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My heart rests, by the cold fountain.
               (Fill it with threads,
               spider of silence.)

The fountain-water sang it the song.
               (Fill it with threads,
               spider of silence.)

My heart, waking, sang its desires.
               (Spider of nothingness,
               spin your mystery.)

The fountain-water listened sombrely.
              (Spider of nothingness,
               spin your mystery.)

My heart falls into the cold of the fountain.
               (White hands, far-out,
               hold back the water.)

The water carries it, singing with joy.
              (White hands, far-out,
               nothing there in the water!)
As a stone falconer, I look for honey where many detest,
I sombrely harvest stones for my food as others bask in orchards
I now salute Adolf ******, not for his adulthood life,
I bow unto him for his youthful love of his fatherland,
In his life of youthful days, dreaming and dreaming
In his struggles of meine Kempf, to wash Germany clean,
And plant social democracy free from the stench of Jews,
His love-hate of Karl Marx redolent of missing link,
In all the humanity where education is made a luxury
And dearest reserve of the rich, the few and powers that be,
Your excellent mental growth defied formality of the times,
You surpassed the schooled and the institutionalized of the time,
Phenomenally accumulating haphazard knowledge and prowess
Of the garrulous leader as beckoned the fashion of politics by then,
Only the best outfit to beguile politics of Europe in the then time,
In your humanity there is both glorious failure and doomsday success
Whence your life failures are fountains of intellectual glory,
You yearned to wash the Jews off a reeking perfume
To offload your fatherland off the burden of exotic poverty,
A normal dream for a normal son, in whatsoever the world,
****** the son of Europe you made your father proud,
No inch of land on earth messes to play with Europe,
Your respect for African military muscle sent a right Signal,
Down in the land of the Negroes to fight for freedom
From the rotten yoke of colonialism that had putrefied
The necks and shoulders of African nationalism,
Hail you ****** in realm of the living dead
History of we the living is a protégé of your soul,
Carry your neck high above all the dead for your role,
Germany is now great and highly spirited above cosmetics,
You were born insignificant but you died significantly,
Eva Braun the lady of your head falling in your arm,
A true man you measured as you died on the nuptial night,
You gave the mantra of historical permanency
On which Europe’s future is embedded in your song
Of need for the breathing space for sons of the Aryan nation,
I admire your spirit towards preservation of your fatherland,
There are million of those that hate you in the day under the light,
But they slavishly worship you in the night with their dim lit candles
Their faces deeply buried in the Meine Kempf, no effort can fickle ‘em
In their voracity for the oeuvre of your soul, the Fuhrer of Germany,
Blessed be Germany the land of your matrix,
Let it sire and sire several like you, now and future
For the spirit of duty with which you were imbued
The sole natural resources menacingly missing
Among the poor countries of the world
Hence their misery in the captivity of poverty,
You are a lesson, a school, and benchmark
For the brave and the cowards but only the bigots
Can refuse to swallow the superb historicity
You gave to the world of your time and beyond.
You nursed and bred Einstein the child of your arm,
In your early Jostle on the verge of nuclear technology ,
While others in the deep slumber snored in crudeness
Of their culture and colonial bliss, totally impairing the vision,
You amassed national wealth in the hands of the *****,
You thinned corruption from the state machinery of Germany,
You combated communism with mighty of a born fighter,
You fought poverty and condemned syphilis away from Aryan race,
In your pure love of Germany your fatherland, pride of your heart,
Or show me normal a man who yearns to breed a weakling nation
And I will take you from the perforated shadow of Leo Tolstoy
And shed you under the umbra of Shakespeare the bard,
To catechize you truly on pearls of morality
Bound in King Lear, that only the weak
None but the weak  who attract the attack.
craig apogee Nov 2023
From a place of emptiness
Hopelessness
You filled my heart to brim
Possibility within

The bubble has burst
But as the light catches the scattered mist
Red to indigo
Your easel

So while your palette remains sombrely tinted
Azure shades and golden hues emerge within your brushstroke
First post in years. Needed the pen
marble eyes Oct 2015
one day I will nestle myself gently into the mountains and I will be so small no one will see me burn

smoke fills my body and I watch as it rises to the sky-
will you see me drifting above the tree-line and wonder about the loss?

will you imagine for me that my rooms were once full,
will you play pretend and make me a home?

would you dream for me a world where I have not always been burning,
mourn the broken picture frames and cleanse my attic with sage,
rid me of the ghosts that could have lingered here

I will wait there in the mountains for my flames to fall,
hidden sombrely amidst the hills, quietly humming my plea:

I am a burning house;
with cracking foundation and collapsing walls, i beg you,
condemn me

bury your secrets in my ashes and scroll stories on my walls,
build a home for dying things from my rubble

let me finally stop burning and simply be burnt
i've had this concept rattling around in my head. i wish i had a better way to say it.
Lee Janes Dec 2012
Many a path, sombrely held with ever-deep regret,
Hand in hand, guides to a fair gentle maid I met:
As Frost, breathe dreams over chilly autumn evening,
When Moon hornéd beams lay fondly deceiving
Wounds of dry blood, on silent Nights shrouded sky,
And pours forth a stream of crimson coloured dye
Dazzling thy gaze, upon heavens splendour bright,
Caressing thy heart with her tender excess of light.
May great Apollo, from his rested car now bring
Aloud thy voice, tiptoed aloft, perching softly to sing,
Of sweet kisses, with laurel, to be placed on your brow,
Mingling dewy moist lips to inspire ever what I feel now.
Flame! In hearts grand chamber, waft within thy breast
A rekindled fire, in which dove wings burn loves chest.
Natasha Jul 2013
The beautiful blue sky, white morning light
Flood my bedroom
Make it go away
Too painful to sleep
And it's too bright to shine on someone so sombrely
Will I ever feel normal without it again

— The End —