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Francie Lynch Jul 2018
Birthed by altruism or selfishness,
Motivated by personal gain
Or the forfeiting of a nation;
It's the betrayal of friends,
Country, cause and trust.
Cassius,
Judas,
Benedict Arnold,
The traitor has many personas.

Traitors are hated by those they prefer. (Tacitus)

I forgive those who ****** and steal,
but a traitor, never.
(Zapata)

A nation cannot survive treason from within...
He rots the soul of a nation...
No wise man ever thought a traitor should be trusted.
(Cicero)

Softness to traitors will destroy us all. (Robespierre)

An open enemy, however criminal, is no traitor. (Spooner)

To have a traitor as an ally is to have an enemy in waiting. (Carey)

It is the just decree of heaven that a traitor never sees
his danger till his ruin is at hand.
(Metastasia)

There are but two parties now... traitors and patriots. (U.S. Grant)

If I had one bullet and I was faced by both enemy and traitor,
I would let the traitor have it.
(Codreanue)

There is a special place in hell reserved for traitors. (J. Trudeau)

Every man must be for the U.S. or against it.
There can be no neutrals... only patriots or traitors.
(S. Douglas)

Et tu, POTUS. (F. Lynch)
2020 Campaign Slogan: "Make Rusmerica Great"
Medusa Aug 2018
once we were one, so close
now turncoat in lakes of
oleander, creeks run poison
we two betrayed

what stolen ideal cast
in stone against her?
my anima still wants love
from me, yet twists on proverbial

dime

coats were rejected
colors negated, unflown
prisoner of tumble town
chained like a queen

a shanty wish disregard
so no wings, air of nonesuch
grace barrio color to fly

in my mind, sleeping
mariachis playing loud,
my anima rescued me

real,  such desert here
just my shivering id
skinned seal, bad memory

still hopeful still here
surely mi anima mi alma
will grant my dying

wish

I am the traitor of my anima
I am a traitor to my anima.
trai·tor
ˈtrādər/
noun
noun: traitor; plural noun: traitors

    a person who betrays a friend, country, principle, etc.
    "they see me as a traitor, a sellout to the enemy"
    synonyms: betrayer, backstabber, double-crosser, renegade, fifth columnist;
Cryptic Dec 2018
I have story,
There were three friends,
two of them were lovers.

I love you,
and you also love me.
Our friend was happy for us
but things had changed.
You left me,
and you two started to begin your story.
You love her as you love me
A Sad Alex Mar 6
The music roused something in me
That was asleep for so long
Every note of the song made me a traitor
A cheater, a hateful turncoat
For I thought myself impervious
To such lowly tempations of men
But in my hubris, I forgot of my flesh
That makes as falliable as any of them.

And to remember the time my heart belonged to her
She of caramel eyes and flowing brown hair
Holding my heart in so tight a grip
The beating of drums ******* that of what she held
My mind filled the void the distance between us made
As my lips craved hers to kiss
But in a frenzy, kisses turn to passions unbound
To make every inch of her mine, in her body to drown
To her undrapped form, a moment lost in time
The symphony of our ****** filled the air of night.



...
...
...



And now, temperance has taken hold
And a new love, her place
And while I love her indeed, exciment in life
It seems to have... Faded away
The love I thought my beloved has
Isn´t wholly her own
So long as the music plays I fear
My desires bubble and tumble
To give in to my lust.
Max Jan 29
I'm not standing next to you,
Because I'm busy back-stabbing you.

*******.
Thought it was sweet, might delete later...
Skaidrum Sep 2015
"    Legend has it,
      he could talk the sun
          into setting.    "

    He's a tragedy the zodiacs still gossip about,
               metal wounds glower by the fire,
    flames sneering at druid flesh,
                  crystal bones are decaying,
    wrapping willow branches along my neck~

             Love isn't a prophecy.

Telling time to ghosts who cannot read,
      these shadows ache in the pupils of sunlight~
Lupus showers us in dire blessing;
         so start lighting the torches of war from Osiris,
he's illiterate in your dead language of poetry,

      I can't help but notice you don't pick fights with death anymore.

There's no sunlight on this side of history,
       spider webs become cave paintings to gods~
look north for the tails of dragons and hurricanes,
   cast your doubts to frigid chambers and feverish graves;
A prayer for the day we have no names to mourn,

           His loyalty falters as autumn grows sicker.

You've melted golden eyes upon heavens in ink,
        and he's crippling under silver lightning again;
masquerading demonic skin plastered in snow,
        is a game you like to play to injure gods,
an incredible contradiction between love and lies...

     Pick your poison wisely, wolf girl.

So there's been a few contracts with the dead,
          I swapped my soul with Lupus,
bargained my sins with Sirius,
          traded these miracles with Artemis,
as eight sapphire flames bleed this heart dry from it's curse;

     Don't **** your hopes for the greater good.

Illusions are born when nightmares grow lonesome,
         if the book of the moon spells traitor and betrayal,
then these sinister rouges cannot quell what's been written.
        Our love song was a dark sonata drenched in lead;
discard the sounds that tremble in pianissimo~

    An omen of war divided Yin from Yang.

I'm forcing fangs to ripen by first light,
       while tricking secrets into fusing with fairy tales.
Auburn daggers whine to slither deeper,
      into the spines of star crossed lovers;
beating on drums of moonlight to call me to this world;

    Grief and mosaics relapse in my palms tonight.


"     The birth of a lapis sword
               plunged in the stone
                           of her wolven
                                         heart.      "

"Sometimes love makes puppets of darkness out of all of us.*"
The crow ain't worth much.

<><><>    © Copywrite Skaidrum     <><><>
Chris Thomas Apr 2016
Motionless and stationary
Yesterday haunts the steps of my boots
Over you, or just halfway under you?
Watching daybreak with one eye open
Nearing the point where splinters break

Weather is calm, but I'm a soul of storms
Out of the frying pan, out of reasons why
Rational?  No, but I never claimed to be
Seven hours in this abyss of apathy
Traitor!  Keep your distance and your sympathy

Each their own, but I've disowned myself
Nursing bitterness to spark another war
Everyday is just a spectre of deceit
My reflection stares right back at me
You, my friend, have become my own worst enemy
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red hell –
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.


Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…


Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
when
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.


Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…


The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still –
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam –
He’s limping toward his doom.


A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** ** – old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.


Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap –
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.


Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot –
the people’s mouths to feed.


When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows –
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys – )
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

Hell is known for lack of stasis –
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze…

        ☭ END ☭
http://tinyurl.com/q6uyx34

peyt Oct 2018
my heart is wheeping
because i dont ever want to see you
for fear that i might fall for you
your gentle words and gentle soul
are making my heart torn between you and him
i dont want to leave him
but seeing your face makes my heart fall into my stomach
and my knees buckle in longingness
i need him
i want you
i dont want to choose between the two
but i will never shake my loyalty
and i will never be labeled as a traitor
my heart is tired of this
Dr Peter Lim Sep 2018
Here I'm rejected
there I'll be condemned
I'll not be excepted
anyhow--slammed

in my face, subjected
to every form of malice-- crammed
among those suspected
of betrayal--- contempt

raises its venomous#  head and I'm hated
for the views I hold--  hemmed
by envious forces-- everywhere hunted
I am an innocent victim--******

and left to ideas I've constructed
my own pain to consume---stamped
TRAITOR* -- my only hope is to be vindicated
by future generations which would have my thoughts revamped!
# sorry, I spelt wrongly last time
* italicised
Melpomene Dec 2016
When you lost something,
God is arranging a better one for you,
they said.

I need what I wanted,
nothing better but only what I want,
The man said.

When it is a though day,
it is a challenge from God,
they said.

I have no tomorrow,
I want my day  happen just a tiny bit smooth,
the man said.

Shall I take in the stock or stand in the dock?

Do not lose faith in God,
be strong and keep believing,
they said.

I could not hold no more,
I am weak and disbelief,
the man said.

Punishment will befall,
on this sinned traitor,
they said.

There were angels who fell,
I am clear and awake,
the man said.

I shall not longer in pain or being restraint.
Eryri Nov 2018
As I stand,
With Pimms in hand,
Your perfume I do sense,
(It was always pretty intense).
I fall into a trance,
As you make your entrance,
And I stare in awe,
At your fascinator.
Such exquisite taste
- surely not bought in haste -
It certainly fascinates,
And is sure to spark debates:
"Too much", "just seeking attention",
"She thinks she's Kim Kardashian".
But I think it's ace:
It accentuates your face,
Really brings out your ears.
So ignore all the sneers
Have a good night
Under the disco's light,
And I'll see you later,
For a closer look at that fascinator.
Yes, I'm my wife's traitor,
As I hope later
To be unfastening the
fascinator's fascinating fascinator.
I just like the word 'fascinator'
By: Cedric McClester

The fact that one traitor
Would celebrate another
Only goes to show
They’re brothers from another mother
So it’s not surprising
That as we now see
Trump thinks we should venerate
Robert E. Lee

A soldier and a gentleman
Who betrayed our republic
Makes Lee a traitor
So while I’m on the subject
Agreeing with Putin
Over our CIA
Makes Trump one too
I don’t care what you say

There are,” very fine people”
On both sides he said
Though one side was wishing
That the other side was dead
Which in fact happened
And I’m sure he read
How it all went down
Before he went to bed

“Russia if you’re listening”
Was his staunch appeal
Give us all those emails
Which they did for real
He’s closer to Russia
Than his next of kin
Which signifies something
Can I get an Amen?









Cedric McClester, Copright © 2019.  All rights reserved.
Victor D López Dec 2018
Unsung Heroes

Although I stand on the shoulders of giants,
I fail to see much farther than the bridge of my nose.
The fault in mine. The shame is mine.
For I am unworthy of you, my beloved dead.

Emilio (Maternal Grandfather)
Your crime was literacy,
And the possession of a social conscience,
That made you yearn to see your beloved Spain remain free,
And prevented you from suffering fascists lightly.

You did not bear arms,
For you abhorred all violence,
You did not incite rebellion, though you
Rebelled against the foreign and domestic enemies of freedom.

As best I can tell you were an idealist who,
In a time of darkness,
Clung passionately to the belief,
In the perfectibility of the human spirit.

You would not abide the lies the regional papers carried,
And translated news from American and British newspapers,
About the gathering storm,
Sharing the truth freely with all who would listen.

You gave speeches, and wrote speeches delivered by others, in support of a doomed
Republic collapsing under the weight of its own incompetence and corruption.
You were warned by friends of your imminent arrest and offered passage back to the U.S. or to
Buenos Aires where so many of your friends had already found refuge.

But they would not get your wife and nine children out,
And you refused to leave them to their fate.
They came for you, as always, in the middle of the night,
These cowards with stern faces hiding behind machine guns.

They took you prisoner, not for the first time, to the Castillo de San Anton,
A fortress by a most beautiful, tranquil bay,
Where they tore out your nails, one by one, and those their
Gentlest caresses while they asked you for names.

You endured, God knows what there, for months,
And were sentenced to be shot as a traitor at La Plaza de María Pita.
But the Republic had friends, even among the officers of the fascist forces,
And one of them opened your cell door on the eve of your execution.

You had contracted tuberculosis by then, yet, according to grandmother, you
Managed to swim miles across the bay in a moonless night, to safety in the home of
Another patriot who risked his life and the lives of his family to hide you in
His root cellar and made a trip of many miles on foot to find your wife.

He found your home and told your wife of your unexpected reprieve,
And asked her to send some clothing and some shoes to replace your ***** rags.
You eldest daughter, Maria, insisted on accompanying the stranger back on foot, taking
Clothing and what provisions she could quickly gather and carry to you.

From time to time you accepted the hospitality of an overnight stay
In the attic or hay loft of a
Republican sympathizer as these were not hard to
Find in the fiercely independent
Galicia under the yoke of one of its own. But mostly you lived in the woods, with active guerrillas for years.

You lived with all the comforts of a hunted animal with others who would not yield,
Your only crime consisted of being on the wrong side of a lost cause.
I hope it brought you some comfort to know you were on the right side of history.
It brought none to your wife and none to your youngest children.

As you paid the long penance for your conscience, once a month or so, after some
Time passed, you visited your wife and children. You were introduced to the little ones
As an uncle from afar. They did not know the bearded wild man who paid these visits
In the middle of the night and left wearing dad’s old, clean clothes.

The older ones, Maria, Josefa, Juan and Toñita, all in their teens, told the little ones
That their “uncle” brought news of their dad. The younger children, still wearing the
Frayed cloaks of their innocence, accepted this, not questioning why he stayed in
Mom’s room all night and was gone before they awoke the next morning.

Your grief at playing the part of a stranger in your own home, of not embracing your
Children on whom you doted, one and all, for their protection and yours, as there were
No shortage of fascists who tried to ply them with pastries and candy,
Seeking to use their innocence as a weapon against you.

Your parents were relatively wealthy business owners who farmed the sea but
Disowned you—perhaps for your politics, perhaps for choosing to emigrate and
Refusing to join the family business, or perhaps for marrying for love in New York City
A hard working girl beneath your social station in their eyes.

You lived just long enough to see Spain delivered from war,
Though not freed of her chains.
You were spared the war’s aftermath.
Your wife and children were not.

No books record your name. Most of those who knew you are dead.
Yet flowers have long perpetually appeared on your simple above-ground burial site in
Sada that holds your ashes, and those of your eldest son, Juan, and second-
Eldest daughter, Toñita, who died much younger than even you.

Your wife has joined you there, in a place where
Honor, goodness, decency, principle and a pure,
Broken heart,
Now rest in peace.
You can hear my reading of this poem and some sample sonnets from my Of Pain and Ecstasy collection in a simple YouTube book trailer by visiting https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FXkhtOltEc&t=6s
lucav Oct 2018
centipedes eating away my memories
bury me alone,no place to call home
an enemy in my own body
a traitor to the troupe
skin and flesh have no rest
the wicked never sleep
creeping away from the stone cold grave
i lay awake in her place
a vad existence in her wake
she´ll see me in the morning
sawing away at our living source.
just a quick one i wrote out of boredom
Eryri Sep 2018
Plastic fantastic
Sits in my wallet
Waiting for flirtatious contactless action.

My personal details emanating constantly
From my ruminating flexible friend,
From my ruminating flexible foe.

Never ending debt
Leaves me a slave to a monetary master
Piling on the debt faster and faster.

Battered worn leather houses the card
That screams a constant binary plea,
Begging to be heard by an electric mate.

I need to silence this traitor
- This debt facilitator -
But I'm hooked on its fleeting ability to buy me that which I do not need.

My card constantly screams my personal data,
Broadcasting 1s and 0s endlessly,
Betraying and exploiting me through ruthless efficient binary.
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