"superiors" poems
what cheek, the audacity to sheer his name from his faceless appearance, well, I know something of names, and mysteriously common and vague,
said as often as ****
does not satisfy this certified member
of the hoi polloi of humens
grace,
with a small g,
not to be confused with those courtiers in human courts
who so address their temporal superiors,
who more often than not,
chop off with their head,
just god
downy not longer
for being insufficiently lying
in their obsequiousness
grace is a virtue par excellence,
multi~facetedly faced,
reflecting well and goodness
on both the speaker and the hearing,
if grace you know not the meaning of,
then research it and let it
reflect back upon your countenance
replace god with grace,
and forgive me this too obvious rhyme,
it will only be better days
for the human race
><><
my name?
hah!
sinner man
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 1:38 PM UTC
(a satirical pop at the Illuminati)
It's time to slay fatted consumer cows
It's time to fumigate the Great Unwashed;
To sow mutation's seeds behind the ploughs
To see the dullard's dreams forever quashed.
How movingly they pray not to be harmed!
How doggedly they work to make a wage!
How prettily they line up to be farmed,
Yet, how they long to be at centre stage!
The Useless Eaters eat their pizzas deep,
Their double fries and creamy mayonnaise;
Produce only some methane while asleep,
And fodder for landfill, throughout their days.
It's time for the superiors to win;
Unleash the virus, let the cull begin.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
#
From an ornate podium
the orator spoke words--
..extraordinarily elaborate ones..
as if,
as if
But those who know..
we who have laid low,
down in to the trenches
as grunts, both outside
and inside
of the wire..
Those who have quietly
done their legwork..
who have accepted their
difficult fate as that borne of
and in to, a training.. an equipping;
lay low,
lay low
. . . .
The throngs
at the foot of the podium--
mesmerized by their own need
to be mesmerized, never even
noticed the children
who in their innocence, peered
out from under the crowd's legs
to better see the 'magnificent' podium..
The oldest of which, ran back to trenches
trying to describe what they saw.
Two of the quiet, unassuming-ones
made their way back to the podium,
and in blocking out the orator's voice,
(which to the knowing,
was as that of a clanging bell..)
Now observed up close, the inner-workings
of the elaborate podium
and sat in wonder of its expenditures--
wrapped around such slipshod, weak
and hastily assembled framework..
And in having become interested in the
structure's groundedness to what one
would hope would be a solid-built
foundation, placed onto solid, earthen ground
They instead gasped as they saw its
legs floating upon nothing..
*"What the **** is holding this thing up..?"*
War-trained and battle-hardened,
they remembered their superiors speaking
in hushed tones that even ****** with all
of his blowhard oratorical ******** at least
had a semblance of the podium's fastenings..
Albeit, partially assembled by our own country's
stupidity within certain provisions brought forth
in the Treaty of Versailles,
but this
but this;
This oratorical misleading of the broken-ones
this empty illusion of a presentation, borne
not from a suffering leading to true regeneration
but instead, a distractive short-cut into the Realms;
This counterfeit substance..
as if borne in power, as if.. as if.
.. But the realms.. they know
It is only those down here on earth, spirit
cloaked within the deceptive misgivings
of the flesh-- so aching to establish itself
apart from the necessary legwork needed
to humbly become a part of Stream's flow:
(borne, solely from the inner Wellspring-- deep
within the bowels of Love's True Ache)..
It is here.. on earth.. that you will find
the reward you seek.. oh wondrous orator,
oh magnificent 'smither' of fine words..
**Your podium, a whitewashed soapbox
floating upon nothing..**
--And therefore meaning nothing
within the Substance-Based parameters
of the Realms.
#
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 3:48 PM UTC
Excuse me Mam!
Can I intrest U in a mutural gift?
A possible win-win senario.
Please pause a moment from U'r very busy day.
Pause to listen and let down your guard.
I am very sincere!
Though i admit, a bit of an introvert.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.
I am dillagent and goal oriented.
Though i admit, a bit obsesive.
But underneathn it all, I am a good person.
I follow the Rules!
I try to please my peers and superiors.
Though i admit, not always accomplished.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.
My accomplishments are noteworthy
Though i admit, I am not of riches.
But underneath it all, I am a good person.
In some uncertain way,
My love of life is bonded by these chains.
Your inocent interest could set me free,
if only for a moment.
For the moment that U share,
I would be a transformed person.
Though i admit, not a person of the world.
But underneath it all, I can make U happy to.
Regards,
Jerry
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation"
Fighting the blanket of oppression
Within and without themselves
The metaphorical blanket holding them
To a goal that is not of themselves
Tied to be someone they are not,
Trying to fill the wrong size shoes
Life planned out by superiors
Blinded by tinted glasses of lie and
False truths put on by others preceding
This suffocating blanket restricts and constricts
And holds the victim to one forced idea
Like blinders on a horse
Or a blindfold on a magician
Only a narrow, yet clear path is provided
A leap of faith must be taken to discover 'self'
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
My palms are growing wet
Sweat has covered my trigger
Night and day in enemies nest
Operating like battalions of mere singers.
I fight 21st century with 20th century bullet
Blood on my face, wounds yielding deeper
In shattered body my brethren in uniform rest
Unjust funding makes our defence wall weaker.
Father, I am in a wilderness fighting a shapeless war
No back ups, no one is watching out for our fall
Like we are dying for those who don't care about us
Our enemies are in golden armor while we ride on horse.
Mother, did the demise of my gun brothers makes the headlines?
I heard the 'next level' was lunched on that day
And my superiors disown us to dine at the front line
Well, don't cry yet, I'm still alive at least for today.
Oh, my palms are wet and my hopes like a thread
My eyes shed more tears than the blood my gun sheds
We are too weak to keep pulling these triggers
Aso Rock, upgrade us now or take us home to our fathers.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
*I wish I had the courage to talk to pretty girls.
It’s not them; it’s their cold beauty that makes
my fingers shiver, and rejection that makes me
feel like I’m a white lighter that strikes out
nothing more than sparks.
I wish I had the courage to not take **** from
my superiors and remind them that when you
beat the life out of a man, you had better cut a deal
with Death if you plan to let him stand back up.
I wish I had the courage to rise above peer
pressure and see that a bulletproof vest isn’t so
dumb when you realize that the person you take
a bullet, for was actually the one who loaded the gun.
I wish I had the courage to tell you that your ****
looked HUGE in those jeans,
and I wanted to burn every other pair you owned.
I wish I had the courage to get out of bed every
morning, because sometimes I forget that I’m
actually still alive, and my blinds keep hiding the
fact that this world is made of sugar.
I wish I had the courage to be vulnerable again
but trust is a treasure someone stole from my heart,
left a bag of sand in its place, and took off running.
I wish I had the courage to ask for help because I’m
not the sharpest cheddar in the fridge and I was born
with a head that could break down brick walls.
I wish I had the courage to own a snake but I was
brought up Catholic so I am conditioned to fearing
both the Devil and God.
I wish I had the courage to keep my commitments
so when the people I love open my promise box,
they actually find something inside.
I wish I had the courage to let go of the past
and get past the point of letting go.
I wish I had to courage to speak at your funeral . . .
but I’ve never been the fastest to pick up the pieces, and even when I do I always put them in the wrong place, so **** it. I filed down the jigsaw edges so now all I have to do is connect the dots, but every time I do, all I get are silhouettes of you; us. I see your face in a day more than I see faces in a week. It’s the reason I stand at the edge of rooftops, the reason all my mirrors are broken, the reason I wake up with my face floating in a pool. I wrote a paper this morning titled, “To Do Today:” It's crumpled somewhere on the floor because the only thing I’m really going
To Do Today:
-is miss you.*
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
A Long time ago,
I was far from home,
Far from good food,
company
and familiar sights.
I was washing my bike,
Hoping for my neighbor's
sweet daughter
to come out
on her Balcony
Light up my day
with her sweet smile
My neighbor
My landlady,
Had a family of six
Beautiful daughters,
Who had no father
This churned my heart
I went soft for this family
But had no Intention
to ruin
Disrupt their peace
Nor interfere
In their daily lives
I kept my feelings
bottled in steel
but smiled
Good naturedly
at them all
and stood guard
against
any male that threatened
their gentle citadel
They treated me
with snacks
and their gentle
smiles like I was
the Orphan
and I was well fed
with my sacred
relationship
But their smiles
created pangs
in my young heart
which good breeding
stifled with iron hand
Until one day
I espied
my contractor
make eyes
at the oldest
This enraged me
Lit a fire
(I thrashed the man
Ah, the strength of youth
Knows no bounds)
into an inch of his life
till he begged
for mercy.
This fell on the ears
of my superiors
who in their enthusiasm
to please
their clients
had me transferred
2000 kms
from home
I waved goodbye
with tears in my eyes
my six angels
and their guardian
who had grown
to like me as well,
That day I swore
that no girl child
would come to harm
under my watch
without her will
and some times even
with her will when
her delicate youth
made her stray
into harms path
I would slay the dragon
of temptation
at the cost of
my reputation
among friends of
being a Casanova
I wear my disguise well
To Please God and Man.
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 2:32 AM UTC
Every employee's name was listed in the address field
Except for one
The one I never noticed
That we never noticed
We all marched into the meeting room as ordered
Found the CEO on an extra tall stage
To tell us
"Today is Emma McGurk's last day
But she says it's the first day
Of her tenure
As Director of Forecasting of Unintended Consequences
She's not going
So I need all of you, all 300 of you,
To help me terminator."
(Or was that terminate her?)
So we gave each other Brady Bunch nods
I had to look up to make eye contact (or is that I contact?) with superiors
Then we marched to
The cubicle of Emma McGurk
Me remembering what Santa Ana had said:
"With a few hundred more men like the San
Patricios, Mexico would have won the battle."
And the battle wasn't to be won by us
It was to be won by Emma McGurk
The CEO tried to move her
Ten of us tried to move her
Then one hundred
And then all three hundred
Even I made an effort
But she wouldn't budge
So we had to move...
To another building
Hearing that Emma McGurk was still ensconced
In the position existing only in her noggin
Until finally the old building had to be imploded
A fifth-grader winning the honor of triggering
That dusty downfall of Emma McGurk's cubicle
And the building that sheltered it
It wasn't until Signing Day Eve
That I saw her again
Pouring ink at a haiku-con
"The pay wouldn't be that bad," she told me.
"If it was by the snicker instead of the word."
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 9:35 PM UTC
Planting excitement upon us,
My daughter asks how to thin the beets.
"When the plants are three inches tall,
Pick the weaker ones and pull them up,"
I say. "You'll take out two thirds of the young plants
So the rest can grow."
I see a troubled look upon her face,
And realize what I find in myself....
The teacher's quandary:
Picking whom to keep,
Whom to cull...
We put our love into them all.
Watching for first and tender shoots,
Celebrating as the fledgling leaves appear,
Not thinking of a time ahead,
Dreaded time to thin....
Teachers are reluctant to cull,
Building emotional connection,
Providing loving direction,
Promising success to all....
Then come the standardized tests,
The team selections,
The popularity contests,
The invitations to slumber parties,
The division of elites,
The rising of divas,
The rostering of first teams...
The separation of pariahs begins,
The promise we made to early learners ends,
Superiors, exultant, drown out the tears
Of those left standing by the fence,
Excluded from the chances to advance.
Standing in the seedling beds,
Spring breezes rustling tender leaves,
I turn to Kate....
"It's never easy....
But if we don't thin the beets,
The beets will not develop
Beneath the leaves."
These damnable analogies arise
Infrequently these days,
And I am standing in the dirt,
Black soil upon on my hands,
Wondering about survival of the weak,
The treatment of humans and young plants,
Pondering humane ways to honor every student
In which I am investing...
Wishing I could see the end of high stakes testing....
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Along time ago in the land of the Elves
With the Pixies, Gnomes and Sprites
Lived Millicent Mary, a belly button fairy
Adorned in her tutu and tights
Now poor little Millicent
Super cute and innocent
Hadn't been a fluffer very long
When trusted by superiors
Which that alone's mysterious
Only got the purchase order wrong!
Whilst ordering the belly fluff
She found the maths a little tough
And set upon her path to sheer disgrace
Before she'd ordered every hue
She started with the colour blue
And accidentally missed the decimal place
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
The reverend looked upon his charge with a smile
It was a false smile, but one needed
She stood before him screaming for acceptance
But his faith did not allow
One of her kind to be placed in the herd
Yet he would not allow
Such scrutiny among his flock
Reverend Loki looked upon his charge
Filling his need for human release to be fed
Quickly he suppressed it
He was no longer that God
One of lust and lies
Tricks
Yes, tricks were another matter
The God of Tricks was not done
He took his case to his superiors
And with a few tricks he kept this girl safe
She was his flock now
He hugged her as tears fell down her face
He handed her a new set of clothes and put her to work
The Trickster was still causing chaos
For humans rather than gods
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
It's people like me who can rule the world,
just by knowing simple little things like Fear.
Fear is one of the main driving forces behind all of mankind's actions.
Fear eternal torment? **** up to "God."
Fear the unknown? Deny it or mock it.
Fear superiors? Make yourself the superior one.
Without fear we won't do anything,
with fear we can only get worse as a species;
We're really slowly moving towards constantly fearing everything;
Especially each other.
Along with things known like;
No humans are equal.
With differing talents, differing thoughts, differing opinions,
how can we claim to be the same?
The strong will enslave the weak,
humanity will revert to olden times,
with fear we deny yet again, though it matters not.
The only question is, who will be strong and who will bow down?
the basics of human nature will come back,
Dominant verses submissive mindsets,
manipulators verses manipulated,
corruption verses purity.
People like me don't have much to worry about;
People always naturally follow and listen to me, and if they don't;
I can be forceful.
I'm a master organizer and networker,
throwing together alliances, plans of revolution, takeover,
by the time the sun rises.
Differences are seen in how you train your people,
much like dogs at that point, with either fear or affection.
Affection and care yields listening and following,
kind cooperation and content with and for a likeable face and likeable words.
Ingrain fear, order, into them and reap the profits,
they'll listen because they have to, and won't revolt because they fear what would happen.
I wouldn't hurt 'em (usually),
I'm highly capable of doing damage;
It's important they know that.
Throw a demonstration of power, knowledge, in once and a while,
so they don't get used to me, and boom;
With all of this you have an overlord.
I don't think I'm a bad person though,
people like me are just human-smart.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
What could be found in this note,
Mostly a goodbye?
When a tiring knee waved a flag
And your bones are tired.
Depression is poison
Superiors are just hard to abide.
Unappreciated by your blood like,
What more pain can you hide?
I am sick of the system,
Reaching the threshold of my faith
Waving hand drowned and dying
Smiles we fake.
When they don't see enough
No one understands and listen.
The good is buried ,deep
Soul is badly beaten
Ego is destroyed,
No one knows your value.
Until you're gone,
They all love you.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
This is the highway of fallen kings.
The place where pharaohs go to rest.
The dungeon where crowns are thrown,
Because they no longer have value.
They mean nothing.
Everything you touch becomes nothing and,
Even the strongest fall under your scrutiny.
This is the wasteland of dreams.
The place where hopes go to rest.
For nothing conquers your unconquered heart.
Nothing will florish under your glory.
Every territory is under your dominance.
playing with my heart
toying with my mind and
Evidently pulling hard,
Ripping at my heart strings
I guess the mighty *****
Isn't so mighty.
This is the epiphany of heartbreak.
The sudden realization that...
Pharaohs will fall.
Crowns will also fall.
Dreams are sometimes nightmares.
One can only hope.
Superiors remain supreme.
And of course...
The weak is forever at your disposal..
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
The banker sits for his lunch. He sits with his superiors. They ask, “how do you?” He replies, “Good, and you sir?” After pleasantries comes food. Everyone ordered a salad. Food is picked at with dashes of chatter. After food comes business. Business among superiors. The banker sits quietly using his wasted acting talents on feigning interest. He twiddles thumbs, smacks gums, and adjusts weight from one flank to the other.
The bored banker nods conformatively. When addressed, his name varies from Tim to Tom to Jack. They were close it was Al. He fills in facts and numbers the optimates don’t care to recall themselves. It’s the only use he has at lunch. Those superior to the banker could have brought his report he made up for this occasion. But, there is an air of aristocracy when one has a serf accompany his master to a meeting of patricians. Like all courtly meetings, the barons and governors hide slights in compliments, cloak ambition in kindness. Use pens as daggers, dried ink as poison.
It’s not the banker’s place to notice such things, it is place to serve those who deserve his servitude. Every time he services his lordships, his tie gets tighter, his skin looser, and his bald spot increase its diameter.
The bored and defeated banker rises with the Bourgeoisie, clings to their heels, and gets the door. His lunch is over. His break is done. Back to his desk he retreats. Back to work. His time as a squire is done. Until his masters call upon him again. For lunch.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
"Asisstant!", I shouted.
"Yes, sire?", he bellowed.
"Read me the list on the Maturation Process!"
"Ah, I got it right here sire! Right here. Uh, let's see:
Lotion, rub...repeat..."
"Uhh..Assistant, that is the..umm, the wrong---the wrong list. I do believe."
"Oh, oh you said Matur--a--tion.
Under his breath, "You think a king would need a list for every fraggle thing he does hmphh."
"Asisstant! I do not have all day!"
"Oh, got it sire! I got it right here!"
"Go ahead, read what it says..."
"Ah, hem:
Phase one...
When you are born, you are pure....
"No, no no. Read it how Grandpapa used to read it."
"Ahhh, ahhh, hem:
WHEN YOU ARE BORN, YOU ARE PURE.
The world expects nothing from you,
but your loved ones expect you to be everything.
The cruel trick that nobody tells you:
Only you can decide what you are going to be.
There is no fate without action.
Reaction.
There is no action without desire.
The fire.
There is no desire without love.
Your heart.
Phase two:
You learn appreciation.
Eloquently our superiors call it, "manners".
Manners are what matters most to Man and Her's.
A thank you can change a day.
A helping hand can change a life.
A laugh can lead to a life of love.
It all resides within:
Your heart.
Phase three:
Accepting the cruel world.
Not everyone is the same.
Not everyone shares.
Not everyone has morale.
Not everyone shares morals.
Ethics, are never prosthetic.
So perfect, your own perfection.
Be you:
For it can be found in your heart.
Phase four:
Ignorance.
We forget what we were taught.
What is this?
We become narcissists,
obsessed with the world around us and how we fit in.
A mix of sarcasim and ********
Everything is a joke yet all we can think of is ***
*** without meaning: The best joke of all.
Phase five:
We lie to ourselves.
We forget what our inner-child wanted.
We tell ourselves that this is the correct thing to do,
we are judged on this stick with others surrounded by us.
We create our own manifestation of unruly day in and day out boredom.
We have to listen:
Listen to our hearts saying,
Don't. Don't do this.
Live your dreams.
Phase six:
Accepting of our own death.
We build a life.
Follow a format.
Do this, at this time with this person to be this at this point and so on.
However, if we forget to live: we die.
We must accept the fact that we all will die eventually.
That way we can choose to live.
You will never actually die,
if you open your heart.
For a heart can pass on from person to person.
"Ah, very good asisstant."
"Thank you sire..."
"Now, you're free to go. Go and live your dreams."
And, as the King sat in his throne.
The good Asisstant shoved him off the throne and sat in his place.
They both laughed until they were on the golden tile floor laughing harder and harder...
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, are we really alive-or on hope for?:>
I feel like the lunatics must be
the superiors in life from you and me
all of these roundabouts on the way
seems like a price for not being ones that we pay
how in the planets do them know that we are the sane?
how in the universe do them define what absurd to them as insane?
I'm not ought in this humanity to believe in vain
that what we lack is a disgrace to the hearts in pain
violins know how to play to me a menace
like for the haters who disrespect on block of distaste they penance
------ravenfeels
May 27, 2021
May 27, 2021 at 4:04 PM UTC
Do it yourself
goes DIY,
For your information
it is FYI
What is the schedule?
U-huh TBA,
to be announced,
It's what they say.
I use LOL,
When I Laugh out loud,
Just to please you,
Even if it does not bounce
Do your best,
even if Few of us left,
our superiors are deaf,
***
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 12:12 AM UTC
Another day, another dollar
Or so the saying goes
You work so hard just to be hollered
At for bringing to work with you, your woes
You aren't a person once you've clocked in
You're not supposed to care
About the goings on in your own world
So **** it up, 'cause life's not fair
Always put your best foot forward
Nothing less than your best will suffice
Don't you think that a golden watch
On your superiors' wrist would look nice?
You're working for "the big man" now
Don't you understand?
Everything you do from here on out
Will add more cards to his hand
Try to come in when you're sick
Don't call off too much
How else will the higher ups
Pay for their daily corporate lunch?
Be happy with your current wage
You make enough to get by
If you ask for more, you could be fired
Without being given reason why
One day once you've given your all
You may be able to retire
They'll give you half of your former pay
As by law they are required
Month by month you'll receive your checks
Though they might not be enough to live
Your whole life they get to take take take
While you'll only ever give
At least now you can relax a bit
Maybe you can finally see
The whole world on a map before you
What it means to be broke, but "free"
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
Let's start a business today!
We'll call it Complimentary Mirror. Here's how it works.
First thing in the morning you look into the mirror and say,
"mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all"?
And the Complimentary Mirror answers back - you are, your
the fairest of them all. Then it tells you one of hundreds of
reasons why your magnificent, which it keeps stored in its data base.
The mirror would give compliments why someone is so
terrifically wonderful.
Compliments such as:
Your wonderful because you don't take **** from no one.
Your awesome because you practice revenge on your enemies.
Your the fairest of them all because you extort favors from your
inferiors and blackmail your superiors.
You rise above all others because you don't tolerate stupid people
and publically humiliate them.
Your terrifically wonderful because you discipline with spanking
other people's children.
And you get raises at work by threatening your boss.
And want public hangings brought back.
And loathe loud talkers to the point of wanting them dead.
And other complimentary mirror things.
A mirror that compliments you each morning to help you get a
positive start on your pathetically wretched day.
Let's start a business today! (Trademark pending).
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 7:25 PM UTC
each nun my mother sees is shorter than the one after it. this too shall pass? she remains nonverbal. I try to include my son. my depression is a tractor beam that attracts newborns. my thoughts are a thought below the whimsical race. I take photos of escalators paralyzed by three dimensions. I give them as gifts to my father lost at land and sitting on steps to hear the silence in his head. a toy pup expires with a yip in a ransacked store. you are made melancholy not by the pup but by its fallen battery pack belly. I say to a pockmark what I say to immortality.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 3:45 PM UTC
I watched in awe as
Nikolai faced his wife,
not like a husband, but like a soldier.
His countenance was the essence
of a nation hardened by animosity,
his pale face clean shaven,
his black hair slicked back,
his eyes bloodshot and world-weary.
He was leaving his wife for a country
he no longer loved, no longer pledged allegiance to,
despite her pleas for him to stay.
I knew not why he had to leave;
I knew not why he chose to comply.
He never acted of his own accord;
he only followed orders,
the devious wishes of his superiors.
His broad imposing figure towered over us,
steadfast and unaffected,
his face bearing neither smile nor frown.
He only clasped his wife’s hand
and looked into her tearful eyes.
До свидания, моя дорогая.
With a slow, statuesque dignity
he affixed his military cap upon his head
and departed,
stoically descending into battle
virtually unaffected by the
bitter and ruthless Russian gusts,
with me in tow.
To me, he was not Nikolai anymore;
now he was Lieutenant Colonel.
We were not brothers anymore.
He was my commander.
I was his subordinate.
We weren’t familiar with each other anymore.
After all, I was only a child
Who had never known war
And he was a man
Who had never known peace.
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 5:16 PM UTC