"strategize" poems - Hello Poetry

In long lasting fortitude is the fight of the astute. A lot of effort is made towards the war of the moral. And a race towards life is the route. Preparing the endless fit of strength of all. There is he who is choosing his fate. Working hard despite all opposers’ bait. There is he who is choosing life. Working hard despite all opposers’ strife. Lost in the dirt, seeking out of the ruse. Forced towards the light, brighter and rife. No letting up despite the refuse. Clean is the proud, and happy, the player of the flute. A rite of passage for all is the praise of the immortal. War is the only dispute Death is not fatal. The renegade does not enter the gate. He is stuck outside the city, and left without state. The renegade does not know his wife. He is stuck at heart and can’t even play a fife. In the dirt he is and is with a lot of abuse. He cannot escape the knife. Cut, cutting up despite the accuse. Reality is but the face of cute. Subjected to falsified doctrine and the immoral. It is callous and as rotten fruit. Moxie exists with everyone no matter how small. Can the one who is happy learn to hate? Only he or she can solve this debate. Finally the long absent sky above the Alewife. Can’t say that I have seen such teeming wildlife... Swimming in a sea of its Muse. The lowly continue their sighs But I do proudly diffuse. .This plight of mine is hard to toot. Exemplified by my emphasis on the astral. With which I dress in an armoured suit. So my enemies do not mute my oral. and the skies do tell in high rate, How esteemed they are on time and ne’er late. But giving ever virtuous despite All those dead or dying, without prospect of afterlife. It is their way to choose: The dark abyss of guise, (or) The gentle river of blue For now I do keep silent, But still I commute, With those of higher propositions and goal, So I do instill thyself a deeper root. In the waterbed truly formal. Those who truth ‘I do navigate’ and those of lies ‘I do alienate’ At a loss O’ man or mesmerize, Work harder on thoughts than just plagiarize. The foes of old are still and sleuth I show them love and they in lies are baptized Tradition is there with purpose, don’t misuse. I see to it the wise stay wise, For better they will strategize. And the unwise, wisdom they will pursue. Giving them their much needed paradise. And the lost I will use.

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Nov 2, 2012

Nov 2, 2012 at 10:53 AM UTC

mj-cusson

Poem Of Paradise

In long lasting fortitude is the fight of the astute. A lot of effort is made towards the war of the moral. And a race towards life is the route. Preparing the endless fit of strength of all. There is he who is choosing his fate. Working hard despite all opposers’ bait. There is he who is choosing life. Working hard despite all opposers’ strife. Lost in the dirt, seeking out of the ruse. Forced towards the light, brighter and rife. No letting up despite the refuse. Clean is the proud, and happy, the player of the flute. A rite of passage for all is the praise of the immortal. War is the only dispute Death is not fatal. The renegade does not enter the gate. He is stuck outside the city, and left without state. The renegade does not know his wife. He is stuck at heart and can’t even play a fife. In the dirt he is and is with a lot of abuse. He cannot escape the knife. Cut, cutting up despite the accuse. Reality is but the face of cute. Subjected to falsified doctrine and the immoral. It is callous and as rotten fruit. Moxie exists with everyone no matter how small. Can the one who is happy learn to hate? Only he or she can solve this debate. Finally the long absent sky above the Alewife. Can’t say that I have seen such teeming wildlife... Swimming in a sea of its Muse. The lowly continue their sighs But I do proudly diffuse. .This plight of mine is hard to toot. Exemplified by my emphasis on the astral. With which I dress in an armoured suit. So my enemies do not mute my oral. and the skies do tell in high rate, How esteemed they are on time and ne’er late. But giving ever virtuous despite All those dead or dying, without prospect of afterlife. It is their way to choose: The dark abyss of guise, (or) The gentle river of blue For now I do keep silent, But still I commute, With those of higher propositions and goal, So I do instill thyself a deeper root. In the waterbed truly formal. Those who truth ‘I do navigate’ and those of lies ‘I do alienate’ At a loss O’ man or mesmerize, Work harder on thoughts than just plagiarize. The foes of old are still and sleuth I show them love and they in lies are baptized Tradition is there with purpose, don’t misuse. I see to it the wise stay wise, For better they will strategize. And the unwise, wisdom they will pursue. Giving them their much needed paradise. And the lost I will use.