"unwisely" poems
Our nation is a father
Who spends sons unwisely
Wasting their wonder
On warrior blunders
In nations swelling pride
We see our children
Committing suicide
Honor bound to pursue
Patriotic truths
If mothers ran the world
Would it all be better
Or would maternal malice
Malform modern intent
Blue eyes telling lies
Of war and all its’ glories
Grey hair sitting there
In old reclining lawn chairs
Celebrating fantastic stories
But I know the lives lost
Were not always spent wisely
Were not always sacrificed justly
Why does it feel like no one else sees
Have I become Don Quixote
Fatherland motherland
Better planned
Would be brotherhood
And sisterhood
All that love spent for the good
Like this poem
We have lost our way
Perhaps better stanza
Will return the wisdom
Of our better sages
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Mother, mother, what ill-bred aunt
Or what disfigured and unsightly
Cousin did you so unwisely keep
Unasked to my christening, that she
Sent these ladies in her stead
With heads like darning-eggs to nod
And nod and nod at foot and head
And at the left side of my crib?
Mother, who made to order stories
Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear,
Mother, whose witches always, always
Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder
Whether you saw them, whether you said
Words to rid me of those three ladies
Nodding by night around my bed,
Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head.
In the hurricane, when father's twelve
Study windows bellied in
Like bubbles about to break, you fed
My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine
And helped the two of us to choir:
'Thor is angry; boom boom boom!
Thor is angry: we don't care!'
But those ladies broke the panes.
When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced,
Blinking flashlights like fireflies
And singing the glowworm song, I could
Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress
But, heavy-footed, stood aside
In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed
Godmothers, and you cried and cried:
And the shadow stretched, the lights went out.
Mother, you sent me to piano lessons
And praised my arabesques and trills
Although each teacher found my touch
Oddly wooden in spite of scales
And the hours of practicing, my ear
Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable.
I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere,
From muses unhired by you, dear mother.
I woke one day to see you, mother,
Floating above me in bluest air
On a green balloon bright with a million
Flowers and bluebirds that never were
Never, never, found anywhere.
But the little planet bobbed away
Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here!
And I faced my traveling companions.
Day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
They stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
Faces blank as the day I was born.
Their shadows long in the setting sun
That never brightens or goes down.
And this is the kingdom you bore me to,
Mother, mother. But no frown of mine
Will betray the company I keep.
3.9k
I asked if there was anyone there remotely my age,
and she said yes. I had just dumped all the money in my
wallet into trying to make my savings not negative.
It didn't work.
I walked over, stepped inside,
and saw teenagers. She told me,
there's a guy outside and he's twenty.
I got ******* duped by a kid.
Her parent's left, unwisely.
I met another half-black person,
a 15 year old girl who had dark skin
and hated everything that resembled
"blackness" or "black culture".
She even called herself white.
Here I was, outside drinking grape soda
out of a hello kitty mug,
discussing radical feminism
to teenage girls-
**and ******* five shots were fired**.
Not even 15 feet away, behind the garage.
[A fake 100 was exchanged, to which distaste was shown,
also this sentence is in parentheses,
and technically doesn't even exist].
So now there are teenage girls crying over gunfire,
hyperventilating, the high school boys jogging-
people in a swarm heading indoors,
and me.
The stupid-fucking-tragic-yet-benal artist,
running in his stupid ******* circle,
trying to decide if he should go inside
with the crazy juvenile people, or see if he can get shot,
because he already lives life awaiting some
stupid ******* narcissistic tragedy
to wipe him off the map.
My opportunities had rushed away already however.
I walked inside and sat on the couch hugging
one of those puffy round pillows and laughing
maniacally. It was intense after all.
Kid Duper tried to relate to me.
I know she didn't get it.
No one ever really ******* gets it.
Understood, maybe? No one understands.
I left shortly after with a copy of Fahrenheit 451.
I was told I could borrow it.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
Life, in a mannerism, they proclaim
Is fragile, untouchable, limitless, rather a chain
Life, the folks sing, as delightful and indescribable as it is, is only here to stay
I do not know where, I do not know why
But thoughts mingling within my nerves apply
A paradox of significance within the definition
Of the purposeful journey we call life
Albeit the good, we choose to focus rather unwisely
Precisely of course, over delusional mastery
Understanding only comes in hand when necessary
When it threatens our existence, calling Bravery
You see, humans as smart as we are perceived to be
Might as well be a laughing stock to the rest of the scene
What we value, we fail to pursue, what we preach, we fail to reach
Would it hurt to let go of Prejudice?
An individual who has been imagined by generations beforehand, woven by bits of uncertainty and; well, where is he?
Hold on, here comes another
Violence and Destruction stand on the porch
Should we let them in? Should we not?
They are there, ready, ready anytime temptation hits now
Humanity degrades what she has created
Humiliates what she has achieved, and criticizes her dignity
Worth has lost its value, hence wonder
What have we done to help save her?
Sense has lost all contact
With wicked games being played, selfish pact
Response no longer yearns for Suffering
Such that, we deceive our own sect
Where is Understanding when we need her?
A few doors down the street, go ahead and wake her
She has not heard from us for a while now
Last time we spoke, I reckon, was when our own path was in danger
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 5:57 PM UTC
Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum
recte facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim
(Seneca, Letters 130.10)
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
2.4k
Some people
are mirages.
They are completely real
and yet altogether
do not exist.
You see them and you want them
Oh! how you long to taste their cool, refreshing streams
Oh! how you long to bask in their icy, protective shades
Oh! how you long to visit them over
and over
and over
And yet
You cannot.
"Why?"
You think
Where is the stream?
Where is the shade?
Where is my paradise?
Can I not visit it once more and again and again?
No,
You cannot.
For mirages only exist
when you need them to.
Deserts
to be exact.
Where there is nothing
and you are desperate
and thirsty
and hot
and dying.
You needed that stream
so it flowed
and was real.
You longed for that shade
so it grew
and was real.
You were dying
so you made up a person
and called it your paradise.
But the phenomenon here is
Your paradise, your mirage,
the person you invented,
really does exist.
In fact, they helped you invent them.
You see
Mirages are all sparkly and waiting and beautiful
With emptiness underneath
They long to be invented.
"A stream? Here it is, it has always existed."
"Shade? ah yes, this tree has sat here a thousand years
waiting for you."
"Leave you? Never, you can visit me any time you like,
in fact it is you who leaves me."
These people, these Mirage people
exist between two worlds
quite on purpose, it seems.
That way,
they never choose unwisely
Or face reality
Or live their lives.
But somehow,
I don't believe they're aware of any of this
at all.
How sad it must be
to be a Mirage Person
And never, truly exist.
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
what is this love
for I have beheld it
cast in metamorphosis
a love that makes
transformations on the mind
permissible transformations
improvisations of the self
in ****** intensity
which emphasises the drama
of sometimes, dark, violent
and repressive potentials
vicious energies of hate and ambition
that propel the enactment
of intense and exhausting experience
of vigorous vertiginous chaos
indomitable in its desires
what is this love
is it a registered predicament
made memorable by vivid language
that would butcher in ritual
gratuitous memories and testify
to an urgency of unwisely relinquished emotion
what is this love
does it flourish in flawed
and unreasonable understandings
accumulated upon the mind
in vicarious thrill of sympathy
where traits are highly exaggerated
and eagerly anticipates
the oppressive weight of the past
that functions upon a common collapse
of distinctions
or does it manufacture artificial precepts
pretending in attractive collaboration
to associate fiction rather than fact
what is this love
is it that by treaty or inheritance
with loving ferocity would embalm all tears
and hide all those collaborations
in flared conflagrations of the heart
and yes create a turmoil in the mind
hotter than a thousand summers
and vividly stamp upon a twisted body
a moral viciousness of fathomless malice
that wouldst close its ears
to the admonitions of conscious
and thus through an improbable
incantatory verbal rite
touch the hidden order of all things
in disassembling nature
what is this love
if only it was known
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
have a credit in your account at the
First NATional City Bank.
Some free advice:
Spend it unwisely, with reckless abandon!
If you do, the credit balance will irregularly and improbably be increased in recognition of
additions to the sadly diminishing stock of
beauty, kindness, and the essences of humanity or some other derivative
thereof,
but by
Writing more poetry,
Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 1:43 PM UTC
premier you've smacked
me in the face
my train ran late
yet again
what's your minister
and his departmental head
doing about this?
not much I wager
all my other commuter friends
are at wits end
not happy
nor will they be anytime soon
get the trains running on time
or you'll end up like an old rail line
piled high on a scrap heap
and forgotten
what's your vision?
what's your scheme for rail?
rail years ago ran reasonably well
now there's me getting sentimental
so much for innovation and technology
for the rail system
not much improvement yet
or on the distant horizon
I deserve and demand much better
none of this second rate stuff
I've had enough
make good my lot
what have I got so far?
dollars unwisely spent
on a parlous rail system
I used to enjoy my daily train trip
so too my fellow train travelers
we say this in numbers
numbers count
premier know one know this better than you
numbers stack up...
stop griping me
send a train to me
departures and returns on time
be prompt never late...
is the old adages
now this verse is written especially for you
you are my mate at least for now
in the future that may well change
I've been know to change trains
if circumstances dictate
I could well be writing this verse
for the alternative premier
I'm sure you know what I'm driving at...
You know...good rail policy
get cracking
get smart
allay this persistent pain in my neck
late trains, late trains, late trains
I vote for a well run rail network
yes every time
not for a premier
dragging the line
that's not a good story
in the media
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
Many are stupefied by utopic love.
Each aside they unwisely shove
The one made for them with divine care;
But one lover is astute, the other ensnared.
But, to devise a plan to speak
Of the fervor in their hearts (not meek)
Would mean to usher all aside
One’s vulnerability, fear, and pride.
First time around, most subtly,
Interest expressed, transcendently,
And shatters a transparent door,
While these two strangers are strangers no more.
Then:
The slightest step towards her heart is taken;
She quickly retracts, he quickly mistaken.
She thinks:
“I’ve grown tired of being jaded.
My loud wits and dreams have faded,
Far along the river waves,
Saddened by these trees and shades!
But there he stands, perfect and well.
I...here...scared like hell,
For I have never felt like this,
Not even with a woman’s kiss.”
He thinks:
“What, exactly, have I done
That she retreats, a fate undone?
There! In her eyes, the heart’s edifice,
Conjures true love’s precipice,
But screams of the real demise
Of past lovers: spears and lies.”
In truth, her wits may sometimes offend,
But with him she would most commend
His charming smile, his virility,
While he embraces her wholeheartedly.
Thus, their imaginations painted beyond
A sea of perfection, like a song,
And marked a journey of these two
Just for a moment, as most strangers do.
But the stars have placed attraction laws
For these two lovers and their flaws
To come together, but not greet,
For the devil binds them in defeat.
So, a moment’s come, a moment’s passed
For these two soulmates, amour-cast;
The love she sought, the love he spoke
Has come and gone. That’s all they wrote.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Removing the Darkness from the Light......
From behind the veil, my tears, I dare to peer out
while forever longing, wishing to remove all doubt
waiting for a time, when the hidden will be revealed
when truth will prevail, no longer to remain concealed
This self-banishment is my unbroken silence, a journey I take
in order to traverse my world within, all else I must forsake
finally hoping to arrive, by following a destination foreseen
this remains my sole means of escape, fleeing to my dream
The hardships we all endure, why to remain mentally impeded
life's momentary setbacks, keep us from becoming conceded
this life is a prison, like in those dreams, we hide but cannot flee
ultimately time will dictate, how many years remain for us "to be"
To be" or "not to be" is then no longer a question, but is the answer
while for those who choose unwisely, "to be" becomes their cancer
how can they turn those unmovable hands, how to retrieve the past
to be given one more chance, and maybe to find eternal peace at last
Lies multiply advancing with time, caught in the confusion of the storm
nevertheless, you refuse to budge, you would rather die than conform
knowing what life is really about, you remove the darkness from the light
giving selflessly to others what they need most, and you become their sight
We can't always recognize the good in all things, but we will soon understand
when the concealed is revealed, only then will we recognize the guiding hand
along with the setting of the sun, are those dreams for us to ultimately behold
tears no longer to be shed, because now you're forever part of a heavenly fold
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
*when I turned eighteen
sadness filled my cups,
for carefree was now gone,
laying side by side
with all my companion figurines,
off to rest in a boy's toy chest
in a backyard cemetery hid,
certainty assured
all that I was, so far,
all that I will be,
uncalming coming forevermore,
unwilling borne upon
the newly time redesigned,
heavy load shoulders of adult responsibility
when I turned thirty,
sadder now by the means and meaning of accumulation,
having thrice now measured the length of a stick of life,
denominated as a decade,
wiser now that the children underfoot,
certainty assured,
would have to pay
bills of lading for cargoes,
not of their own choosing,
indeed, selected unwisely,
by men like me, and men before,
all too old or too gone,
to be prosecuted now for the
short sightedness of reckless timidity
when I turned fifty,
the shoulders slightly stooped and gently curved,
my gait and pace slowed by weight,
pockets laden with undesired memories,
unfinished arguments,
dreams that morphed and morted into
failed schemes that with the
certainty assured,
the tallied ache of known losses
will always weigh greater
than the
unknown of opportune
now with seventy,
so near, onrushing to the sounds
of old men and their noisy excuses
of babbling, ironical,
eerie similar to the parental smiling hushing
of a newborn's squeaking,
a youthful brook,
happily to an open sea arushing,
hurrying in the fullness of innocence to
it's demise
the line of sight to the horizon,
far shorter now than ere before,
with greater certainty assured,
that near my god than thee,
my sadness daren't hope to dissipate, nor lift
as once it did,
an early morn mist rising off the river,
freshly sun burnished, then miracle banished,
sacrificing itself as a hopeful oracle of a new born day
recurring haunted words
like rest, best and tried,
the only legacy remaining to gift,
but one thing yet measures a comforts,
a red cross blanket round the shoulders thrown that with
certainty assured,
the marvy joy of life all in,
be our given right to err and learn wisdom at our own pace
so here I freely confess
with wry, sly smile that we
proved ourselves to be
victims of our unintended tendencies,
successful in being*
all too human
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
Is in the shower.
Curtained off, it's the one room that actually
Washes away the pains from your face.
Salty, bitter drops of time spent unwisely,
Fall down to the drain at your feet.
Disappear.
Cut off from everyone else
Surrounded by those who would listen,
Protect you from being heard.
They softly plink against the glass and your body just the same.
There is no judgment here. No.
Not in this room.
And that's what comforts you the most.
That this imaginary room is the one place you can let it all out.
Spill your darkest secrets to the linoleum
Knowing it will only echo your thoughts.
Not loud enough for anyone to hear
Over the rushing water.
No. You're safe there.
And that's why.
The reason you are able to come out of it all
Looking as if nothing had ever happened.
Knowing that,
Once you step out of the warmth and into the cold air
Into the bigger room,
No one will ever know
That you secretly cry.
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 8:33 AM UTC
gnarly wooden tentacles
itch at Earth's gritty soul,
puncture its spongy surface,
& descend into the deep.
the strands of juvenile oak
maneuver the hickory soil,
strangle desolate tectonic pipes,
& ravenously slurp the dwindling liquid within.
this is how it began.
slithering branches hiss at the sun,
& suffocate the placid sky in
crusty juniper leaves;
like infantry banners they flutter
triumphantly in the erratic, apocalyptic air.
beneath them lies the fractured animal kingdom,
scavenging on rationed rain and sunlight
drizzling through the foliage gaps;
this is the cost of conquest,
punishment for a war unwisely waged.
humanity spurred by ambition
falls victim to the wrath of the forest
& subsequently into eternal darkness.
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
I've committed an act so grievously wrong
Worst mistake of my life, I don't belong
Am feeling so morbidly ashamed
My heart and soul are forever maimed
My unrelenting conscience nagged at me
I will never again be truly free
The worst part of all is the hurt she must feel
Pain, indignation, disbelief are all real
I took her love as something due me
Took it for granted so unwisely
I have lost the best part of me
To never return, can clearly see
I'm sorry is such a pitiful phrase
Shame, guilt, self hatred and malaise
I have an ache in my soul for trespassing
I am just heart sick, it's all encompassing
I will never allow MYSELF to forgive
Not sure with theses feeling I can live
I cannot reverse the transgression
In my being I've embedded a lesson
Don't know what possessed me to break our bond
I plead for forgiveness, if she'll respond
I hope our love can withstand and is strong.
To forgive, not forget what she knew all along
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 6:44 AM UTC
The banks have bled the people dry
profits high and watch them lie
as they plead poverty.
Insolvency is in the air,but do they care?
The profit,loss and balance sheet is what they'll meet in some darkened alley
where in the ballet dance of greed,my need is greater than their own
they have shown me,thrown me to the floor and bankers that they are would ask for just a little more,
a sore day in Threadneedle street when that old lady rose to greet hyenas laughing loud.
Oh how they stand so very proud
while we stand heads bowed,one of many in the crowd
and crowded out by this, the greed
of banks and bankers who stoop to conquer and to feed on investors,festering with malcontent on money so unwisely spent
Blame it all on policies,foisted,fostered anyway by those who please to bring the workers to their knees
but blame it also on the men who kick you in the wallet when you least expect.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 2:46 AM UTC
"There are times in everyone's life when
they wish those two little words could express all kinds
of things. And today...
I am one of those people."
I acted without thinking
And behaved a bit unwisely
Looking back, I feel I should apologize
I yielded for the moment
Rushing to all the wrong conclusions
The words and results caused unhappiness and confusion
Sometimes we are more in haste
Without examining the facts
And launching ourselves to the most unfortunate of acts
I feel like I've reacted in a manner
I regret,
that clearly was a moment Id be glad to forget
But since I can't go back in time, and past mistakes ignore
Id like to say I'm sorry once more
© 2003 George R. Camacho
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
I am bone-white
Am I your skeleton
Or the ghost of a thousand
Pages torn from ivory books
Do you dare touch me --
Will I start to flake
Or crumble into chalk
Powder to be scattered by
The winds to the sky
I am coloured in
Or at least heavily painted
Into the tones of
A girl who could almost
Be real in the daylight
And my ostentatious use
Of lipstick slashes
My skilfully covered face
I am a walking mirage
In supplication I stretch
Cold hands to you
Or to the careless sun
I know not what I seek
Or if it even really exists
I walk in life like
Everything is certain while
I crack inside --
My mind is fragile at best
I am invisible
Am I your shadow now
In the dark I am
Completely indistinguishable
So weak is the fire
That once blazed in
My now glazed eyes
I have been entirely drained
I am my own vampire
I am the winter
Or at least a wintergirl
Ice forms my still heart
Or maybe it fills
The place where a human
Heart used to beat
Fluttering like robin's wings
Avoiding the snow --
I let the chill consume me
I am the best example
Of how you can waste a life
Of time unwisely spent
And all the wrong
Choices are embodied in me
Watching the sand slide
The hours slip by
Through my quivering hands
I am out of time.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
Watching shooting stars pull and wane,
barbed hope fences us in
wailing against wilted hands,
easy to scorn the universe
by conjuring the moons scythe
to chide daylight,
unwisely burdened with a sigh
a thankless enmity
strips the hidden away .
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
How does the mountain thank the breeze?
How does the ocean sway,
A changed direction switched to thee
A wave who could not stay
Two mere creatures of the dust,
And one, by far, the better
Deep below the world's thick crust
With dreams matched to the letter
The icy breeze may hold the truth
Which one, unwisely, held
The other, so, had thought, 'forsooth!'
The one, too far, compelled
A ring, a wrap, of roses neat
All thorns and vines and taint
Around, around, to near defeat
One never was a saint
And so one leaves with fear and hate
After layers of mistake
Some will think it comes too late
The other one might break
But this was not to spite from one
And not in fault of thee
Nor in rashness, careless done
Mayhap one day you'll see
How in this truth, so taught by act
The withering may start
The found are far more lost, in fact
Without a place in heart
And so one says goodbye at last
To her friend, the other
Though space between their lives is vast
They'll meet in yet another
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 9:31 PM UTC
What lies beneath the surface?
Am I taking too much for granted?
Am I trusting unwisely - again?
My pain is my own.
It hides behind locked doors of my own making.
No one is allowed inside.
Not even me.
I mustn't let the pain out.
It will destroy my fortress.
The pain will destroy me; nothing will be left.
There is no one to witness my defeat.
Truth lies beneath the surface.
Without trust, nothing is taken.
If I do not trust, I do NOT LOVE.
All that is left is Pain.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 3:05 AM UTC
the taste of your smile
in this crowded room
hearts of ocean—I am blue
party next door, shut down by appearance
so real, resilience—I caught myself before
catching feelings. to have a seal on the upper
interior of my heart; high up to the ceiling
this crush is a mile
a crushing journey over you
unwisely along time—tragic fool
cleanse my teary eyes in a memory rinse
a con, convince me not to be sore
a press thumb to thump down a number
in love with the right person, but she hangs
with the worst of people dealing
Dec 17, 2022
Dec 17, 2022 at 1:52 PM UTC
As looks will surely fade
whereas
laughter lasts a lifetime
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 8:35 AM UTC
Words can harm, soothe or charm
Very differently they can be used
By people, who might not be enthused
To look after what they are saying
Many people, who are getting hurt
By unwisely chosen words
Words as powerful and deadly as weapons can be
Too late to apologize and say sorry
Be careful using the word
As you might regret, whom they hurt
Actioms that can not be undone
Horrible the consequences may be
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
some live.......some die
SOME LIFE!
.........
we say
"i love you's"
to strangers!
.....some times we marry them.....
.
SUCKERS!
.
and then
...the kids!...
------------
i sometimes wonder
"is this really the human race!?"
.
i think:
"of course, maybe we are "over-rated"
.
but ...
"no!"
---------------
i think maybe we use the word
"love"
unwisely
....
i'd ask
"what do you think?"
but would that be wise?
.
probably not
...............
some say:
"the 3d world war is coming"
some:
"the 3d world war is happening now, dont you see?"
some say:
"the 3d world war happened a long time ago
but we're too stupid to know it"
.
i agree with the 3d idea
........
i must ask:
"are we REALLY so stupid?"
.
if you think we ARE stupid you are
probably too stupid to reply.
____
some live.......some die
SOME LIFE!
..
..
..
ah, the sacred human race!
Sep 2, 2011
Sep 2, 2011 at 7:06 PM UTC