"tonnes" poems
World is given through her womb
Life by her love
She's a shooting star
Fulfilling the dreams of others
Forgetting her ones.
We don't dare to appreciate her
We don't care to her feelings,
Nor her dreams.
She swallows her pride
To serve us might.
Love her, she loves you tonnes
Ignore her, she loves you loads
Ignores our ignorance
And tolerates our flaws
Complaining never
Her cries are often unheard
With tears invisible,
Trauma a smile
Patience at infinity
With words unspoken.
She's a ocean
Vast to explore
Hard to understand
But plain as river
With thoughts deeper.
Her self respect
Often misspelled as ego,
Society mocks her down earth
And she raises like a tree
From a buried seed
Her every move
Is judgemental,
With several eyes poking her
And so she became unpredictable.
Never try to understand, rather love her.
She gives life. She is a mother.
She makes home. She is a wife.
She is a sister, a savior till the ends.
She is precious because she is a daughter
She refuses to retire because she's born a woman.
And do you feel she deserves just a single day!?
Mar 7, 2017
Mar 7, 2017 at 9:50 PM UTC
There once lived a boy young of age,
Candy he loved so much his teeth had caves.
Not one or two could satisfy his urge,
Tonnes could go down his tiny throat.
This one time to the market he went,
His mother holding him firm in the grasp of her hand.
Seeing him sad she saw him standing then,
"Go get some candy" she said putting two pennies in his arm band.
Off he ran to in search of candy prime,
His eyes moving vigorously from left to right in search of the candy store.
Then he saw it, that glorious gleaming colourful shop,
His one and final destination, his stop.
It was small yet filled with people from all over the city,
Every one, young and old wanted a piece of candy.
The little kid pushed and pulled with all his might,
A piece of candy he craved like the elders craved shandy.
The din and crowd couldn't lower his spirit,
His eyes set on this sugary treat, his favourite.
But till the time he could get to the counter,
The last treat the man in front bought for his little daughter.
The kid got all teary eyed and walked out of the store,
Standing outside he watched all the other kids happily walk out of the door,
Drops started falling to the ground,
The girl from inside watched him all along as he cried and frowned.
The little kid's world had fallen apart for a minute,
Till this cute brown eyed girl decided to do something about it,
She went up to him and asked him if he wanted some?
All she wanted was for him not to be so sore.
The teary eyed kid looked up with a smile,
He nodded in cheer as he wiped his tears.
A huge bit of candy he took as he reached for his arm band.
Searching for the two pennies to repay the little girl.
To his dismay only to realize,
The money had fallen down somewhere in the struggle.
Gulping down saliva he dared to let her know the truth,
"I have no money to give you", he said.
"Its ok", said she with a beaming smile,
The boy nevertheless decided to give her his favourite arm band.
That day those little kids exchanged more than just candy and a piece of cloth,
They exchanged smiles, kindness and pieces of their heart.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 7:24 AM UTC
For the lonely,
for the loveless,
for the forgotten and overlooked,
for the discarded and trodden on,
for the neglected,
for the ignored and mocked,
for societies weeds,
for circumstantial weeds.
For you outcasts are weeds
the flowers nobody wants,
but
weeds are resilient.
They persevere where others can not.
Often mistaken for weak, but no,
weeds are strong
and tough enough to break through tonnes of concrete
and metal.
Clever enough to find growth in places
others perish in.
Adaptable to every habitat and
brave enough to exist on barren wasteland.
Weeds need only the tiniest of a chance to flourish
For the unwanted,
for the unclaimed.
You are beautiful.
You are equal to every other flower.
You are the Charlock, the Buttercup, the Clover,
the Pinapple-May-Weed and so much more.
Next time you see a **** by the roadside,
or peeking out from a crack in a wall,
or between paving slabs in a busy city,
or overgrown in a garden,
or weaving through rubble and debris,
take heart
lonely ones.
You are not worthless
You are magnificent.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
Let's **** Gandhi
Let's **** Gandhi
Again and Again
Multiple Times
Gandhi Must be killed
He deserves to be killed
Because he killed no one
Neither human nor animal
Collect all your weapons
Load missiles and guns
Get some good Gun powder
Quintals and tonnes of it
Make sure to **** this time
Be sure, you mustn't fail again
But can you really **** Gandhi
No you can't, I bet you can't
You already tried and retried
But Gandhi remained alive
Gandhi Never died
He will never ever die
Gandhi is not a person
Gandhi is thought
Gandhi is Philosophy
Gandhi is Lifestyle
Gandhi is Liberation
Gandhi is Struggle
Gandhi is Courage
Gandhi is Peace
Gandhi is Gentle
Gandhi is Strong
Gandhi is Treasure
Gandhi is Heritage
Gandhi is immortal
You fools are mortal
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 2:05 AM UTC
i know it today,
life is a short stay,
amidst all wants and desires,
of which one never retires,
desires for self and self ones,
greed together of million tonnes,
such things though many times,
force me to think of crimes,
betraying someone's trust,
for things less worthier than dust,
seeing death every other day,
still thinking we are here to stay,
for and ever till,
our pocket affords the bill,
but no thought is given,
wether we go to hell or heaven,
our debts money won't pay,
karmas will be counted for each day,
during our life's course,
when we did things with force,
which was given temporarily to us,
to display whoz god and what he does,
acts of humans should be such,
giving an estimate of how much,
greatness would be in the one,
who owes such a nice son,
who loves him and all,
whoz values are infinitely tall,
whoz presence inaugrates all ethical energies,
whoz work is beyond all intelligent strategies,
who realises god's omnipresence,
and make him his life's essence,
remember all my dear friends,
when all of our life ends,
our powers won't accompany us,
as in life's course it does,
what goes with thw soul then,
is all of those times when,
we have made someone smile,
and loved some other for a little while,
laughed in someone's good times,
cried in other time of destiny's sad rhyme.
I know it today..........................
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
I wish I was strong
I wish I was strong enough to get out from under the comfort of my sheets
Or the warm water washing over my body in the shower
I wish I was strong enough to open my books,
Instead of listening to the same five songs again
I wish I was strong enough to get over a loss,
Be it a failed exam or a boss I can’t beat in a video game
I wish I was strong enough to help my friends
Because that's the person I strive to be
I wish I was strong enough to keep that job
…
I wish I was strong enough to like my own works
But it’s hard to when they look like this
No rhyme scheme or metaphors
Only thing this poem has got going for itself is that repeating stanza
Real clever or whatever
You call it slam poetry
But you might as well call it sham poetry
Slam poetry
Because you need to be slammed drunk to enjoy your poems
And don’t even pretend like you didn’t notice
How no one seems to give a **** about this
This series of ‘works’ that you’ve been putting out
Where all you do is ******* swear and shout
At yourself
******* hell
I bet your last line would have been
“I wish I was strong enough to love myself.”
Boo ******* hoo
Too ******* bad
Because you’ll only love me the moment you realize
That what I say is true
I’m not gonna say that I’m only rude
Because I love you
I hate your guts too
much for something so…
Sappy
You’re a bit of a sentimental, right, boo?
If sentimental meant pushover
Criticism!
Sorry, didn’t mean to scare
Oh wait, no, I don’t really care
Because even you’re aware
How you’ve locked yourself in an echo room
And the moment someone tries to break through…
“Don’t worry, I can take it.”
And then you write something edgy like this
You can’t take advice for ****
Because that’s your ******* deal
You’ve got tonnes of people giving you the advice that you need to heal
And you ignore every single one of them
Acquaintances, friends, family
And what about me?
DO I REALLY NEED TO ******* YELL TO GET THROUGH TO YOU
But It’s pointless anyway
You’re on auto-pilot already
Just cut the act and write your cringy addendum poem
We’re done here
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:55 AM UTC
T Rex thought he was the king but truly he was no such thing
he was a bully sad and weak who prayed on those to young to speak
Then came the day when baby Trice
got to close to Rexies lair
Rexie thoughg his luck had changed and now would play the Rexie game
Which was to take the young and weak
so soft and tender, good to eat
Rex thought I will have some of that
the baby trice will be quite a snack and fill a corner of my tum
But Rex had made a big mistake, oh dear a grave mistake
For round the corner came trice's mum weighing a bit
more than about three tonnes
Three big horns upon her head
One jab from those could leave Rex dead
She gave poor Rex an evil stare
said "Bite young Trice if you dare"
Then I will deal you a mighty thump
and I promise you your bone will crunch
Poor Rexie backed away in fear and in his eyes salty tears
People thought for many years that Rex was king and had no fear
But they didn't know Triceratops, the bravest dinosaur of the lot
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
. I was born with a defect.
It has a great impact.
One testacle, one less
Than everyone else.
I can't tell my partner.
She'll think less of me then.
Aren't they supposed to be a symbol
Of manliness? One less thimble
Of mass, results in a loss
Of ounces of courage,
And a weight of tonnes
On my shoulders.
I've been led into
Believing manhood is paramount.
Without it, I'm less of a person,
Less of a reason
To be whom I should; to be desired.
It's hard to stop thinking it
When it's you yourself telling it.
External influences become internal doctrine.
Inescapably real, incessantly there.
Loss of masculinity,
Yet retaining functionality.
It seems people never notice something's wrong
As long as you appear to act 'normally'.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
On the first day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the second day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the third day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the fourth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the fifth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the sixth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the seventh day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the eighth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the ninth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the tenth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the eleventh day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Eleven million hectares deforesting, ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
On the twelfth day of maliciousness my true love gave to me
Twelve million tonnes plastic waste, eleven million hectares deforesting, ten million famishing, nine last elephants Asian, eight pointless wars, seven world-powers downplaying, six countries' electronic waste, five pandemic viruses, four massive oil leaks, three million toddlers' deaths, two ballistic missiles and nuclear waste in the Pacific Sea
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 7:01 AM UTC
I am honey coated
In the dawn yellow sun
As I walk softly
Through the glazing savanna
Intimately married to
My body I feel all
Her strength and power
My low center of gravity
Pushes down 2 tonnes
Of my power house weight
Almost buckles the ground
It is as though the earth
Beneath me becomes concave
As I stand on a spongy soil
As the landscape rolls up
To a brand new sun
If the rest of me forgets
Where I am going submerged
In flaky doubt my hard horn
Points the course through the
Clouds of apposing forces
As even the Gods are forced
To part the way like the red sea
As I plough through space and time
Nothing dictates to me
As I chase away darkness
And carve out doubt
Breaking spells while proceeding
All ghost will run from me
Possessed by the devil
I will DRIVE him out
For I am the AFRICAN EXORCIST
Careful where you step
Because I hang over
The savanna like a
Silent volcano
Run and hide if you
Ever hear the huff and
Puff of my disgruntled being
As you better get out the way
Without any delay
As I blaze new pathways
Showing you a brand new day
As I smash through obstacles
You or the world
I feel my center speaking
Opening , EXPLODING into
Inside out spaces
Multiverses are vibrating
As I ride on a wave
Of infinite forces
combusting
I am fired forward
With rocket fuel
As I reach new places
Expanding into worlds
Of high and far out spaces
Greater than I know
Hesitation and procrastination
Will be trampled on
All those blown over by life
Jump on my back
And I will stampede you
Through this world
So dare you attack
Or cover my track like weeds
With feeble words and excuses
As they strangle my future path
And my lava filled belly
Will blast them with fire
Melting and molding
My internal landscape
As I imprint my freedom
How I love you Black Rhino
You have my attention
So can you please point
Your horn in the right direction
FORWARD AND UP
Forward and up for me
As I ride with the BLACK RHINO
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC
133 billion pounds in America
4.2 million Tonnes in UK
50 million kilograms in Australia
230 million Tonnes in Africa
1.3 billion Tonnes in Switzerland
222 million Tonnes in Malaysia
580 billion Rupees(Indian currency) in India
33.79 million Tonnes in Saudi Arabia
What are these numbers?
Amount of food we are wasting per
Year
In Tonnes, Kilograms, pounds
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
Oh ***
you and your puns
I've had too much fun,
laughter- tonnes and tonnes
Happiness to me
is like sticky toffee buns,
bubble-shooting guns,
or late night cartoon reruns
But with you,
it's like a thousand splendid suns
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
Last July was the hottest month, ever.
That is, ever since we ‘officially’ started tracking weather.
The Earth is lying on the bathroom floor, wrists severed;
I wonder whether this is a storm we can weather,
Or whether we’ll all perish together.
Greenland lost 12.5 billion tonnes of ice sheets.
That is,
The island that was 80% ice is becoming one, giant, puddle.
The earth is about to be slain, a warrior conceding defeat;
Huddle up, give your loved ones a cuddle,
For we are so troubled that any aliens out there must be truly befuddled.
My generation was born with a guillotine looming over our heads.
An impending sense of dread,
As corporations put on their executioner’s hoods,
And reach for the lever.
A sordid reality in which to save the planet,
One must fight one’s own government;
A reality in which we may have done permanent damage,
A reality in which valour gets no monuments,
But only condemnation and incarceration.
Remember these names:
Julian Assange. Currently awaiting an 18-count indictment charge from the US.
Edward Snowden. Could face up to 30 years in prison if the US get their hands on him.
Chelsea Manning. Spent 7 years in prison.
Abdullah Öcalan. In prison since 1999.
Edem Bekirov. A man who has been dying in prison for the past year.
Benny Tai. Sentenced to over a year for fighting for what is right.
Nasser Zefzafi. In prison for the next 20 years.
Kerry Shakaboona Marshall. A man who received a life sentence aged 17 years old.
Simon Blevins, Richard Roberts, and Richard Loizou. Sentenced to over a year for fighting fracking.
Tim DeChristopher. 21 months for fighting oil and gas pipelines.
Stella Nyanzi. The raunchy Ugandan poetess who cannot be tamed, no matter how many times prison beckons.
This list is basically endless.
It is saturated in blood that drips from the corners of the page,
Soaked in the rage of brave men and women, living in a cage.
Depression. Exhaustion. Numbness.
Oppression and a lack of caution,
Leading us to this dumb mess.
This can no longer be the norm.
We can no longer conform,
Nor can we compromise or haggle;
We must reverse our own demise,
For this is our generation’s battle.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 1:56 AM UTC
i am one to talk
in my head i rule galaxies
glitter glimmer shimmer
carrying tonnes to spare the time
i pardon the satchel of hopes
like a pendulum
swinging and swaying
waltzing back and forth
tick tock tick tock
mimics the hourglass,
its contemptuous spine of granules
are close to burying
a hole on the ground
oh crystal skies
you were once so blue
now i face the darkened hall
air filled of hunger for time
and i take the final cup
of orange, purple
and blue.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 9:58 AM UTC
Eyes feel heavy
Lids weigh tonnes
Counting sheep by the dozens
Pillows not soft
Beds not warm
Quilt lies rigid
Curtains not drawn
Of course at first when I layed down
It was for the purpose of sleep
Yet it has not come to take me
So at midnight I'll a creep
Make my way to kitchen
For a late night snack
Open up the Milk
Take a swig from the carton, then put it straight back.
Creep back quite slowly,
licking my lips
I do love a good midnight milk trip
Treading careful over creaky floorboards beneath
After all I don't want to reveal that
I'm the milk thief
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
My landlord is renovating the neighboring room.
I inhale, eyes closed, and I'm faced with God. Unable to speak, I listen as he tells me that life is worth living and that love is worth loving. He says that I'm doing pretty well despite the circumstances and that often an ounce of a smile is worth ten tonnes of agony.
I inhale, bleach and other cleaning solutions siphoning reality from my extremities, replacing it with a calming alternative.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
My head is full of words;
But they refuse the streams upon my face,
They cannot pass the inner currents
to the waterfalls in my neck,
down the steady river in my arms,
to explore the five sea-fingers
around the oceans of paper.
They stall, unwilling to battle the waves of rhythm,
the dramatic pauses, the clichés,
the stanzas demanding a neat, polished finesse.
My head is just a mess;
Nothing holds shape: no right, no wrong,
no defined line for care, no clean space for apathy.
Days blend as I pour sweet into sour,
The casual joke a thin comfort against the deep gloom.
My head is full of ****
Tonnes and tonnes of it, a mounting, shapeless strain.
I can’t begin to chart its depths
or describe the sudden, sharp frustration it brings.
I have no sense of rhyme,
no anchor fixed on time,
no guiding hand of form.
My meaning turns from raw sadness to sudden, frantic glee
in less than six words.
All order, all feeling, utterly gone.
My head is an empty pit;
I write more about the struggle of writing poetry than poetry itself.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
If you rock me down from a mile,
I'll still be smiling like a crazy fool
It might hurt me for a while
Coz I am not made of sheep wool
The hatred you flare from your gaze
Shows your inner most reflection
The invisible flames that blaze
Has burnt all my forward affection
There,
Chuckles a voice, only eyes could read
From behind the screen
Someone has planted a poisonous seed
I can feel the evil smiky grin, hissing
And your eyes fixed reading the fake
I purely feel your emotions, missing
For you've been long awake
The delicious words spoken in tongues
Seems,
More like a ****** pretending to be God
The enmity loads darkness in tonnes
And slithers you, with a lizard tongue sword
I've never seen you in such a state
It's now visible whose behind it all
You're just one of its bait
It's just fishing, from the otherside of the wall
The attraction is quite magnetic
As the devil now, sounds more like God
Making lives his slaves as pathetic
It doesn't seem, like it's bored...
©sim
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 2:04 AM UTC
They told us, save your water
keep the lakes and streams running blue
conserve all that you can
water the lawn only once a week, not two
You'll save our city's tourism
don't wash your car, or shower everyday
be happy to contribute
save and protect, our waterways
We did as we were told
we saved gallons, hectares, tonnes
our tourism was saved for all
each, and everyone
The letter in the mail
congratulations, now in order
you used so little of this liquid resource
we raised your bill, this quarter
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
The rule of law
There was a storm over Sahara; waves of sand flew up, up, up
– I wrote "up" thrice because my grammar checker tells me I can't
it tend to be intrusive,- transformed into white dust it mixed
with indigo clouds, drifted to Algarve and shed tonnes of dust
layers of dust everywhere the morning village looked like
a ghost town, we scan the sky hope for proper rain the type
that clean and makes you wet, but it is a perilous wish, a deluge
can last for days inundate the basement and drown a family
of mice that live in accord are so discreet I have not seen them;
more than can be said about the eleven million illegals in the USA
that with the blessing by rancorous Democrats that let them rules
the political agenda and give lawbreaker a safe heaven, where
they are free to insult the president and the rule of law
law
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 10:10 AM UTC
The laundry is piled to the ceiling,
The first layer of paint is peeling,
There are mud-prints all over the stairs,
Am I supposed to care?
I have eighty-nine tonnes of homework,
My mother keeps yelling to "get up!
Put away those dishes over there!"
Am I supposed to care?
The teacher is mumbling and teaching
And suddenly now she is screeching,
"Pay attention! Sit up in your chair!"
Am I supposed to care?
I lie awake most nights crying,
With idle thoughts of dying.
Reality is my nightmare,
I just wish somebody would care.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
i’ve been locked behind a brick wall for seventeen years
i’ve painted every inch of it with dreams of freedom
i’ve filed away centimetres of mortar
hours after I was ordered into bed
i've slimmed myself down before I was noticed
until i could slip through the cracks
“it must be her fault if she’s trapped.”
people hear me singing. they must think i am not captive
people see me smiling. they believe that i am free
but most days the tonnes of concrete around me are just too heavy.
some then tell me i do not need to destroy myself -
i tell them that otherwise i cannot breathe.
i always sleep with the windows open.
i’ve been locked behind a brick wall for seventeen years
i’ve painted every inch of it with dreams of freedom
most days i want to take a hammer to my painted wall
to hell with the iron chains.
i want to take rainbow shard and chipped mortar mixed with tears
to build my own **** house
one with wide open windows and wide open doorways
to hell with the bolts on the gates.
i spent fourteen of seventeen years trying to climb the wall
the next three trying to outrun it
i haven’t found where the bricks have stopped to catch their breath
i am not in the habit of giving up.
and when the bricks, one by one, do lift from the wall
and the shackles slowly rust away
i suppose i will be told to shudder at this thought
i suppose i will be expected to thank the gate-keepers
for making **** sure I wasn’t allowed to live
until they decided so.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
Gathered up the sticks and stones,
metalic chains that tied down bones.
twist gibberish from mithered mind,
poisonous scolpamine that makes it bind.
throw in angst, grief ,abuse and pain,
the manic , depressed clown, sudden sane,
projections coloured, in black and blue,
silvered mirror, which reflects you too,
tapping feet, to tell his story,
vibrating, whirring, hate and gory,
tangled hair, in love and war,
left the house, she went too far,
Eve's cursed with all honest, gentle, meek,
an act of love, was taught to seek,
not in public, lies, their great shame,
it's ***** ops, they got it covered,
none Independent to Post,
All is hidden in the Sun,
With ***** Mirror,
one cannot find
junk Mail sings to tapped Telegragh.
none Express the Times,
News reels out fear, in pantomimes,
bowed to the fiddle player,
President, Minister, Senator , Mayor,
dressed in copper, gold, inked paper, bit coins,
buried in weighted tonnes, aground,
strawman arguments, plentiful found,
mutter mumbo jumbo,
about survival of fittest,
serfs was born, to be that hitlist,
elequent etonians, buzzing fabian tales,
once bolting cheetahs, now, well fattened snails,
More occult jibes, from outer polished cups,
with poisoned inner, She passes up,
If sinning became winning,
patient, with time locked down, spinning,
weaving multicoloured threads,
of too man-y voices in her head.
Found alchemical gold in solitary cell,
Thanks to the Fathers Heavenly spell,
unravelled her story, from sickness to well.
Omnipresent, all round, all high,
nothing hidden from his all seeing eye.
Good things come, for those who wait,
lockdown will serve the meek and kind,
the architects soon stricken blind,
believe their own lies,
think their bots are real,
love is truth, for those who feel.
Feb 12, 2022
Feb 12, 2022 at 12:50 AM UTC