"valuables" poems
Commitment is heavy
both on the heart
and on the shoulders.
Most forget and they crumple
under the weight of expectations
and romantic moments.
Commitment is like carrying you
through the sea but not
unloading you when things get rough.
Sometimes people get confused
about which valuables to keep
and which to abandon.
Commitment is like flying a plane
I get to lead and
direct us to the beautiful islands.
But it's never about me flying
it's about you landing and
never crashing you.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
A little birdy told me, hearts and souls are mouldy,
Walk with me, talk with me on this journey of doubt,
You'll question people and you'll question the drought,
of honesty people lie about, because It's time to scout,
For people of kindness on earth,
From birth, I think I've been cursed
It gets worse, as I rap this verse,
I'm trying to explain how life can be complicated,
Because we're all intoxicated, muffled in fumes of disease and fleas that cling onto your skin,
Use the energy within, and repel them this is where your journey will begin,
I've been searching for a moment or a pin, point in time,
When these rhymes and lines will be classed as devine, as I perfect and refine,
I'm just wondering how many times I can assign the same rhyme, so all sit back with a glass of wine, whilst I intertwine every line, lyrics so evil I'm committing a crime, maybe I'll get a statue, maybe a shrine, I need to switch it up so let's all decline, but you'll remember this verse as one of a kind.
Whilst I'm standing still over this hill, I think of moments in life that gave me a thrill,
But I remembered the pain and I remember the chill,
Of the cold dampened hearts that never seemed to spill,
Love or affection, like it's protection they need during the question, should I mention, you never gave me attention,
Like the worlds in one convention and I'm stood outside looking in,
I grin, whilst I use these forces buried within, to show people in verse what I mean, before the planet isn't green, before the seas collapse and wind is no longer a breeze,
We freeze in an ice block, tick Tock, tick Tock we stopped the clock.
But no body hears me so everyone listen up,
Stop what you're doing and please raise a cup,
For stopping global warming and extinction of animals, because we're all valuables on this tiny spec of galaxies,
Yet governments plan strategies, to profit from the tragedies, they keep us all living in fantasies, but strike in catastrophes
So let's help our families and all become one, before we've got none and everything we love and everything we feel is gone,
Putting a bet on the apocalypse, odds are 10 to none,
So hold hands with me now let's rejoice in song!
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 3:51 AM UTC
DRESSMAKERS to the stars J’Aton have turned designer detectives after one of their most valuable couture gowns was stolen from a bride’s home last week.
The one-of-a-kind gown, which was stolen from Leanne Bartucca’s Greenvale residence along with other valuables, is estimated to be worth more than $40,000.
It weighs more than 18kg, and features intricate 100-year-old vintage French lace that has been carved and sculpted onto leather and layered tulle.
J’Aton designers Anthony Pittorino and Jacob Luppino, who also made the wedding gowns of Rebecca Judd, Nadia Bartel, Jodi Gordon and Yvette Prieto, wife of Michael Jordan, are appealing to the public in the hope that if it goes for sale online, someone will recognise the distinctive dress.
“We are so devastated for our dear friend Leanne; that dress has a special place in our hearts and is so sentimental to us all,” the pair said.
“It’s a dress that we created especially for Leanne, it has her and her husband’s initials embroidered into the train and we just hope that if anyone recognises the distinguishable design for sale on websites or social media, that they report it to the police.”
Ms Bartucca, who wore the dress in March, 2014, says she has been devastated by its theft.
“It’s such a sentimental thing; my family and the J’Aton boys have been checking the internet daily in the hopes that we will see it for sale,” she said.
“I had dreams of using the fabric from it for my children’s christening gowns, and even framing a section of the fabric for our home.
“[The thieves] definitely knew what they were doing. As a former fashion buyer, I was surprised how much they knew — what they left behind was just as telling as what they took.
“They could tell the difference between real and fake jewellery, they left certain shoe brands behind and obviously went straight for the J’Aton dress, which was covered in tissue paper and in a white box at the top of the wardrobe.”
Police said they were investigating whether the burglary was in relation to another in the same area.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
*With you I couldn't offer much
I couldn't give you the life
you're so accustomed to
or the valuables
those material gifts
that so suit your lifestyle
the Haute Couture
that clasps to your body
the perfect fit to your
beautiful frame
oh the body of a goddess
one of mythical dreams
I'm far from any Monroe or Taylor
or any of the glamorous stars you so
mirror with such etiquette
I'm the girl sat in a cashmere cardigan
with chipped red nails, bitten to the skin
no make up and bed head hair
and I know that you are true
to all these things too
you're a person about personality
not mere possessions
you beauty is internal it glows
like the diamonds you sing of
stars in a sky of love
grandma Dolly's leather backed bible
hand written notes that carry your true worth
family values knowing without them
you'd be no where
and here am I, as poor as a church mouse
no worldly possessions
just me, myself and I
a heart
my loyalty
my love
a love for you more vast than all
land and oceans combined
each dollar in your pocket couldn't account
for the price of this love
a chance for love is all I crave
to love only you in every way I know how
a tight hug, a light embrace
a smile, a sparkle, a tickle of your thigh
oh what a distant obsession you have become
like a mist of Chanel Eau de Parfum
so intense
then fading into the background
my sheets, soul and skin
are still soaked in your scent
but you've gone, and taken part of me with you
leaving me broken, split in two
but as one,
not one with you.*
© Sia Jane
---
“Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.”
Sylvia Plath
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
I'm from the land of candy, which is as rare as gold.
I'm from the land where fruits are our desserts and rice is a must.
I'm from the land where cheese is a treat and milk is banned.
I'm from the land where determination is my Parliament Building,
The Library is my City Hall,
Technology is my Plaza,
And Music is my Town Square.
I'm from the land where Math is our School,
Lucy Maud Montgomery is our teacher,
And Creativity are our Artists.
I'm from the land of pine-smelling air and strokes of sunburn.
Where laughter is heard at every corner.
I'm from the land of a Dominating Dad and a Mature Mom.
I'm from the land of a Busy Brother whom is somewhat caring.
I'm from the land which changes constantly,
Hot and Cold,
And is always forgetful.
I'm from the land where Pheonix Wright is our King and Meg Cabot is our Princess.
I'm from the land where friends are our special jewels,
And family is priceless.
I'm from the land where my valuables are my memories
And I'm still collecting them.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
Sometimes I play the role of a good girl
I smile charmingly, an angel to the world
please and thank you are the secret words
to distract the wary enemy,from the harmless fragile little girl
By the time you trust me and leave me with your valuables
I've taken them all, sold to the highest bidder
I vanish from sight, ghastly figment of the imagination
and yet yu are taken
im beautiful
im sweet.
im unique
i make ur heart. skip a beat
u love the way the wind plays in my hair
highlighted hair of red and black dances in the air
u trust me
but i cant b trusted
because i lie and i steal
and i bribe and ****
but yet u trust me
and now im twisted with fickled feelings
should i theive and **** yu or jus leave yu be?
i have alrdy taken from yu almost everything that i need
and yet yu trust and love and is captured by beautiful me
the dates were lies!
the ********** were lies
it was jus *** and character. its how i live my life
trust noone and i wont get burned
**** em b4 they hurt me i wont b scorned
i wont b forced to walk and lie on hot coals
i wont be forced to rub myself in a blanket of fire and tears
feelinq misery because its wat my ex brought on me for years
i stole money from yu and u smiling.
i stole things from yu and ur still feelinq good
i guess why u feelinq good now though. its me
and i cant bear the thoughts of yu actually fallinq in love with me
wanting me with ur being
and ready to share ur world with me
its better for me to just poison with this sweet cup of tea
and yu thought i was so beautiful and sweet
the only unique thing i did was **** yu with tea
i literally made ur heart skip and then stop beating
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
I sit aligned with all you others,
Sameness in sync, no flaw seen.
Go down the line and you will come to me,
The one with the jubilant melody
floating from a wind chime
that sings nothing but serenity.
Every brick in place, the lawn
Evergreen.
The vision never looked so clean.
My door is clenched shut, unmoving.
You may look, but not come inside.
For the interior walls withhold
ancient echoes made of both
whispers and screams.
The mirrors are blurred.
Ghostly flames swallow the rooms,
feasting on moments fine as china,
devouring precious valuables.
I’m afraid the smoke will run for the chimney
spilling what lies behind drawn shades.
I do not wish to be a sight in the window,
Looking outward from this hidden suburbia
Longing to be free.
In time, I’ll open the door.
It may be a minute or two,
Perhaps even three.
For now, my red roses will stay masked
behind the white picket fence and
I’ll let people believe.
They’ll admire, eyes alight, and leisurely stride by
thinking I have nothing to hide.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
Whilst I'm standing still over this hill, I think of moments in life that gave me a thrill,
But I remember the pain and I remember the chill,
Of the cold dampened heart's that never seem to spill,
Like the world's in one convention and I'm outside looking in,
I grin, whilst i use these forces buried within,
To show people in verse what I mean,
Before the planet isn't green,
Before the seas collapsed and wind is no longer a breeze,
We freeze in an ice block, tick, tock, tick, tock, we stopped the clock,
But nobody hears me so everyone listen up,
Stop what you're doing and please raise a cup,
For stopping global warming and extinction of animals, because we're all valuables on this tiny spec of galaxies, yet governments plan strategies,
To profit from tragedies, they keep us all living in fantasies, but strike in catastrophes,
So let's help our families and all become one,
Before we've got none and everything we feel has gone,
Putting a bet on the apocalypse, odds are ten to none !!!
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
You know when you meet someone and they fit perfectly into your life and you just want to keep them forever.
There are few of these people like that. That will accept you, that have your sense of humor, that don’t care if you’re having a bad hair day, or year.
They make you smile, laugh, cheer you up when you feel like nothing can.
They accept you unconditionally and are the first to laugh at you when you do something stupid.
And you never appreciate them until they have drifted off into their own lives.
But I want to appreciate them now.
They keep me going when I feel like I can’t anymore.
They are my sanity in the insanity of the world.
People who don’t even know how valuable they are.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Randy was a roach
Of the american cockroach variety
He was a deep brown and had a sickly shine
To his wings and antennae
And he studied both of us
From a perch in our suitcase
In my girlfriend's East Harlem apartment
In the early hours of a sunday morning
**** it! Get it out of the suitcase!"
My girlfriend yelled
Flailing her arms
As Randy reclined on our valuables
His antennae twitching
As in most crisis
I hesitated
And Randy burrowed into the suitcase
Past the underwear, collard shirts, and sunscreen
I dug in a frenzy
Rending my girlfriend's meticulous packing plan
And scattering clothes about
All in the name of meaningless destruction
But I couldn't find Randy
"He's probably in the collar of one of your shirts, or in a pair of my shoes"
My girlfriend speculated
And I started shaking the clothes wildly about the room
Wanting more than anything to extinguish Randy's life
To sterilize our newfound stowaways presence
But I never found him
And Randy boarded the plane with us to ***** Cana
While our plane painted dizzying contrails over the ocean
We speculated about Randy's
Most likely devious activities
"I bet he's eating the granola bars under my bikinis"
"I bet there is more than one in there"
"Maybe he's dead?"
"I bet he's laying eggs"
We both pondered over the fact that Randy could be Rhonda
And that we would open the suitcase to a scattering of near microscopic progeny
And we clutched each other in the cold, recycled air of the cabin
When we got to the room
Past all the tin shacks and open air bars
Where the locals sat in plastic lawn chairs
Staring at the tourist shuttles
That carted pale skin behind tinted windows
To decadently decorated rooms where the towels were folded into swans
We opened the bag to see if Randy
Had surfaced, died, or multiplied
But Randy was no where to be seen , a phantom
We unpacked everything under the utmost scrutiny
Not trusting any of the items we had packed so lovingly and repacked
Shaking cover ups and tee shirts like the wind shakes the leaves in autumn
But he never presented himself
And we saw none of his foul brood
We even unzipped the lining
But Randy had simply vanished
Evaporating into the humid, tropical air
I like to think that Randy is somewhere on the island still
That he has impregnated or has been impregnated
That he spends his days under the intense sun
And cottony wisps of clouds
Sipping Presidente
Sitting under an umbrella made of dried palm fronds
Happy to be away from the honking horns and crowded subways
Just like we were
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
Three early birds broke the flying record today,
Under a ball of yellow light and sky of white cobwebs,
Uphill, amidst a godforsaken town,
At the far end of the deserted residential area,
In front of our binned and bagged house,
On the peach tiles of our topsy-turvy garage,
Inside a scroungy cardboard box,
Between the wasted space and rotten nest made of broom,
Where they left their bodies mushy and misshapen,
Where a colony of red ants now celebrate for a carrion feast.
They flew higher than any in their kind could ever reach,
That they went straight to heaven,
Early for their embellished feathers and wings,
Early for their final cartilages,
Early for their full-grown beak and claws,
Early for their black, beady eyes,
Early for their last rites,
Yet for us to forecast the bad news,
Yet for us to get off of our plastic chairs of indifference,
Yet for us to drop our glasses of lemon juice and inattention,
Yet for us to fumble outdoor and crash the ceremony,
Yet for us to solve the mystery,
Of whether the ball of yellow light radiated enough to fry,
That the three early birds had to fly the coop to oasis;
Of whether our mother's frenzy gave a cold welcome,
That the three early birds had to say goodbye when she tossed the box out;
Of whether I am to blame for yesterday's miracle
Of finding their home attached to the open bottom of our air-conditioner,
Which turned into a tragedy of a falling baby out of excitement,
That the three early birds felt like it was time to join their fourth sibling once again.
Indeed, too early
For the three siblings endowed with a mother and a father,
For mankind is blessed enough to have such a thing as family,
Who claimed the three early ones before the garbage does,
Who could've been proud parents in the future,
For witnessing the becoming of their three youngs
Who came out too soon,
Who were traceless of eggshells,
Who never knew a father,
Who were ****** enough to even be abandoned by a mother,
Who never knew if she even came back for them,
Who broke the flying record.
Indeed, too early.
After days of packing up sentiments,
Donating valuables,
Throwing away memories,
And leaving behind possessions,
I thought, for a moment,
We could save something
But we couldn't.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
Sands slip through my fingers,
sun scorched with dried blood
staining the palm where I wiped the blade.
I did not bleed. I did not bat my eyes
when his severed limb flew past my face.
My eyes opened wider and tasted victory
more intently than my screams
vanquished his memory.
I thought it was but an apparition on the sands
miles past; a haunting, a demon, a scorned lover
back for revenge now that I made off with valuables:
the fastest steed, the cave within me
where he stored his treasure when he pleased.
Thus when he appeared, when he charged by foot
and outstretched his arms (much smaller from my new height)
feebly, weakly to end me first, so he could brag to the village,
"She is like the women who believe they can fly."
I do fly
to my sword,
my hand unsheathes the blazing boiling metal.
With one sharp ting I watch his arm and the tiny dagger
sail across the desert and settle atop the sand,
gently gracefully, unlike his living, boasting words
would have wanted.
To the man who brought destruction in the depths,
where coolness and faithful waters dripped down the walls;
where no one dared near for fear of the One who is near me.
They will say warrior was born of ruins.
If they ask me, I will say, "Warrior is born of defeat no more."
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC
I'm sort of sick
Of hating you
But loving you is too cliche
I'm just a bit over
Ignoring you
But talking is overrated
I'm so far past
Writing you poetry
This is the exception
I'm just a bit beyond
Trying to get you
Because I'd hate to lose you
I'm not one for valuables
As valuables are stolen
And it breaks my heart
Should I ever get you
The thief would theive
The robber would rob
The hitman would hit
The assassin, assassinate
The seductress, ******
And I would lose you
As I lose everything else
So I won't have you at all
Because I'm above liking your eyes
No matter how they shine
When you laugh so brightly
I'm not one to treat you right
Though I would hold the doors
And take the bill
I'm too good to watch you
While I memorize the words
You say in your own little way
I'm to great for your problems
But if you confided in me
I'd be your greatest ally
And I'm far too good for these tears
Because I've not lied about a single thing
Not a single thing I've written here
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
mud from the cemetery
everyday on his boots and clothing
and everyday he'd wash the shovels
muddy water like a river
muddy red waters
the graves are dug deep like a cliché
six feet under
too small for a back ***
so down he jumps
digging deeper
from cemetery to cemetery
in rain or by moonlight
he works hard every night
till his calluses bleed
a muddy white truck
and muddy wooden handled tools
the perfect cover
you'd think he worked there
he scopes the obits
looking for fresh funerals
he prefers meat on the bones
there's no profit in grave robbing
no one is buried wearing valuables
and there's no market for dead body parts
he just likes the smell of formaldehyde
the vacated looks on their faces
and the occasional surprise
when he finds one with open eyes
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 9:02 AM UTC
She wore gloves,
long, cotton swan's necks
which she stole from the
fields outside Baltimore,
plucked from the brown
fingers that wore the soil to dust.
She wore gloves,
a white pretense of elegance,
to hide her dainty,
fingers of a lady
who had never labored a day in her life.
Or so he supposed.
She wore gloves,
he'd soon discover,
to masque the bleeding
from nights spent battling
a linguistic war
with her old typewriter.
She wore gloves,
white lies that they were,
to protect her only valuables
from being taken from her
or doomed to the fate
of being held in another's.
She wore gloves,
never took them off,
as her one and only disguise.
For who would publish
lofty, luxurious paragraphs
when tainted by the pronoun her?
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC
The glory of heaven fills my heart,
a heaven of heavens;
The glory of all glories.
A city whose builder and maker is jehovah.
A home filled with treasure of treasures.
A kingdom whose gates and stones are made of gold.
A palace where flowers dwell in glory.
A city where neither pain nor sorrow exists.
A glory not compared to the things of this world.
A city of all valuables.
A refinery where the spirit of man is refined in the glory of God.
Who can ascend into the hill of the lord and access his glory?
Who can stand in his holy palace and feel his glory?
He that have a clean and pure heart.
He whose hands are not soiled in evil.
He that speaks no guile with his mouth.
He whom the lord inputeth no iniquity.
He whose soul is not lifted up in vain glory.
Behold,
a city so wounderful,
a home of other homes,
a palace from which palace are born.
Let the glory of his kingdom engulf me, and
grant me entrance to it's beauties.
Until then,
when there shall be no more earth.
When all that matters now matters no more;
the glory of this kingdom shall preserve me,
keep me blameless until his coming;
when his glory shall shine upon me,
and
l be lifted up above the sky.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
It is for the reason we think and think and think,
That the finishing line seems to shrink and shrink and shrink.
Their trophies and our consolation prizes, we always link
To the faces of where it matters not if we stink.
We ***** and ***** but never look;
Only offer our eyes to reference books,
Pay our lives to learn how they sit and smile and dress and cook,
When we could carve out crafts of our own on hippocampus walls to hook.
Charts and charts of sound waves go farther than needed into the ear,
But in this statistic, there are more of those which we are deaf to hear.
Then we wonder, perhaps they will listen if we talk our fear through beer.
What we cannot, we must preach, so in the morning it’ll all be clear.
Putting on several mouths, sincerity seldomly salivates in our tongues.
And all we ever scream about, we let clump and clog in our lungs.
Our voices, we swallow, then verbalize universal dung.
Is that easier than to allow our singularity be hung?
To possess such delicate bones under thick coats of flesh and skin,
One little sting, we crumble as if our framework isn't as fortified as tin.
But sometimes when too stung, we rigidify and our cutis turns lean.
Our pores, too open, that even what doesn't exist, we welcome in.
And so, we stick to our lifelong work of homemade bibles,
And add commandments every time we build stables,
Along with valuables from the places in people’s fables.
Only us can decide to make room for new tables.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
A cartoonish grim woman
in aft cabin was a harlequin let umbrage
squash her there a known charter while she'd smoke in bed
her aroma did permeate her rise to eat breakfast
a morning prepared for sore again
only technical her rouse indeed tripped her smoke alarm
and went unheeded to another deck till open bar decided her fate
while her interest there was crickety
where love is deep in the sea
their golden groves were bubbles and waves
while they brim with valuables onboard did spill
and they'd evoke near me without their calling
when aquanauts will buck up gear then they really sever
their troves below that really soften thine eyes
where the air is moist and ye suit there so well
I can tell you I am picky today and defray your kind.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
who does one really put their trust in
if anyone at all
what makes us trust someone
do you feel you can trust someone
most of us can't even trust ourselves
yet think about putting trust in another
TRUST
reliance on the integrity,
strength,
ability,
surety,
etc.
confident expectation of something, hope
a person on whom or thing on which one relies
the obligation or responsibility imposed
on a person in whom confidence or authority is placed
a position of trust
charge, custody, or care
to leave valuables in someone's trust
my trust comes from one
GOD
my trust in him
gives me trust
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
A living skin, a skein of green briars
where a half-hinged door is wagged by the wind
Good-natured god, decay’s stigmata-stained spires
nettles paint the stairs splotch patterned, olive skinned
Glass window shards grab a slip of silk curtain
pick-pocket beetles engrave brute luck broadside
Chimney thrushes cabined in ash are certain
cynicism’s growing sums are rectified
Blue jays opine time’s cuckoo clock mocking
worms ply enormous copses, scrawl casts of clay
Autumn gusts and rains whirl detritus stocking
flung colors Pollocked, clutter’s chaos array
Hours dissolve the acorns and soft seeds scatter
as grasses grown tall have turned light yellow
architecture’s flourishes are picked off
crumbled valuables filched and turned to dirt
tumult’s passages dug the driveway’s trough
carrion feeders pull black quills from their shirt
slugs smear a rainbow trail and mice scurry
collapsed walls fall to the slush of leaf slurry
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
i probably shouldnt be saying this but i really can't resist:
if we were to suffocate
right here in this velvetly air,
i probably wouldn't even care
we would watch our things, our posessions, our valuables float into the atmosphere
as we continue to breathe in the sulfur,
ladies and gentleman,
prepare to say your last prayer
we were designed to go this way, i swear
is this really what it takes
to make us feel human?
is this really what it takes
to make us feel alive?
i don't know why i'd rather die
than to hang on every word
like it was your last
i really don't mean to sound like
such a bother but it's just that i can't
seem to figure out why i even bother.
and hey,
everybody has those days
and everybody has those nights
like the ones where i lay staring at the ceiling
til i feel like i might stop breathing
because i don't know
who to call at 3 in the morning
because i know your sleep is more important
because the only trace of
"i love you" can be found
underneath your finger nails,
i can still remember your breathing
your skinfolds, the tiny little details
but each dig feels sharper than the last
because i don't like to write in the last
few pages of my notebook because
i actually don't want my story to end
but here we are
we're dying in the street
we're struggling to breath
and i can't feel my heart beat
that's what i wanted, right?
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
I am nothing without someone who can make me into something.
Valuables aren't valuable unless the owner grants it value,
And so
I am worth nothing,
Because my owners have deemed it so.
They own my heart,
My soul,
My allegiance,
But they throw it around like it's disposable.
And so,
It is.
My disposable soul will gladly destroy itself for their whims,
Because they own me,
And they give me value.
Nov 17, 2010
Nov 17, 2010 at 11:40 AM UTC
Earth is a pretty
Messed up equation
Of quite hastily
Made up solution.
We are but numbers
Of different values
Every sign matters
In this set of issues.
Many were born real
Physiques built evenly
Few quite look odd and
Imaginary.
Some are but factors
Serving evil's loots
Denominators
Of ungodly roots.
There are radicals
Who've got point of view
So are rationals
To speak a word or two.
We're discriminant
To other religions
Differential rant
To other opinions.
Can't we simplify
This complex squirm
And instead unify
To a common term?
We're just variables
Merely dependent
On the valuables
Of our environment.
We were given one
To be shared by all
Equality's gone
And this is our call.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
a thief called during the night
and was in such a hurry
he only managed to take the not so valuables
the parts of me that I hate
the parts of me that are ugly
and now he's long gone
that is all he will remember
the worst of me
and he will wish he never robbed me at all
Jul 24, 2022
Jul 24, 2022 at 8:06 PM UTC