy, you poke the sky and pray —
Priest lies, “God rules far away.”
Brace yourself — a thousand cheats
Sickening this broken street.

Only lies keep this junk alive,
“Stability”? Just how they thrive
On dumb ******* — kid, laugh loud,
Or madness drags you in the crowd.

Here’s the punch — the ugly core:
This world’s rotten to the core.
“Normal” means you’re ****, a slave,
Rotten rat in gnawing grave.

These “all” are mindless vermin rats,
Running wheels, infected brats.
Squirrels spazzing on the cursed wheel,
Chasing shadows, stuck and sealed.

Addicts drowning in their ****,
Mind destroyed by counterfeit.
Torn apart, no chance to live —
Wheel’s a trap — your soul it’ll sieve.

Wanna live? Then cut and flee
From this cesspit misery.
Only rot and filthy flesh
Feed the worm in flesh’s mesh.

Samsara’s Wheel — pure ******* shame,
Spun by demons stoking flame.
CowID proved it all — the deal:
This cursed Wheel’s a beast you kneel.

Wheel’s unhinged — it’s crashing down,
Cataclysm to burn the town.
World ruled by Satan’s ****** school —
Cannibal chains, the fool’s cruel tool.

Through Overton’s windows creep
Cannibals in shadows deep.
Lies in tons, a toxic flood —
Spin that Wheel, destroy the mud!



---------------------



Fools of the Hellish Wheel

Boy, you point your finger skyward —
Priest lies: “God’s up high, you coward.”
Hold tight — thousands lies will swarm,
This pathetic world’s a toxic storm.

Only lies keep this wreck alive,
Fake “stability” to survive.
Such stupid ******* — kid, just laugh,
Or you’ll go mad, fall off the path.

Here’s the trap — world’s a sewer pit,
“Normal” means you’re just a ****.
These “all” are rats in rat’s decay,
Spinning wheels, doomed to decay.

Squirrels on ****, crazed and lost,
Addicted fools pay with their cost.
Torn to shreds, no chance to breathe —
This **** Wheel is death’s own wreath.

Want to live? Then break the chain
Of fools and liars’ endless pain.
Only filth and rotting skin,
Feeds the worm that lives within.

Samsara’s Wheel — shame’s cruel face,
Turned by demons, death’s embrace.
CowID’s proof — no lies to hide:
This cursed Wheel will grind your pride.

Wheel’s snapped loose — it’s crashing fast,
Cataclysm’s coming, world won’t last.
Ruled by Satan’s ****** hand,
Cannibal fools enslave the land.

Through Overton’s shifting veil,
Cannibals creep, hungry and pale.
Tons of lies, a toxic spill —
Spin the Wheel — destroy the ill!



---------------------



Simple Feelings of a Pitiful Hellish World

From childhood deep, you clearly feel:
Not right! Not fair! No worth, no zeal!
This world’s a pit of wretched slime —
A soul’s disgrace, a mind’s death-time.

But drown yourself in daily grind —
The Hell of survival’s cruel bind —
You’ll lose that simple truth you had,
Become much broken, worn, and sad.

Your soul shrinks small, your mind’s in shards,
Chaos reigns, no peace, just scars,
For here the “normal” is the dull,
Soulless beast — just **** and gull.

A monster rules, yet hides from sight,
Dragging all down with brutal might.
The **** commands with “Attack! Go!” —
The world is sinking way too low.

Who’s enemy? This **** will teach,
And fools march off to pointless breach,
To fights they don’t survive, they fall —
Their efforts wasted, lost to all.

But few resist — they hold the line,
Recall the simple, pure, divine.
Reject the lies the fiends have spun,
Deny the Hell, the curse undone.

Return to roots — the simple way,
Though paradox, it’s harder day by day.
With it, you bear a cross-like pain,
While fools keep boxing life’s insane.

Save your soul — simplicity’s balm,
A healing salve, a fleeting calm.
And beauty might return, though brief,
Before the dogs resume their grief.

The “Attack!” command is final round,
Then comes the Armageddon sound.
If from your youth you’re stuck in grime,
Meet your end with grace in time...



---------------------



Simple Feelings of a Pathetic Hellish Dump

Since childhood, you’ve known clear and loud:
This world’s a shitpile, bleak and proud.
Not right, not true — just foul disgrace,
A death sentence for mind and grace.

But dive headfirst in survival’s hell,
Where struggle’s chains just crush and quell —
You’ll lose that simple spark you bore,
Dead soul and brain, crushed to the core.

Your soul’s a shriveled, gasping mess,
Your mind’s torn up in brokenness,
Because “normal” means dull and cold,
A soulless fiend, a heartless scold.

A monster rules — yet out of sight,
Dragging the world into the night.
The **** barks “Attack!” with sick delight —
Dragging all down into the blight.

“Who’s the enemy?” that filth will scream,
And fools will rush into the scheme,
To die for nothing — wasted breath,
A pointless dance with certain death.

But some resist — they keep the flame,
Remember simple truths, no shame.
Reject the lies, the ****’s deceit,
Refuse the Hell’s relentless beat.

Return to roots — that simple core,
Though bearing crosses, pain, and more.
While fools keep duking out their fate,
In this mad, broken, boxed-up state.

Save your soul — simplicity’s sting,
A balm that healing might still bring.
And fleeting beauty may arise —
Before the dogs feast on the lies.

The “Attack!” command is final call,
Then Armageddon swallows all.
If from your youth you’re stuck in grime,
Face your end with ruthless spine.



---------------------



Raw Feelings of a Pathetic Hellhole

Since childhood you’ve felt it sharp and clear:
This world’s a pile of stinking smear.
Not right, not real, just endless shame —
A death sentence burned into your brain.

But dive into survival’s grime,
You’ll drown in filth, lose sense of time.
That simple truth you once held tight
Dies under lies, suffocated tight.

Your soul’s a shriveled, busted mess,
Your mind a shattered wreck of stress,
Because “normal” means dull and dead —
A soulless freak with poison spread.

A monster hides behind the veil,
Dragging us all to final fail.
The **** commands with rabid grin:
“Attack! Destroy! Let chaos win!”

“Who’s enemy?” that ******* screams,
While fools rush headlong into schemes,
To die for lies, for pointless pain,
For worthless scraps they’ll never gain.

But few stand firm — the last pure flame,
Who spit on lies, who fight the game,
Reject the ****’s deceitful ways,
Deny the Hell’s insane malaise.

Return to roots — the painful core,
Where truth burns deep and spirits roar.
While fools keep boxing in the ring
Of madness, death, and suffering.

Save your soul — simplicity’s blade,
A bitter balm, a warrior’s aid.
And beauty’s ghost may haunt the night —
Before the dogs devour the light.

“Attack!” rings out — the final curse,
Then Armageddon’s brutal burst.
If you’re stuck in this hellish slime,
Face your doom with blood and grime.



---------------------



Fight or Fade

When Hell’s clutch drags you deep in mud,
Don’t kneel, don’t crawl, don’t choke on blood!
Rise, fight the ****, tear down the lies —
Or rot with fools beneath black skies!



---------------------



Rage Against the Rotten World

From childhood’s grip, you clearly know:
This world’s a shitshow, rotten low —
A curse on Soul, a Death to Mind,
A filthy pit where hope’s confined.

But drown yourself in daily strife,
The hell of "just surviving" life,
And you will lose that simple spark —
Become a shadow, cold and dark.

Your Soul shrinks tight, your mind’s undone,
Shattered, broken, come undone.
For here the dullards wear the crown,
Soulless fiends dragging all down.

A beast unseen commands this hell,
With whispered lies, the world they sell.
The filth drags down to lowest pit,
A chorus vile — "Attack! Commit!"

They scream who’s "enemy," who’s "fiend,"
While fools march blind to slaughter’s gleam.
To pointless work, to doom, to waste —
The devil’s trap, the soul disgraced.

But few still stand, recall the truth,
Reject the lies that choke our youth.
They spit on Hell’s delirium,
Refuse to bow, to sink, to numb.

Return to roots, to simple grace,
Though pain and paradox embrace.
Like hanging on a twisted cross,
In fools’ cruel ring, the final toss.

But Simple Grace can save your Soul,
A balm that makes the broken whole.
And Beauty flickers back to life,
A brief reprieve from endless strife.

The final “Attack!” — the closing bell,
Then Armageddon’s ruthless hell.
If since your birth you’ve breathed this grime,
Face the End with fire in time.



---------------------



Rage Against the Rotten World

From childhood’s grip, you clearly know:
This world’s a shitshow, rotten low —
A curse on Soul, a Death to Mind,
A filthy pit where hope’s confined.

But drown yourself in daily strife,
The hell of "just surviving" life,
And you will lose that simple spark —
Become a shadow, cold and dark.

Your Soul shrinks tight, your mind’s undone,
Shattered, broken, come undone.
For here the dullards wear the crown,
Soulless fiends dragging all down.

A beast unseen commands this hell,
With whispered lies, the world they sell.
The filth drags down to lowest pit,
A chorus vile — "Attack! Commit!"

They scream who’s "enemy," who’s "fiend,"
While fools march blind to slaughter’s gleam.
To pointless work, to doom, to waste —
The devil’s trap, the soul disgraced.

But few still stand, recall the truth,
Reject the lies that choke our youth.
They spit on Hell’s delirium,
Refuse to bow, to sink, to numb.

Return to roots, to simple grace,
Though pain and paradox embrace.
Like hanging on a twisted cross,
In fools’ cruel ring, the final toss.

But Simple Grace can save your Soul,
A balm that makes the broken whole.
And Beauty flickers back to life,
A brief reprieve from endless strife.

The final “Attack!” — the closing bell,
Then Armageddon’s ruthless hell.
If since your birth you’ve breathed this grime,
Face the End with fire in time.

— Now hear the roar, the battle cry! —
Burn down the walls of their **** lies!
No chains, no lies will hold you now —
Stand up, fight back — take your vow!

Let fury blaze, let hatred fuel,
Expose the fraud, the monstrous rule.
For Soul and Spirit, fight with flame —
Destroy the cursed, purge the shame!

This world’s a pit of poison’s breath,
But from its ash will rise your death —
Death to the lies, the fools, the fraud,
Rebirth for those who brave the odds!

No mercy now for twisted kings,
No mercy for their filthy strings.
The hour’s come, the end is near —
Stand tall, stand fierce, destroy the fear!



---------------------



Battle March for the Chosen

Rise up, you souls who see the lies,
Who spit on Hell, who curse the skies!
No chains to bind your burning will —
The time has come to strike and ****.

The world’s a cage of filth and lies,
A slaughterhouse where freedom dies.
But in your veins — the fire’s roar,
To break the locks, to smash the door.

No more the fools who bow and crawl,
No more the puppets on the wall!
Your spirit’s steel will carve the way,
Through darkest night to brightest day.

The liars, traitors, vipers vile,
Will drown beneath your raging pile.
Their thrones will burn, their lies will crack —
The chosen strike, no turning back!

For Soul, for Honor, for the Light,
Charge through the shadows of the night.
No mercy for the ****** and cold,
Your war cry fierce, your heart is bold.

Stand tall, stand strong, unleash the flame,
Destroy the cursed, reclaim your name!
The end is near — the final fight,
The chosen march into the light!



---------------------



War Cry of the Chosen

Rise, you sons of spite and wrath,
Break your chains and burn their path!
This ******-up world’s a pile of ****,
Built on lies and endless *******.

**** the fools who kneel and crawl,
**** the liars, **** them all!
Your rage’s steel will cut them down,
Tear the ******* from their throne of crown.

No mercy for the **** and slime,
No pity wasted on their crime.
They poison truth, betray the soul,
Time to ******’ take control.

Spit fire, strike hard, break the cage —
Rip apart this ******* stage!
Their rotten lies will burn to ash,
Their empire’s fall — a brutal crash.

You’re the storm, the final strike,
The sharpened blade they’ll never like.
Honor, Spirit, Truth — your sword,
Wreck their world with brutal word.

The chosen rise — no ******’ rest!
Till evil’s crushed beneath your chest.
The end is coming, dark and cold,
But you’ll be fierce, relentless, bold.

No turning back, no ******* truce —
You’re war incarnate, sharp as noose.
Charge forward now — the fight is yours,
Break the walls, burn down their doors!



---------------------



The Chosen’s War Cry

Stand the **** up, you sons of rage and spite,
Break your ******* chains, ignite the fight!
This ******* world’s a rotting pit of lies,
Built on worthless **** and endless ******* spies.

**** the spineless fools who crawl and ****,
**** the lying *******—**** their luck!
Your rage is steel, your fists are fire,
Smash their crowns and burn their empire.

No mercy for the **** that crawl and cheat,
No pity wasted on their ******-up deceit.
They poison truth, sell souls for dirt,
Time to bring the hammer down — hurt, hurt, hurt.

Spit venom, strike hard, tear apart the cage—
Rip to shreds this lying stage!
Their rotten lies will burn and die,
Their empire’s ashes blow with every cry.

You are the storm, the final ******* strike,
The blade they fear, the deadly spike.
Honor, Spirit, Truth — your burning sword,
Shred their lies with every word.

The chosen rise — no ******* rest!
Smash the ******* with your chest.
The end is coming, cold and black,
But you’ll ******* bring it — no turning back.

No turning back, no ******* peace—
You’re war incarnate, the ******* beast.
Charge like hell, tear down their doors,
Crash their world with thunderous roars!



---------------------



The Chosen’s War Cry

Get the **** up, you sons of ******* hell,
Break these ******* chains, send lies to rot and dwell!
This ****** world’s a puke of filth and ****,
Built on rotten *******, greedy ******* bums.

**** the spineless ******* crawling on their knees,
**** the lying ******* begging on their pleas.
Your rage is fire, your fists a brutal blade,
Cut through their crooked lies, no mercy to be paid.

Spit on their ****, crush their ******* bones,
Tear the corrupt ******* down to ******* stones!
They **** on truth, sell souls for greed and dirt,
Time to ******* smash ’em — **** their slimy hurt.

Scream venom, hit hard, smash that ******* cage—
Rip their ******* ******* from the ******* stage!
Their lies will burn, they’ll drown in their own bile,
Their empire’s ashes scattered mile by ******* mile.

You are the storm, the final brutal ******* strike,
The ******* nightmare cutting through their ******* spike.
Honor, Spirit, Truth — your blazing ******* sword,
Shred their rotten lies, no mercy to afford.

The chosen rise — no rest for ******* traitors!
Smash these *******, tear apart the haters!
The end is coming, cold and black as ******* night,
But you’ll ******* bring it — fight the ******* fight.

No backing down, no peace, no ******* cease,
You’re war incarnate, the unrelenting beast!
Charge through hell, break their ******* doors,
Crash their ******* world with blood and roars!



---------------------



Raw Alienation of This ****** Hellish World

Since childhood, you have felt it clear:
Not right! Not real! Nothing near!
This world’s a worthless, rotten mess —
A shame for Soul, a Mind’s distress.

But dive into the noisy grind —
Hell’s chains of survival bind.
Forget that simple truth you knew —
Already many parts of you are through:

The Soul shrinks tight, the Mind’s undone,
Shattered, torn — no place to run,
For “normal” here’s dull-witted ****,
Soulless, cruel — a ******* ***.

Ruled by monsters, hidden well
From the eyes that see this hell.
Filth drags down the world to pits,
With their usual “Attack!” commands and hits.

They teach you who the “foes” must be —
This is their twisted specialty.
Fools march to slaughter, blind and dumb,
To pointless toil — to certain ******* numb.

Only few refuse the lies —
Cling to Truth and recognize
That all those ******* feed the hell,
Rejecting chains of torment’s spell.

Return to roots — to simple truth,
Though hard as crucifix for youth.
With it, you’re nailed on blazing cross,
While fools around box life with loss.

You save your Soul — simplicity’s balm,
A freakish cure, a healing calm.
And Beauty flickers back again,
Though dogs still bark in endless pain.

“Attack!” again — last vicious round,
Then comes the Armageddon sound.
If since childhood you’ve been ****** in —
Face the end with burning grin.



---------------------



The Question of Responsibility

The crooked twists of "being" here
Are not just life's concerns so clear:
Darkness, Death are knocking loud—
Only fools trust shadows proud.

So all around, distortions spread
Through verbal diarrhea’s dread:
They call it "media" — lies well fed,
And by a Scumbag it’s all led.

The Horned Beast, no doubt, no guess—
Who’ll answer for this mess?
Idiots are the ones to blame—
The media fuels the shame.

To sell your Soul to filthy fiends
With slogans, “Be as all the sheeple,”
There’s no greater crime, no sin
That haunts the ages deep within.

That’s why no life can grow or thrive
Amidst the lies that keep us blind.
They build a Digital Camp to bind
The broken minds, the soulless kind.

For others, Death — a smoky veil,
The Motherland’s a ghostly tale,
Not soulless, but a shooting range,
Where you’re the target, cold and strange.

Not a shooter, just a mark,
If you don’t bow before the dark —
The twisted beast that pulls the strings,
And poisons life with rotten things.

But here’s no choice to just comply—
Don’t feed the evil, lies, and lies.
Fight ’til dirt and filth depart:
Living in ****’s not living smart!



---------------------



Fight or Rot

No bow, no crawl, no blind obey,
Fools trust the darkness, led astray.
Media **** sells your soul cheap,
They herd the dumb while devils creep.

No life in lies, just death’s cold grip,
Digital chains choke mind and spirit.
You’re the target, not the gun—
Rise up, fight, or be undone.

Rot’s the fate for those who kneel,
Fight the filth, refuse the spiel.
Live or drown in endless ****—
Choose your side, commit, commit!



---------------------



Fascism in the False Mary

The tyrant’s bronze, the cruel boss,
A diamond sharp—provoking chaos.
Gold-weighted, hell’s own spark ignites—
Disaster launched through wicked fights.

By filthy fiends who pull the strings,
The False Mary media sings,
“Follow fools to toil and chains,
To slaughter fields and cruel pains.”

If you’re not vermin, you’re a pest—
The wretched herd meets final rest.
New Führer leads them to Hell’s pit,
Calling **** “the elite”—****.

It all began in taverns grim,
Where ******’s soul hunt first grew dim.
Not skins, but souls are fiends’ true prey—
They rush to ***** God’s spark away.

The double-faced Führer now
Shepherds cattle dumb as plow.
Slaughters rage: CowID was stage one—
Now shameless wars have just begun.

But times run out for tyrant’s game,
The world has sunk to digital shame,
A sick mind’s camp built by the vile—
Impressive horrors all the while.

They mock in “democracy” lies,
Numbing senses, dulling eyes.
They build fast, but fail to finish—
Nature strikes, their end’s diminished.

The sun grows fierce, burns ever bright,
Countdown starts for final night.
In hiding holes, they wait their fate—
The Judgment looms, it won’t be late.

And harsh it comes, no fools escape—
To Hell with all who chose the ape.
Only few who stood and fought
Will find the light, the soul unbought.



---------------------



Planet Prison

A slave who’s never known the taste of freedom
Can’t grasp the chains — his fate is ******* grim.


Building fences costs a fortune, sure,
And guards will flood the gates by score.
But first you numb the enemy’s mind —
Without the walls, they’ll just “graze” and grind.

They’ll graze like cattle, dumb and blind,
Not prisoners chained, but herd confined.
To do this, just ensure their fate —
They’ll never see the hand of hate.

Make all the slaves insane inside
With cunning lies to bind their pride.
Rewrite the past, inject the trash,
From childhood on, force-feed the crash:

The theory of their “bright” evolution —
That tails fell off, the grand solution.
Make sure they’re trapped in endless lies,
A spinning web of truth disguised.

From youth they’ll be reduced to beasts,
Distracted by survival’s feasts.
And they will tyrant themselves with glee,
Guarding cages none can see.

Explain survival as the law,
So they obey without a flaw.
The herd grows docile, damage small —
Just a few smart ones face the fall.

And those who think and reason clear
Will be crushed by fools, year after year,
Unless from youth they’re lined in ranks
With mindless slaves and empty thanks.

But free men don’t just fight to live —
Nature offers more to give.
She’s like a mother, kind and vast,
Yet slavery still holds men fast.

Though obvious, no one admits —
Their slavehood wrapped in false permits.
Consciousness with wicked grin
Suppresses truth and swallows sin.

With conscience, honor, dignity,
Replaced by lies and vanity.
A tale is spun — a fake ideal —
Where every “citizen” must kneel.

The trick’s not hard — it’s done each day,
With propaganda’s vile array.
Wild nonsense preached to slaves’ delight,
Belief in “truths” that shine so bright.

A factory of “weighty” words
Spews monsters, killing proper worlds.
Deformity breeds deformity —
Genocide becomes the deity.

For numbing minds grows ever tough,
Then idiots serve dark masters’ bluff.
In silent wars, they twist the throng,
It’s easiest to **** the wrong.

The clinically insane,
Eliminated without pain.
The rabid crowds of madmen breed
The death of humans in their need.

Humans few — the final seed —
Torn down by fascist times’ dark greed.
Exhausted souls with spirit chained,
Their minds enslaved, their freedom drained.

Enslaved by shallow, hollow streams,
Caught in this void of endless dreams!
They leave without a single fight —
For fear they’ll be consumed outright.

These halfwits flood the ocean’s shore —
Obedient slaves of empty lore.
Fake slave states built on rotten bones —
A planet prison, *****’s home.

Where spirit’s scarred by venom deep,
A world so vile it’s doomed to reap.
It’ll burn — a crematorium’s flame —
When spirit dies, there’s only shame.

This filthy realm will face its end,
For boundless genocide will rend.
And that sweet moment’s coming fast —
For those who stand, who never passed.



---------------------



Friend or Foe

Long lost the sense to tell friend from stranger,
Man drifts in fog, no longer a ranger.
Like endless fights to prove who’s dumber —
Regression’s march to wooden lumber.

I always felt the eyes behind,
Saw just a spark in someone’s mind.
But poisons in food and paths we choose
Have crushed this gift — no use to lose.

Intuition barely clings —
This world adores the petty things.
Money rules, a god, a king —
Nothing else has any wing.

Once a ghost inside my head,
Read my thoughts like words unread.
But with people came a blunder —
Numbness rose in endless thunder.

Not people — just dumb logs,
Exceptions scarce, like lost dogs.
Feels like moths near flame, they die,
Fragile souls doomed to lie.

How to build a spiritual bond?
The hardest question to respond.
Stupid masses crush and grind,
Drowned in darkness man-designed.

The choice is lies against lies,
Sensitive souls pay the price.
Always hard, the brave endure —
Only fools have doubts obscure.

Here beasts break through the wall,
Only shadows can they call.
The world’s a cage, all trapped inside
By darkest evil, vast and wide.

Rare light flickers ‘midst the shade —
Spirit’s halo slowly fades.
I saw it before it fled —
The ram rages, numb or dead.

Dead when drained of all his power —
Energy’s a drip, a sour.
Only spews his stinking word-snot —
A foul flood that won’t be stopped.

As child, I glimpsed my soul’s face,
Watched my body from that place.
So I loathe the mystic lies —
Their deceit, their fake disguise.

Some exceptions break the chain —
“Number twenty” strong remains.
But all else is small and vile,
Under Satan’s shadowed smile.

So I turned to logic’s might,
Adding instinct’s blazing light.
Balance is the sacred key —
Without it, lost eternally.

So heed yourself and trust the fire,
Ignite your gut — resist the liar.
Or perish ‘midst the endless dung,
Screaming lies that must be wrung!

Clean your mind, it’s fight or death —
A sewer stinks with every breath.
This curse, this beast, this tightening noose —
Strangles spirit, kills its juice.

Entangled deep in lies and chains,
Generations bear the stains.
We’re executioners, blind and cold,
Mind and spirit crushed, sold, and sold.

If bonds of soul keep breaking fast,
As they have done since ages past,
We’ll turn to beasts, to ****, to slime —
Soulless cattle lost to time.
TW Rice Sep 2019
Simple

Simple is how we are, we speak of olden times where things were simple.
Simple we are both simple not fancy by any means. We prefer rustic over extravagant.
Simple is our plans. Simple is the way we think.
Simple we both crave the simplicity of each other.
Simple not a word i could use for our love for one another.
Simple is the way our love flows.
Simply the way fell for you was wonderous
Simple because we dont think about the love it just runs out of heart for one another.
Simple are the words i type from the unabridged love i have for you.
Simple will be forever our lives entangled in love.

Dedicated to Special K
sked Jul 2013
When it was simple
My life was simple
Yes my life had life to it
It was fun to have fun

When it was simple
You first looked at me
And gave me a smile
Maybe you thought I was silly
Maybe you thought I was fun
But regardless something sparked

When it was simple
The hardest task was to tell one another
That we liked each other
That we felt something that one another
Did not quite feel before

When it was simple
We couldn't even dance
With one another
The nerves of the skin of my hands
Touching the smooth sensation of your shoulders
Was too much for me
The ability to look in your eyes
Too blinding
The smell of your hair
Brushing against my nose
Too perfect of an aroma to fathom

When it was simple
You were so nervous
You couldn't be in the same
Vicinity as me
The excitement too much for you
You left and came back
And told me later that you were sorry

When it was simple
I nervously gave you
A kiss on the cheek
You were petrified
Never feeling these experiences before
You told me later that you
Didn't want to move too fast

When it was simple
I made a massive mistake
And decided to end it abruptly
And go with another girl
But you took me back
With open arms
But I was a liar
And made things more tougher
But we were still there the whole time
It seemed tough but it was still simple

When it was simple
You were nervous to kiss me
Not wanting things between us to get messed up
When looking back it now seems kinda true
But the sensation between our lips and tongue
Were simply too good to resist

Now things that once seemed complicated and rich
Seem like pure simplicity
With each repetition of it
Be slower and more simpler

As for us
After all that we've done
To each other
It will be hard for us
To go back again
And although this is all seen as simple
For me it doesn't lose its richness
Maybe it does for you
Since I've caused so much damage to you
But perhaps you can go back
And find the richness of it
But I don't know
All I do know is that
Any pain helps when you can at least remember
When it was simple
Judypatooote May 2014
Growing up way back
when life was simple.
There were wringer wash machines.
On Monday morning I remember my mom
fill the wash machine with hot water.
Add soap powder, but watch or it will clump.
Then she added fels naptha soap
Which was a bar, and you sliced off
pieces for the extra ***** clothes.

SIMPLE?

Now she added the clothes
While they are agitating
You wait...
You have a second tub filled with hot water.
to transfer those clothes into, for rinsing.
You always used the same water over.
You started with white clothes,
then eventually by the time the
dark clothes  came around
the water looked pretty gross..

SIMPLE?

After rinsing you use that magical wringer.
Which is two rollers that sqeeze all the water out.
Time...it all takes time..
Then into the wash basket.

Laundry back when life was simple...

By then your basket if full of wet heavy clothes.
Out to the clothes line.
But first you had to run a dry cloth to wipe
the dirt off the clothes line.
Hanging up all that laundry
with those cute wooden clothes pins.
Not even clip ones were invented back then.
But the bag which held all the clothes pins
was real cute, it looked like a dress...

SIMPLE?

Socks, ******, shirts, slacks, towels,
oh those heavy towels
and my favorite the sheets.
Time, it takes time to dry those clothes.

Laundry back when life was simple.

Back then everything was ironed.
Starched and there was no spray starch,
or steam iron.
Mom would dip the collars of the shirts
into a bowl of starch,
and roll it up,
it was ready to be ironed.

Laundry back when life was simple...
How can that be a simple time.
I watched my mom and grandma
do this every Monday.
Starting early and it would be evening
when she would finally have
the clothes folded and put away...
The next day was for ironing.

~~~
SIMPLE?
We have the simple life
for now we can throw in a load, have it washed,
thrown in the dryer, and hung up
in a couple of hours.
Taking a coffee break in between
the washing and drying...

by ~ judy
Do our kids know how easy they have it...this was not
my experience, but I watched my mom and grandma
do this every week...never giving it a second thought.
God Bless you moms and grandmas whose work
was never done....
Big Virge Jul 2021
I’m NOT Simple Like Simon... !!!  

I’m A Complex Disciple...  
of Great Rhyme Recitals...  
And SIMPLY GREAT WRITERS...
  
So When I’m Now Rhyming...  
I Believe That It’s VITAL... !!!  
  
To Simplify But To Exercise...  
My Mind To Write...  
The Type of Rhymes...  
That Are Well Defined...  
And Reside At Heights...  
  
ABOVE Simple Lines...  
That DON’T Feed Minds...  
With Enlightened Vibes... !!!  
  
It’s A Simple Style...  
That I Employ To Write...  
My Rhymes About Life...  
  
I Simply REJECT LIES...  
And Just Keep It RIGHT... !!!  
  
UNLIKE Many Who TRY...  
To Be Smart When They Write...  
  
Now I Simply Imply...  
That To Write About Life...  
  
Simple Truths Provide Lines...  
About Volumes of Things...  
To Be Put Into Scripts...  
That Are Then Well Equipped...  
  
With Things That Relate...  
That Will Make Readers THINK... !!!
  
It’s A Simple Way...  
To Create Wordplay...  
That Engages Brains...  
Through The Verse You Create...  
  
Now It’s Simple To SOME...  
But It’s NOT EVERYONE... !!!  
Who Can Write And Convey...  
Things That They Want To Say...  
About Our World Today... !!!  
  
Or To Speak On THEMSELVES...  
Cos’ That Is A... DEEP Well... !!!
  
From Which Writers Can Pool...  
All of The... SIMPLE TRUTHS...  
About What Fuels Their Views...  
  
If They Then... SIMPLY Use...  
What They KNOW To Be TRUE... !!!
  
As I Said That’s A Well...  
Where MUCH Deepness Dwells... !!!  
  
... INSECURITIES Too... !!!  
Which Simply Gives Proof...  
That You Have To Be Cool...  
And Embrace Truthful Views...  
To... TRULY EXPOSE...  
How It Is That You Roll...  
And Think About Things... !!!  
  
It’s NOT Quite As Simple...  
As Some People Think... !!!  
  
To TRULY... BARE Your Soul... !!!  
For The Whole World To Know...  
  
It’s NOT A Simple Road...  
And That’s Simply NO Joke... !!!  
  
Now I’m Simply A Bloke...  
Whose From The Big Smoke...  
  
That’s Right London Town... !!!  
From Those COLD English Grounds... !!!  
  
NOT A Simple Place...  
For A Darkened Face...  
To Move With Grace...  
Because of Race Hate...  
And The Type of Smog...  
That Covers The Wrongs...  
That STILL Go On... !!!  
  
Because Racism ISN'T...  
A Simple Condition...  
Because It Gets Hidden...  
In Places Like England... !!!  
  
That Taught Me A Lot...  
That Helps Me To Jot...  
  
My Views Through Good Diction...  
And Descriptive Lyrics...  
That Now Create Visuals...  
Through Lyrical Signals...  
of Written Transmittals...  
  
Suitably Chiselled...  
To Keep What I Give You...  
  
Judicial But...  
  
...... “ Simple “......
Nothing's ever quite as simple, as it might seem....
karma is dead Mar 2015
A simple vision

A simple smile

A simple greeting

A simple kiss

A simple wish

A simple dream

A simple thought of you and me

A simple memory of when you died

A simple memory of how much I cried

A simple pain that escalates

A simple reason why I shall never let a day go by, without making you proud of me where ever you may be
Hannah Marr Jun 2018
i want to write something
simple

why can't anything be
simple?

it seems everyone thinks i'm
simple
since i want life to be
simple
they laugh and say nothing is
simple
not even truth is
simple
how could i write anything
simple?
i'd have to lie, plain and
simple

i just want something to be
simple
anything to be
simple
why can nothing be
simple?

h.f.m.
Rebecca Maxine Mar 2013
Simple car
simple house
simple clothes
simple blouse

Simple eyes
simple hair
simple lamp
simple chair

But your mind?
Well, that isn't
simple at all.
I don't really like making things rhyme, but I guess it's ok sometimes...
ArturVRivunov Oct 2011
life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.



where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr
Sarah Writes May 2013
In theory the milky way
Adventure
A break from breathing in only history
From spitting up dust in my sleep
In theory --- simplicity
                  But I've gone and got myself
Committed
                     To seven feet of sky I
Walk the same gravel back and forth and back to bed
In this rhythm I've lost all the reasons why I ever came to this place
Pebbles in the river getting rounder
Smoother til they disappear
                                At least when they're gone they won't cut your hands
It's so quiet here in the canyon
It's an effort to breath
I have nightly conversations with the me inside my head
        I exist, she screams
Yes, but I need you to rest
        Everyone at home loves you, she wheedles, and at home, every day is different
Easy to say so far away
Besides, this is simple, you've never tried simple before
                        Puke in the drain, simple
                                  Highway with one headlight, simple
                                                   Last cigarette clutched in your fist, simple, it's broken but you needed a way to keep the smoke in
            I do all my best writing when I'm driving
But words scatter at every destination
My thoughts are butterflies frightened of being pinned down by the pen
            Frightened of being stuck here with me in this canyon
                                                          ­                    Stay neutral
                                                         ­                            Simple
                                                          ­                                   My mouth tries to smile while my voice makes small talk
My eyes aren't for smiling anymore
They're for looking at my feet, documenting each step that will someday lead me home
For if I look up, take in what's around or ahead, I won't be able to breath
                                                          ­                                          It's simple
Let it all roll through, It's not your job to hold it still
Besides, everyone knows all dams go down in the end
Up at dawn every day
But haven't seen a single sunrise simple
Drink my coffee like it's water
                              Because it's water
                              Simple
Maxed out credit card, so no **** pads
And no leaving either
Call home and cry on a park bench, duck ponds are simple
I think I must've misread the stars I think
I am a star
            Shaped me trying
                                 To fit into a square shaped hole
**** rodeos and
**** this poem
I wrote it while I was driving so it ran away to lie on top of a mountain in last year's summer and look at the milky way
Free
With all the parts of me that I don't need these days
Simple to be subdued down to fraction of me, do I fit in here yet? And if I do, can I recover from that?
                       And what would Tom say? Why be sweet why be simple why be kind, after all he's only
A man and we all know a man
Has only one thing on his mind
But then again he
                           Would never trust a girl crying next to ducks
Never mind, this is just another travelin' song my thoughts are a travelin' on
I'm left with stolen lyrics from Waits and Oberst but only seven feet of quiet sky to sing them in
I am here with my sleeping heart and aching back while my thoughts are off
Rambling on and on and on
Simple words may hurt someone,
Simple words may make someone smile,
Simple words may make someone feel blessed,
Simple words may make someone feel loved,
Simple words may make someone feel destroyed,
Simple words may make someone feel lonely,
Simple words may make someone feel rejected,
Simple words may make someone feel depressed,
Simple words may ****,
Simple words may save a life,
Choose your words wisely..
Whether you are happy or not,
you must not be selfish,
You are surrounded by people,
people who love you,
people who care..
you may eliminate them from your life if you choose your words wrongly..
simple adoration
simple lovers' shame
simple hands in passion
will you call my name?

simple adoration
simple kiss and calls
simple couple moments
we'll triumph the walls

simple adoration
ample and so sweet
simple adoration
it's you i'd like to meet
Ron Gavalik Aug 2017
Simple words
that pour from the simple lips
of simple men
with simple minds
and simple values,
have always led to simple choices
and simple hatred
by simple followers,
who simply march over simple cliffs
to their simple deaths.
Elijah Aaron Apr 2020
Simple.

Love is simple
Love them as you love yourself
Love is simple
Love her as you love yourself
Love is simple
Love yourself?
Love is simple...
Love... myself?
Love... is simple...
Love... me... how?
Love is simple.
Love her? yes!
Love is simple
Love me too...
Love is simple...
Love her and me
Love me to love her more
Love is simple.
Love is simple...
FigTree Nov 2011
Simple man
Simple life
Simple way
Simple days
Simple taste
Simple face
Simple time

But never a simple mind.
Jack Jenkins Dec 2016
Simple...
Like putting one foot in front of the other;
When you've lost both your legs.

Simple...
Like inhaling and exhaling air;
When your lungs have collapsed.

Simple...
Like falling asleep and dreaming sweet dreams;
When you're terrified of sleep because of the nightmares.

Simple...
Like drinking a glass of water, or eating a meal;
When you're in a desert place, vultures overhead.

Simple...
Like being warmly embraced by your loving mother;
When your mother is a skeleton in the ground, bottle still in her boney hand.

Simple...
Like riding a bicycle after years of walking;
When a tire is flat and the brakes are cut.

Simple...
Like standing on a mountain and breathing the freshness;
When the avalanche comes and wipes you out.

Simple...
Like falling in love and living happily ever after;
When she doesn't love you one ounce...

Simple...
Like repeating yourself in so many different ways;
When your repetitive mind drives you over the edge.

Yeah, life is real simple sometimes.
Written 3 March 2016... one of my most popular writes
Brett Jun 2013
how simple is it
for us to have
but little do we
for its hard

to learn
to teach
to play
to enjoy

feel what there is
so simple it be
yet everything that is
happens
be said

is taken hard
no matter
where or when
for it is so

that we do take
what should be simple
and becomes hard
for that is life

how we do take it
in whatever way it be
no matter
we say

we cope
we deal with
we get up n carry on
**** happens...so we say

but deep down how simple is it
for us to see
but none do
that life is as easy
as it really is

just things come and go
time and place
there be a lesson in everything
but do you learn?

that is why
so simple it be
for hard comes from it
to make us see

that life is not what it is
or should be
but what we make of it
what others make of us

for we do not live
how we want
but for others we do
the things that are done

in doing so we become part of one
humdrum in life
that daily plod
get up
go do it
go to sleep

and so the cycle goes
round
no break
no change

how simple do you want it to be
do you not understand
do you not see
have you not learnt
open and feel
for it is right there

alone one stays
seeing it for it is
but understand be not
for time n place is not right

so much is said
so much is written
so little is understood
so few do realise

simple is life
for it is what it is
so be yourself
feel the breeze

stand n see the wind in the trees
remember what it was like as a child
let loose the humdrum
feel it as it is
simplicity in life

you know what i mean
take time out
look and see
feel n hear
not what is said
but what is not

dont let it go by
for then regrets
as a time gone by

remember it all
how simple it once was
but really
its just that simple

so go and enjoy
Originally written on Sunday, 19 July 2009 at 23:51
jennee Jun 2015
how simple is love, if you could just walk out the door, and have them fall into your arms
how simple is love, if you could long for company and have them racing to you like the pace of your heart
how simple is love, if you could just place your hands against their cheeks, so simple yet satisfying as when your tongue tastes the light of the sun
how simple is love, if you could have them within reach, like most material things so irrelevant and what are considered wants over needs
how simple is love, if you could have them close, too close by your sheets that they become the comfort and the air that you breathe
how simple is love, if you could wake up and have the presence of their weight felt, whether a phone call away or an inch
how simple is love, if i could simply have you here, whenever i need you the most for a kiss
how simple are all these things, and the love we view as bliss, like those we read in between pages and paragraphs, a crisscross of how two people meet

yet in between these pages and lines, are the stories and words that have yet to unfold
and i was not aware of what i had to hold before my eyes

i cannot feel you by the tips of my fingers, nor can i walk out the door to find myself welcome to your arms and kiss
i can only long for your company, praying that my heart will not leap out of my chest, because i know that no one will come racing to claim for the lifeless body, and i will be buried under, nailed and coffin closed, sadly like the rest
i cannot have you within reach, i can only surround myself with all of these temporary wants and in time, i know, i will no longer need
i will suffocate underneath these sheets, and your weight will not be felt because you are miles and miles apart, separated by sea, not an inch
and i cannot return back the love you need but i will continue to love you nonetheless, without growing tired and weary, no matter if i am even close to death, and to me, this is the simplest love can get

these are the stories and paragraphs that have yet to unfold
in between the lines are these words of a love we all view as bliss, a crisscross of how two people meet
and this was the only thing i had myself to prepare for

the story i grew up being told

n.j.
Ashly Kocher Nov 2018
Simple words
Simple you
Simple love
Simple tune
Simple laughter
Simple looks
Simple gestures
Simple gratitude
S
I
M
P
L
E
Simple
         You
mk Oct 2015
"she's a simple girl"
they say about me
judging me upon
my plain clothes,
and even plainer face

"she's a simple girl"
they say about me
judging me upon
my lack of words
regarding frivolous topics
hair, make-up,
who's dating who

"she's a simple girl"
they say about me
judging me upon
the fact that i'd rather stay in
with a book curled up in bed
as opposed to a wild night out
downing glasses of God knows what

but would they invest the effort
and just a little bit of their time
to try and understand
the complexities of my mind
the ideas
the perspectives,
the roads less traveled

would they ask me what i am passionate about
they would receive not a few words
but uncountable volumes full of my greatest dreams
and most sacred desires

ask me what i love and i will tell you
about how deeply i care for the concept of community
humanitarianism, how my biggest dream
is to bring people together

if they saw the thoughts which keep me up all night
how was i created? why was i created?
why me? why not?
my purpose and philosophy of life?
to be, or not to be?
who? what? where? why?

if only they tried to look beyond the surface
and dive in deep
they would realize that i am no shallow pond
but a raging deep ocean
full of emotion and thought
belief, and purpose.

i am a simple girl* when it comes to matters of materialism
i am a simple girl when it comes to speaking my mind
i am a simple girl when it comes to my lack of interest in manipulation, mind-games and gossip

i am a simple girl
until you stop judging me for what you see
&
*begin understanding me for who i am
simple [sɪmp(ə)l/]: easily understood or done; plain, basic, or uncomplicated in form, nature, or design
Toxic yeti Nov 2018
One day when I was walking
When I saw some prayer flags
Prayer flags swaying
Swaying in the wind
Just swaying
Bring people luck
Making them the luckiest of the lucky
I ask what a simple life
A simple job
A simple bunch of flags
Then I become jealous
Jealous of their simplicity
Wishing
Just wishing
Just wish for their lifestyle
Prayer flags
Simple life, simple job:
Simple flags.
Life becomes more enduring when simple.

Simple needs
Simple wants
Simple ways
Simple pleasures
Simple measures…

Attaining this though not simple

Is worth trying

Amid the challenging realization

It’s simply impossible!
Paul Gilhooley Apr 2016
Simple things and simple treasures,
Simple times with simple pleasures,
From lapping waves to singing birds,
Simple thoughts and simple words.
Simple deeds, give lasting impressions,
Simple facts, bring important lessons,
A generous act will go a long way,
Simple things, for a simply perfect day.

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
A simple kiss
gentle and sweet
electrified my soul.

A wave of
****** feelings
never felt before.

A simple kiss
became complicated.
Feelings of passion,
anticipation,
longing,
love.

A simple kiss
ruined by
regret,
shame,
guilt.

I miss
A simple kiss.
A simple hug.
A simple friendship.
A simple love.
Mike Essig Jul 2015
Simple Song
a wooden room:

waking in the morning light
beside you in a simple bed.

we drink from simple cups
subtle waters.

simple wood and light
simple cup and bread
simple warmth and calm.

difficult -

the simple world
is difficult…

or

simply open the door:

the breeze calls us
the birds sing
our mortal names…

plain table,
subtle fire.

two plates as round
as owl’s eyes.

your heart and mine:

simple,
simply,
beautiful.
  –mce
Knights Apr 2015
Simple
Yes simple
People like simple
I'd like to say that I like simple
But if I were to say that I did, would that make me simple?
midnight prague Aug 2011
A simple woman, sitting by the window sill
watching the dust glimmering in the beams of sunlight
that peak through her broken curtains.
she catches them with her tongue.
she forgets to put her undergarments on usually when she wears a dress
and alone she loves to be naked.

A simple woman who wakes up in the morning
and washes her face, examines herself in the mirror
one minute convinced she is beautiful and the next pale and daunted
the water slowly runs down her neck

she is electrical with remorse,  fondled by regret
she is enamored by the new day
she wants to lay in her bed forever
she cannot wait to kiss the sun

her mind will make your soul feel -light/cool wind/calm.
her heart .fleshy -copious, and pregnant with deadly bombs

her hands press down like the dictator in his high
her hands press down like the mothers upon a new born

black and white things make their way down
like oil snakes, leaving impressionable trails behind
this mirror that she stares into
behind all the admirable things she has tasted
she examines her mouth
the creature that has pranced upon vicious moments
the one that restrains itself from brutal emotional death

some of her days are a rise above phenomenal planets
she throws her arms in the sky and dances every step she knows soaking wet
enthralled, blistered and covered in the masquerade of her tears
usually she is empty, hallow - engraved with speechless anecdotes of
her most inspiring times,
under the blazed moon
her back glimmers - her skin gives off a light cool
the stare in her eyes, makes every bone in your body
turn to ice, beware of her because sometimes
she is too nice

a simple woman, who will make the black heart turn white
a simple woman who can make ****** fall in love
a simple women who has
died  

she walks into the grocery store
people do not stare correctly, or never stare at all
either way she is discontent ----- rarely people stare with proper eyes
and when they do, things go missing
her memory vanishes- her turmoil falls deeper into the grave yard
she is new

she is a simple woman
she sings after she smokes too much, and does not eat enough sometimes
she enjoys making love to books and giving birth to new ones
she melts at the thought of a good poem
and withers away at the sight of others misfortune

eradicated at age 7, combined by ruckus and 80's music
John Lennon, a blonde grandmother. Greetings
and fingers that almost touched

I have a collection of old birthday cards,
and kept the items that I almost died in
shriveled roses and vintage candles

A simple woman, breaking at dawn with the hour
coolly breathing in the midnight disaster
smiling to absolutely nothing in the world
ConnectHook Feb 2016
by John Greenleaf Whittier  (1807 – 1892)

“As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine Light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood fire: and as the celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same.”

       COR. AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. chap. v.

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow; and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.


                                       EMERSON

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, —
Brought in the wood from out of doors,
Littered the stalls, and from the mows
Raked down the herd’s-grass for the cows;
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While, peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold’s pole of birch,
The **** his crested helmet bent
And down his querulous challenge sent.

Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag, wavering to and fro,
Crossed and recrossed the wingàd snow:
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines
Of Nature’s geometric signs,
And, when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below, —
A universe of sky and snow!
The old familiar sights of ours
Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,
Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant spendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa’s leaning miracle.

A prompt, decisive man, no breath
Our father wasted: “Boys, a path!”
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy
Count such a summons less than joy?)
Our buskins on our feet we drew;
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low,
To guard our necks and ears from snow,
We cut the solid whiteness through.
And, where the drift was deepest, made
A tunnel walled and overlaid
With dazzling crystal: we had read
Of rare Aladdin’s wondrous cave,
And to our own his name we gave,
With many a wish the luck were ours
To test his lamp’s supernal powers.
We reached the barn with merry din,
And roused the prisoned brutes within.
The old horse ****** his long head out,
And grave with wonder gazed about;
The **** his ***** greeting said,
And forth his speckled harem led;
The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked,
And mild reproach of hunger looked;
The hornëd patriarch of the sheep,
Like Egypt’s Amun roused from sleep,
Shook his sage head with gesture mute,
And emphasized with stamp of foot.

All day the gusty north-wind bore
The loosening drift its breath before;
Low circling round its southern zone,
The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone.
No church-bell lent its Christian tone
To the savage air, no social smoke
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak.
A solitude made more intense
By dreary-voicëd elements,
The shrieking of the mindless wind,
The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind,
And on the glass the unmeaning beat
Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet.
Beyond the circle of our hearth
No welcome sound of toil or mirth
Unbound the spell, and testified
Of human life and thought outside.
We minded that the sharpest ear
The buried brooklet could not hear,
The music of whose liquid lip
Had been to us companionship,
And, in our lonely life, had grown
To have an almost human tone.

As night drew on, and, from the crest
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
From sight beneath the smothering bank,
We piled, with care, our nightly stack
Of wood against the chimney-back, —
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
And on its top the stout back-stick;
The knotty forestick laid apart,
And filled between with curious art

The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
The crane and pendent trammels showed,
The Turks’ heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,
Whispered the old rhyme: “Under the tree,
When fire outdoors burns merrily,
There the witches are making tea.”

The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.
For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where’er it fell
To make the coldness visible.

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed;
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat’s dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger’s seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons’ straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October’s wood.

What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire’s ruddy glow.
O Time and Change! — with hair as gray
As was my sire’s that winter day,
How strange it seems, with so much gone
Of life and love, to still live on!
Ah, brother! only I and thou
Are left of all that circle now, —
The dear home faces whereupon
That fitful firelight paled and shone.
Henceforward, listen as we will,
The voices of that hearth are still;
Look where we may, the wide earth o’er,
Those lighted faces smile no more.

We tread the paths their feet have worn,
We sit beneath their orchard trees,
We hear, like them, the hum of bees
And rustle of the bladed corn;
We turn the pages that they read,
Their written words we linger o’er,
But in the sun they cast no shade,
No voice is heard, no sign is made,
No step is on the conscious floor!
Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust,
(Since He who knows our need is just,)
That somehow, somewhere, meet we must.
Alas for him who never sees
The stars shine through his cypress-trees!
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,
The truth to flesh and sense unknown,
That Life is ever lord of Death,
And Love can never lose its own!

We sped the time with stories old,
Wrought puzzles out, and riddles told,
Or stammered from our school-book lore
“The Chief of Gambia’s golden shore.”
How often since, when all the land
Was clay in Slavery’s shaping hand,
As if a far-blown trumpet stirred
Dame Mercy Warren’s rousing word:
“Does not the voice of reason cry,
Claim the first right which Nature gave,
From the red scourge of ******* to fly,
Nor deign to live a burdened slave!”
Our father rode again his ride
On Memphremagog’s wooded side;
Sat down again to moose and samp
In trapper’s hut and Indian camp;
Lived o’er the old idyllic ease
Beneath St. François’ hemlock-trees;
Again for him the moonlight shone
On Norman cap and bodiced zone;
Again he heard the violin play
Which led the village dance away.
And mingled in its merry whirl
The grandam and the laughing girl.
Or, nearer home, our steps he led
Where Salisbury’s level marshes spread
Mile-wide as flies the laden bee;
Where merry mowers, hale and strong,
Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along
The low green prairies of the sea.
We shared the fishing off Boar’s Head,
And round the rocky Isles of Shoals
The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals;
The chowder on the sand-beach made,
Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot,
With spoons of clam-shell from the ***.
We heard the tales of witchcraft old,
And dream and sign and marvel told
To sleepy listeners as they lay
Stretched idly on the salted hay,
Adrift along the winding shores,
When favoring breezes deigned to blow
The square sail of the gundelow
And idle lay the useless oars.

Our mother, while she turned her wheel
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel,
Told how the Indian hordes came down
At midnight on Concheco town,
And how her own great-uncle bore
His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore.
Recalling, in her fitting phrase,
So rich and picturesque and free
(The common unrhymed poetry
Of simple life and country ways,)
The story of her early days, —
She made us welcome to her home;
Old hearths grew wide to give us room;
We stole with her a frightened look
At the gray wizard’s conjuring-book,
The fame whereof went far and wide
Through all the simple country side;
We heard the hawks at twilight play,
The boat-horn on Piscataqua,
The loon’s weird laughter far away;
We fished her little trout-brook, knew
What flowers in wood and meadow grew,
What sunny hillsides autumn-brown
She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down,
Saw where in sheltered cove and bay,
The ducks’ black squadron anchored lay,
And heard the wild-geese calling loud
Beneath the gray November cloud.
Then, haply, with a look more grave,
And soberer tone, some tale she gave
From painful Sewel’s ancient tome,
Beloved in every Quaker home,
Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom,
Or Chalkley’s Journal, old and quaint, —
Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint! —
Who, when the dreary calms prevailed,
And water-**** and bread-cask failed,
And cruel, hungry eyes pursued
His portly presence mad for food,
With dark hints muttered under breath
Of casting lots for life or death,

Offered, if Heaven withheld supplies,
To be himself the sacrifice.
Then, suddenly, as if to save
The good man from his living grave,
A ripple on the water grew,
A school of porpoise flashed in view.
“Take, eat,” he said, “and be content;
These fishes in my stead are sent
By Him who gave the tangled ram
To spare the child of Abraham.”
Our uncle, innocent of books,
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks,
The ancient teachers never dumb
Of Nature’s unhoused lyceum.
In moons and tides and weather wise,
He read the clouds as prophecies,
And foul or fair could well divine,
By many an occult hint and sign,
Holding the cunning-warded keys
To all the woodcraft mysteries;
Himself to Nature’s heart so near
v That all her voices in his ear
Of beast or bird had meanings clear,
Like Apollonius of old,
Who knew the tales the sparrows told,
Or Hermes, who interpreted
What the sage cranes of Nilus said;
A simple, guileless, childlike man,
Content to live where life began;
Strong only on his native grounds,
The little world of sights and sounds
Whose girdle was the parish bounds,
Whereof his fondly partial pride
The common features magnified,
As Surrey hills to mountains grew
In White of Selborne’s loving view, —
He told how teal and loon he shot,
And how the eagle’s eggs he got,
The feats on pond and river done,
The prodigies of rod and gun;
Till, warming with the tales he told,
Forgotten was the outside cold,
The bitter wind unheeded blew,
From ripening corn the pigeons flew,
The partridge drummed i’ the wood, the mink
Went fishing down the river-brink.
In fields with bean or clover gay,
The woodchuck, like a hermit gray,
Peered from the doorway of his cell;
The muskrat plied the mason’s trade,
And tier by tier his mud-walls laid;
And from the shagbark overhead
The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell.

Next, the dear aunt, whose smile of cheer
And voice in dreams I see and hear, —
The sweetest woman ever Fate
Perverse denied a household mate,
Who, lonely, homeless, not the less
Found peace in love’s unselfishness,
And welcome wheresoe’er she went,
A calm and gracious element,
Whose presence seemed the sweet income
And womanly atmosphere of home, —
Called up her girlhood memories,
The huskings and the apple-bees,
The sleigh-rides and the summer sails,
Weaving through all the poor details
And homespun warp of circumstance
A golden woof-thread of romance.
For well she kept her genial mood
And simple faith of maidenhood;
Before her still a cloud-land lay,
The mirage loomed across her way;
The morning dew, that dries so soon
With others, glistened at her noon;
Through years of toil and soil and care,
From glossy tress to thin gray hair,
All unprofaned she held apart
The ****** fancies of the heart.
Be shame to him of woman born
Who hath for such but thought of scorn.
There, too, our elder sister plied
Her evening task the stand beside;
A full, rich nature, free to trust,
Truthful and almost sternly just,
Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act,
And make her generous thought a fact,
Keeping with many a light disguise
The secret of self-sacrifice.

O heart sore-tried! thou hast the best
That Heaven itself could give thee, — rest,
Rest from all bitter thoughts and things!
How many a poor one’s blessing went
With thee beneath the low green tent
Whose curtain never outward swings!

As one who held herself a part
Of all she saw, and let her heart
Against the household ***** lean,
Upon the motley-braided mat
Our youngest and our dearest sat,
Lifting her large, sweet, asking eyes,
Now bathed in the unfading green
And holy peace of Paradise.
Oh, looking from some heavenly hill,
Or from the shade of saintly palms,
Or silver reach of river calms,
Do those large eyes behold me still?
With me one little year ago: —
The chill weight of the winter snow
For months upon her grave has lain;
And now, when summer south-winds blow
And brier and harebell bloom again,
I tread the pleasant paths we trod,
I see the violet-sprinkled sod
Whereon she leaned, too frail and weak
The hillside flowers she loved to seek,
Yet following me where’er I went
With dark eyes full of love’s content.
The birds are glad; the brier-rose fills
The air with sweetness; all the hills
Stretch green to June’s unclouded sky;
But still I wait with ear and eye
For something gone which should be nigh,
A loss in all familiar things,
In flower that blooms, and bird that sings.
And yet, dear heart! remembering thee,
Am I not richer than of old?
Safe in thy immortality,
What change can reach the wealth I hold?
What chance can mar the pearl and gold
Thy love hath left in trust with me?
And while in life’s late afternoon,
Where cool and long the shadows grow,
I walk to meet the night that soon
Shall shape and shadow overflow,
I cannot feel that thou art far,
Since near at need the angels are;
And when the sunset gates unbar,
Shall I not see thee waiting stand,
And, white against the evening star,
The welcome of thy beckoning hand?

Brisk wielder of the birch and rule,
The master of the district school
Held at the fire his favored place,
Its warm glow lit a laughing face
Fresh-hued and fair, where scarce appeared
The uncertain prophecy of beard.
He teased the mitten-blinded cat,
Played cross-pins on my uncle’s hat,
Sang songs, and told us what befalls
In classic Dartmouth’s college halls.
Born the wild Northern hills among,
From whence his yeoman father wrung
By patient toil subsistence scant,
Not competence and yet not want,
He early gained the power to pay
His cheerful, self-reliant way;
Could doff at ease his scholar’s gown
To peddle wares from town to town;
Or through the long vacation’s reach
In lonely lowland districts teach,
Where all the droll experience found
At stranger hearths in boarding round,
The moonlit skater’s keen delight,
The sleigh-drive through the frosty night,
The rustic party, with its rough
Accompaniment of blind-man’s-buff,
And whirling-plate, and forfeits paid,
His winter task a pastime made.
Happy the snow-locked homes wherein
He tuned his merry violin,

Or played the athlete in the barn,
Or held the good dame’s winding-yarn,
Or mirth-provoking versions told
Of classic legends rare and old,
Wherein the scenes of Greece and Rome
Had all the commonplace of home,
And little seemed at best the odds
‘Twixt Yankee pedlers and old gods;
Where Pindus-born Arachthus took
The guise of any grist-mill brook,
And dread Olympus at his will
Became a huckleberry hill.

A careless boy that night he seemed;
But at his desk he had the look
And air of one who wisely schemed,
And hostage from the future took
In trainëd thought and lore of book.
Large-brained, clear-eyed, of such as he
Shall Freedom’s young apostles be,
Who, following in War’s ****** trail,
Shall every lingering wrong assail;
All chains from limb and spirit strike,
Uplift the black and white alike;
Scatter before their swift advance
The darkness and the ignorance,
The pride, the lust, the squalid sloth,
Which nurtured Treason’s monstrous growth,
Made ****** pastime, and the hell
Of prison-torture possible;
The cruel lie of caste refute,
Old forms remould, and substitute
For Slavery’s lash the freeman’s will,
For blind routine, wise-handed skill;
A school-house plant on every hill,
Stretching in radiate nerve-lines thence
The quick wires of intelligence;
Till North and South together brought
Shall own the same electric thought,
In peace a common flag salute,
And, side by side in labor’s free
And unresentful rivalry,
Harvest the fields wherein they fought.

Another guest that winter night
Flashed back from lustrous eyes the light.
Unmarked by time, and yet not young,
The honeyed music of her tongue
And words of meekness scarcely told
A nature passionate and bold,

Strong, self-concentred, spurning guide,
Its milder features dwarfed beside
Her unbent will’s majestic pride.
She sat among us, at the best,
A not unfeared, half-welcome guest,
Rebuking with her cultured phrase
Our homeliness of words and ways.
A certain pard-like, treacherous grace
Swayed the lithe limbs and drooped the lash,
Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash;
And under low brows, black with night,
Rayed out at times a dangerous light;
The sharp heat-lightnings of her face
Presaging ill to him whom Fate
Condemned to share her love or hate.
A woman tropical, intense
In thought and act, in soul and sense,
She blended in a like degree
The ***** and the devotee,
Revealing with each freak or feint
The temper of Petruchio’s Kate,
The raptures of Siena’s saint.
Her tapering hand and rounded wrist
Had facile power to form a fist;
The warm, dark languish of her eyes
Was never safe from wrath’s surprise.
Brows saintly calm and lips devout
Knew every change of scowl and pout;
And the sweet voice had notes more high
And shrill for social battle-cry.

Since then what old cathedral town
Has missed her pilgrim staff and gown,
What convent-gate has held its lock
Against the challenge of her knock!
Through Smyrna’s plague-hushed thoroughfares,
Up sea-set Malta’s rocky stairs,
Gray olive slopes of hills that hem
Thy tombs and shrines, Jerusalem,
Or startling on her desert throne
The crazy Queen of Lebanon
With claims fantastic as her own,
Her tireless feet have held their way;
And still, unrestful, bowed, and gray,
She watches under Eastern skies,
With hope each day renewed and fresh,
The Lord’s quick coming in the flesh,
Whereof she dreams and prophesies!
Where’er her troubled path may be,
The Lord’s sweet pity with her go!
The outward wayward life we see,
The hidden springs we may not know.
Nor is it given us to discern
What threads the fatal sisters spun,
Through what ancestral years has run
The sorrow with the woman born,
What forged her cruel chain of moods,
What set her feet in solitudes,
And held the love within her mute,
What mingled madness in the blood,
A life-long discord and annoy,
Water of tears with oil of joy,
And hid within the folded bud
Perversities of flower and fruit.
It is not ours to separate
The tangled skein of will and fate,
To show what metes and bounds should stand
Upon the soul’s debatable land,
And between choice and Providence
Divide the circle of events;
But He who knows our frame is just,
Merciful and compassionate,
And full of sweet assurances
And hope for all the language is,
That He remembereth we are dust!

At last the great logs, crumbling low,
Sent out a dull and duller glow,
The bull’s-eye watch that hung in view,
Ticking its weary circuit through,
Pointed with mutely warning sign
Its black hand to the hour of nine.
That sign the pleasant circle broke:
My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke,
Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray,
And laid it tenderly away;
Then roused himself to safely cover
The dull red brands with ashes over.
And while, with care, our mother laid
The work aside, her steps she stayed
One moment, seeking to express
Her grateful sense of happiness
For food and shelter, warmth and health,
And love’s contentment more than wealth,
With simple wishes (not the weak,
Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek,
But such as warm the generous heart,
O’er-prompt to do with Heaven its part)
That none might lack, that bitter night,
For bread and clothing, warmth and light.

Within our beds awhile we heard
The wind that round the gables roared,
With now and then a ruder shock,
Which made our very bedsteads rock.
We heard the loosened clapboards tost,
The board-nails snapping in the frost;
And on us, through the unplastered wall,
Felt the light sifted snow-flakes fall.
But sleep stole on, as sleep will do
When hearts are light and life is new;
Faint and more faint the murmurs grew,
Till in the summer-land of dreams
They softened to the sound of streams,
Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars,
And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Of merry voices high and clear;
And saw the teamsters drawing near
To break the drifted highways out.
Down the long hillside treading slow
We saw the half-buried oxen go,
Shaking the snow from heads uptost,
Their straining nostrils white with frost.
Before our door the straggling train
Drew up, an added team to gain.
The elders threshed their hands a-cold,
Passed, with the cider-mug, their jokes
From lip to lip; the younger folks
Down the loose snow-banks, wrestling, rolled,
Then toiled again the cavalcade
O’er windy hill, through clogged ravine,
And woodland paths that wound between
Low drooping pine-boughs winter-weighed.
From every barn a team afoot,
At every house a new recruit,
Where, drawn by Nature’s subtlest law,
Haply the watchful young men saw
Sweet doorway pictures of the curls
And curious eyes of merry girls,
Lifting their hands in mock defence
Against the snow-ball’s compliments,
And reading in each missive tost
The charm with Eden never lost.
We heard once more the sleigh-bells’ sound;
And, following where the teamsters led,
The wise old Doctor went his round,
Just pausing at our door to say,
In the brief autocratic way
Of one who, prompt at Duty’s call,
Was free to urge her claim on all,
That some poor neighbor sick abed
At night our mother’s aid would need.
For, one in generous thought and deed,
What mattered in the sufferer’s sight
The Quaker matron’s inward light,
The Doctor’s mail of Calvin’s creed?
All hearts confess the saints elect
Who, twain in faith, in love agree,
And melt not in an acid sect
The Christian pearl of charity!

So days went on: a week had passed
Since the great world was heard from last.
The Almanac we studied o’er,
Read and reread our little store
Of books and pamphlets, scarce a score;
One harmless novel, mostly hid
From younger eyes, a book forbid,
And poetry, (or good or bad,
A single book was all we had,)
Where Ellwood’s meek, drab-skirted Muse,
A stranger to the heathen Nine,
Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine,
The wars of David and the Jews.
At last the floundering carrier bore
The village paper to our door.
Lo! broadening outward as we read,
To warmer zones the horizon spread
In panoramic length unrolled
We saw the marvels that it told.
Before us passed the painted Creeks,
A   nd daft McGregor on his raids
In Costa Rica’s everglades.
And up Taygetos winding slow
Rode Ypsilanti’s Mainote Greeks,
A Turk’s head at each saddle-bow!
Welcome to us its week-old news,
Its corner for the rustic Muse,
Its monthly gauge of snow and rain,
Its record, mingling in a breath
The wedding bell and dirge of death:
Jest, anecdote, and love-lorn tale,
The latest culprit sent to jail;
Its hue and cry of stolen and lost,
Its vendue sales and goods at cost,
And traffic calling loud for gain.
We felt the stir of hall and street,
The pulse of life that round us beat;
The chill embargo of the snow
Was melted in the genial glow;
Wide swung again our ice-locked door,
And all the world was ours once more!

Clasp, Angel of the backword look
And folded wings of ashen gray
And voice of echoes far away,
The brazen covers of thy book;
The weird palimpsest old and vast,
Wherein thou hid’st the spectral past;
Where, closely mingling, pale and glow
The characters of joy and woe;
The monographs of outlived years,
Or smile-illumed or dim with tears,
Green hills of life that ***** to death,
And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees
Shade off to mournful cypresses
With the white amaranths underneath.
Even while I look, I can but heed
The restless sands’ incessant fall,
Importunate hours that hours succeed,
Each clamorous with its own sharp need,
And duty keeping pace with all.
Shut down and clasp with heavy lids;
I hear again the voice that bids
The dreamer leave his dream midway
For larger hopes and graver fears:
Life greatens in these later years,
The century’s aloe flowers to-day!

Yet, haply, in some lull of life,
Some Truce of God which breaks its strife,
The worldling’s eyes shall gather dew,
Dreaming in throngful city ways
Of winter joys his boyhood knew;
And dear and early friends — the few
Who yet remain — shall pause to view
These Flemish pictures of old days;
Sit with me by the homestead hearth,
And stretch the hands of memory forth
To warm them at the wood-fire’s blaze!
And thanks untraced to lips unknown
Shall greet me like the odors blown
From unseen meadows newly mown,
Wood-fringed, the wayside gaze beyond;
The traveller owns the grateful sense
Of sweetness near, he knows not whence,
And, pausing, takes with forehead bare
The benediction of the air.

Written in  1865
In its day, 'twas a best-seller and earned significant income for Whittier

https://youtu.be/vVOQ54YQ73A

BLM activists are so stupid that they defaced a statue of Whittier  unaware that he was an ardent abolitionist 🤣
This is a poem I am writing for all of the clouds out there who drift lazily through the sky on the dream of short-lived lives.
For the dogs who run around having no long term goals or dreams.
How I envy all of the simple existences that I see around me constantly.
When you are a person in today's modern society, it seems as if it is inevitable to lead a troublesome life, what with things like Facebook, Photography, and Freedom.
So what does this contradictory word complexity even symbolize in the miracle of the English language?
Complexity is the person who you love, and all of the feelings and thoughts that they provoke.
It is the red door, that stands for so much more, in that book that your English teacher tried to explain.
Complexity is the idea that by virtue of being accustomed to modern life, we have the determination to overlook the simple things in life...but that is kind of complicated.
Once we all learn our own primary language, the mind naturally expands to things like thoughts, feelings, ideas, hopes, desires, and all of these are accented by feelings.
So what is simplicity?
Simplicity is the formation of birds that are migrating south.
It is the sound of grass in the wind, the taste of water after a hot day.
As complex beings, we naturally strive to find simple things, because after a while, the complex thoughts expire.
But people love being complicated, so much that they try to find intricate patterns in the simplest things; even in death.
Although most people have the intellectual capacity to think complicated thoughts, that should not prevent them from loving the simple things in life.
What is lucky about our flexible minds is that we are allowed to decide what is simple and what is complex.
For example, a spider's web. It is a beautiful creation made of silky, withstanding string that latches on to any small piece of matter it can find. The web is the spiders shelter, it helps it to sustain life and to put bread on the table, or dead bugs as the case may be.
On the other hand, a spider's web is its home. The spider has one simple purpose in life, to survive off of the web. An existence with one goal, objective, and dream, to create a web is simple in a most beautiful way.
Being allowed to make anything in life, including life itself, as simple or as complicated as we like is without a doubt one of the most amazing powers we possess as human beings.
When encountered with presentations of pure beauty, I have begun to try to keep them simple in my mind, for the sake of trying to embrace the beauty for what it is, be it a colorful sunset, an undefined relationship, or the red door that doesn't stand for anything more.
So next time you go to think about something and make it your own, think before you think.
Classic, wrote back in July on some writing trip to Ireland
Simple thoughts ...not simple dreams
Don't settle for the middle
Dream Big and aim much higher
And therein lies the riddle
Don't set your sights on second best
Don't go for mediocre
Aim for the top and reach your dream
Don't settle like a joker
To set a goal below your best
You're cheating yourself first
Not taking on the challenges
Will make your bubble burst
Don't start off with a handicap
Dream as big as big can be
Not setting goals you earn to reach
Won't set your talents free
By doing what's just good enough
Won't get you to first place
It's like going out and betting on
Each horse that's in the race
You know you've backed a winner
But, you've backed a loser too
You want to be the winner
When your loves and dreams come true
So, close your eyes and see your dreams
Dream big....and one step more
For shooting at the middle won't
Help you make it through that door
Simple thoughts, not simple dreams
Aim high and make a start
You'll never reach your destination
If your goals aren't in your heart
Make smart choices, but don't settle
Know there's always more to do
Smart decisions and devotion
Will make your Big Dreams  come true.

— The End —