Screaming rage, the old pachyderm charges hard
Scattering predators away from the ravaged corpse of her fallen friend

The carnivorous stork and vulture cloud simultaneously take startled flight & retreat raggedly to the nearest dead tree, there to turn and glare with accusing eyes and cawing clamour. The hyenas and jackals scatter from the stinking cavernous maw of abdomen and scramble for the cover of thorn bush perimeter. Their hideous cackle and yapping adding to the cocophany of the noisy horror in this small, dry and dusty African drama.

Wheeling about the old cow surveys the clearing and, satisfied she has seen the vile things off, turns back to her fallen friend, shuffling through the thick white dust, she stands close by protecting.

Unfurling her massive trunk, she gently wraps it's sensitive tip around the scarred tusk of her fallen companion...and standing there, In a long, long sentinel silence...she remembers.......

Standing flank to flank in waters
Cooling spray upon the hide,
Trunks entwined to rumbled chortle
Bull and cow and calf abide.
Striding through the Serengetti
Grasses tall and sweet and green,
Grazing in this luscious plenty
Happiness in joy unseen.


New born calf cavorts, unsteady
Laughing at her rubber legs,
Keep a watch for lion menace
Always lurking for the dregs.
Cow to cow companionship
Builds the basis of the herd,
One reliant on the other
Cuddly calf to bull absurd.


Sunset on the far horizon
Golden glow across the plain,
Trekking for the waterhole
Through acacia tree domain.
Zebra throng with wilderbeast,
Quail and guinea fowl
Run through grasses long and brown
But leopard on the prowl.


Fun time with marula berries
Dropping from the trees like rain,
Staggering drunk pachyderms
Fall about but feel no pain.
Violence in defensiveness
Circled by enormous rage
Calves protected safe within
Roaring lioness engaged.


Quiet of the evening air
A stillness in the herd
Affection of companionship
'Twixt leather hides doth gird.
Companions together
The wise and the sage,
Companions endureth
Through an elephant's old age.


Kilamanjaro crowned with snow
Though plains are cracked and dry,
Prolonged drought has taken toll
And many creatures die.
Trekking from dry waterhole
A million dusty miles
To find the next one caked with salt
Enough to make you cry.


And when the cloud of death descends
A pachyderm must cry
For the memory of companion
Will bring a sadness to the eye.
Remembering their sister ship
Remembering their pain
Remembering shared elephant-ness
Brings good recall again.


Reluctantly a parting made
And fond and distant memories burn,
The taste of Africa prevails
As  skulking, predators return.



Marshalg
22 July 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Time isn't wasted at the end of the day
When you're in bed thinking about all the things
You could've done,
You could've said,
All the empty boxes left on your to do list

Time is wasted
When you're standing on a rock at the edge of a waterhole
And decide to not jump
When you're sitting in your car trying to justify reasons
For not going in
When you anxiously hit backspace
Instead of expressing how you truly feel
When you ignore your heart that's screaming
"You deserve better."

It's lost in I could have and I should have,
In missed opportunities,
In letting fears override judgement

Time is not necessarily wasted
In passing minutes, months, years
We waste time by
Counting seconds,
And by letting seconds pass
When we could've made
Those seconds count

Oh there once was a swagman camped in the  billabong,
  Under the shade of a Coolabah tree;
And he sang as he looked at his old billy boiling
  "Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."

  Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
    Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
  Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
    Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.

Down came a jumbuck to drink at the waterhole,
  Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him in glee;
And he sang as he stowed him away in his tucker-bag,
  "You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me."

  Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
    Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
  Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
    Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.

Down came the squatter a-riding his thoroughbred;
  Down came policemen — one, two, and three.
"Whose is the jumbuck you've got in the tucker-bag?
  You'll come a-waltzing Matilda with we."

  Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
    Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
  Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag —
    Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.

But the swagman, he up and he jumped in the waterhole,
  Drowning himself by the Coolabah tree;
And his ghost may be heard as it sings in the billabong
  "Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?"

  Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, my darling.
    Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
  Waltzing Matilda and leading a water-bag.
    Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me

Leaches and bloodsuckers all!
Parasites to our hearts and minds,
diseased by location encircling a waterhole.

I’m done with this, gone to future dreams overdue for life,
shedding years of hopeless frustration
as others wallow in their ignorance.

Sickness deepen as their pool thickens.  
New life drains away
running for its existence toward light and hope.

Leaches and bloodsuckers all!
They drain us of lifeblood and energy.
One more waterhole and gene pool;
a cycle without end and death to all who stay.

I must feed today
Feed, this lust, for pray
In my lair, I can not stay
Give me flesh with which to play
Soft throat with veins so frai
Fountain so thick, while life I drai
Give it to me, on a tray
The lazy, weak, naïve, ignorant, and grey
For one of you, I am the demon today
But I need this, before I can lay

A last look at my young, so small
Out from my lair I crawl
Into jungle so dense and tall
Near waterhole, my pray will sprawl
Oooh yes, that’s their call
Silently unsuspicious the closer I crawl
Wait caution now, for one stare and stall
I trust, my camouflage will stifle warning call
Closer and closer to herd I crawl
Now, herd in waterhole’s enthrall

I select my pray for the night
Rather at the back, just out of sight
Yes, this one will not fight
I must wait, there’s chance for flight
Take another sip, that’s right
Your senses will dim, more then slight
Now, the time is right
I pounce on him with all my might
“Hallo I’m Angel, how are you doing tonight?”
“It’s only $ 100 for the night”

Killers Concept by Jay Byrne and Mr.Sandman
Clear text= Jay Byrne slanted =Mr Sandman
_

Effective, efficient killer. Subjectively no-one iller.
Go check on the web. It's near ya. I'm watchin' all the time.
Instinctively people fear. Steadily drawing near.
Surreptitious and vicious. Come in my parlour. It's fine.
Got a vast network, in the middle I stand.
Check your pheremone signature. The tremor in the sand.
Night vision. Incisions with terrifying precision.
But notwithstanding derision. My kin is older than man.
In the shadows of your mind you'll find me there waitin'.
Behind my cold eyes resides a saints patience.
While you work I lurk in recesses dark.
Park your car, I'm there. (Where ?) Right there in the back.
Then I invade your home for my own selfish game.
I'm not to blame. Nature made me this way.
Killer born. Deal death everyday.
Ask your children who they fear. Hear them whisper my name.


Cos' I'm a killer. Steal life as a matter of fact.
A killer. No knife, sail a different tack.
Cos' I'm a killer. One calling but I do it so well.
I'm the fell one, run from the funeral bell.


you may **** when I attack,but I attack you in waves,
Stalin to ****** all pale,I've filled BILLIONS of graves,
may not look it but stuck it I put it right in your veins,
start to cough?,losing weight,in 3 weeks your remains,
are buried deep,your kin weep,while the wolf among sheep,
floats in a stagnant pond sniffin' for the time to release,
cause I can taste your breath,then visit bringing you death,
and all you think is "what a nuisance",get the paper and smack!,
you're too late,you met fate and didn't know you've been killed,
a little while and you'll be sufferin the fever and chills,
your blood boils with my my gifts,I deliver with style,
number one cause of death from Amazon to the Nile,
so while you think you top the food chain, feelin' smug,
I'm the flying Vampire who kills while suckin' your blood,
I'll take you back to the mud,as I have always done,
not a buzzin' noisy nuisance-I'm Killer number one

A cold killer. Steal life as a matter of fact,
yeah,A killer. No knife, sail a different tack,
A real Killer,One calling but I do it so well.
I'm the fell one,run from the funeral bell

I see you step closer.You don't see me.
My reptilian form, waterborne, glides effortlessly.
Cautiously you approach the lake.
No wake trails me. You're mine to take.

I made a **** and I fed well,it's time to drink,
orange and black striped terrible beauty slinks,
down to the water sniffing cautiously,but no fear,
cause I'm the Apex Killer"sniff"no enemy near ...

Black eyes peer. Movin' closer still.
No crocodile tears here, I'm movin' in for the ****.,

I chill-freeze hackles up,blend into the trees,
circlin the waterhole,was that a scent on the breeze?

Pretty please, pretty pussycat, pad this way.
Tread light. Now I strike all teeth and spray.

ancient enemy comes,fill my lungs,
roar and lunge,take the plunge,now who's gonna be lunch?

*Cause we're Killers,steal life as a matter of fact,
natural Killers no knife sail a different tack,
the feared Killers,one calling but we do it so well,
we're the fell ones,run from the funeral bell!

The parched earth echoed the wails for the dead
as flames devoured the crowd of corpses
mouth agape with unquenched thirst.

The sky had mercilessly looked away
having spit fire on them down below
sparing not one waterhole on its way
and the mother if only she could
use her tears for the baby to drink
but her eyes had turned dry as the earth.

Yet dark as the depth of love
the King's pond mirrored the princess' face
and would still beam the moon in her eyes
strangely hiding from the wrath of the drought.

One night sleeping on her ivory bed
her silken skin cooled with rosewater
the princess heard a voice:

When the fury of God
blinds him to the pains of men
an angel rises to break his heart
stakes her life to rend heaven apart
so his tears on earth fall as rain.

The windless night was deadly quiet
watched by moon in awe wide eyed
the trees sparkled in firefly's light
when the princess stood by the pond's side.

For awhile her eyes roamed around
resting on the marble's gleam
the sleeping grass her sweet playground
a home smelling all earthly dream.

She felt like swimming through the air
love glowing warm in her peaceful eyes
till she reached the end of stairs
that bore her frame with deep sighs.

The heaven broke down with thunderous rain
the seeds sprouted filled field with green
upon that land wasn't a drought again
never before had such harvest been seen.

In the depth of night if you hear a cry
from the clouds pearly by dawn's embrace
know God's tears will fall from the sky
as dewdrops mourning the rain princess.

They must be
A couple
Of right *******
To ill threat

The young man so;
One blonde,
One brunette,
Thinking themselves,

No doubt,
God’s gift,
Gift of the gab
More like,

Strutting their
Henhouse tracks
With feathers
Prim and proper

They like to think.
Smell the perfume stink,
The eyelids painted,
Nails clipped

And primed,
Tongues wagging,
Like tails of *******
On full heat.  

Karma has its way
Of making things
Right in the end.
Sufficient lies

To hang themselves
Given time, enough
Tall tales to drown in
Like plump frogs

Caught out
In the last fast
Downpour.
Like snakes

They spit their
Joined venom;
Like snakes
They prefer

The long grass;
How each of them
Moves like a hippo
To the waterhole,

Each with their
Swaying fat ***.

Walkabout started, in wilderness so bare
With no tracks, roads, homes nor cities in stare
Sticks and stones from my body, did tare
On horizon, welcome glitter of water’s glare
A sense of someone, something’s care
Cool, refreshing, revitalizing there’s no compare
From waterhole a single track, to sun’s lair

This narrow single track, evidence left by life
This road I follow, with mind set blithe
Into thick dark bushes, overgrown and rife
Thorns, cutting and tarring at my life
Pain and anguish, remind me, of life
I turn and look, at the ordeal, I survive
Following track, at cross road I arrive

Any one of four, to go
Back, I do not want to go
Right, a valley below
Left, more rocks and bushes on show
In front, a rainbow
The bow, proof of life bestow
I venture ahead, toward life’s flow

The single track, joined by another
A partnership, parallel to each other
Never did they join, in future
Along these tracks, I venture
These tracks, by contrast a pleasure
If cuts and bruises, the measure
My time on these tracks, I did treasure

Progress, tracks transformed to gravel way
I pass a house, where family could stay
I stopped, turned, looked and walked away
My essence, did not allow me to stray
“It’s not your destiny”, I heard the elders say
Discouraged disappointed lost, I started to pray
Again, a rainbow appeared, to point the way

As gravel way change, to road of tar
On the horizon, the evening star
Inviting noises and lights, of nearby bar
A lady, offer me a ride, with her in car
Voices of the elders, “You’ve already come this far”
If I quit now, this entire journey I did mar
With rainbow gone, I follow morning star


As road of tar, turn to gravel
I stop, turn and stare, with look of baffle
How can people be so concerned with trivial?
Can a single place, contain all that evil
Everyone treated, according to given label
I travel for myself, not to create a fable
In front of me, the rising sun marvel

Gravel road, turn twin track
As I put the city’s madness, to my back
The sun’s lair again my tack
My walk, more determined, there’s no turning back
Lessons learned and experiences stacked
For the remainder, there’s nothing I lack
This easy going, balance the rack

As one track, disappear
In my hand, I catch a joyful tear
Gone the lonely and disillusioned fear
To me, everything is no so clear
I shout out, in joyful cheer
This walk, empowered me to steer
I look to the future, through eyes so pure

I stroll into the wilderness, without a care
No more burdens, to bear
From me, all doubt was tare
In life, awaits no more scare
In front of me, a canvas made bare
A bright colorful future, in my stare
A future, with golden silver glare

When I was a child… I was fascinated by the sensation of sitting at the bottom of the swimming pool …the drains tug on the liquid landscape that surrounded me…the world dancing around me in slow motion…an eerie glow cast upon everything that was habitually familiar…the clouds distortion barely visible through the swaying waters above…it was …somehow…comfort …in the sweetest sense…perhaps it was some primal, original dance as if in the womb…as if housed once more within the shelter of maternal delight …such a soothing salve of pacification has seemed elusive as life has stirred  me from my waterhole of non-want, non-need…non-fear…into the astounding, deafening, calamity that existence can become…I have found myself searching frantically for the drain…for the hush…for the waters edge and quickly the murky bottoms comforting escape…cradled, calmed, wooed by the silent caress of peace upon my skin…   silence, stillness …immobile tranquility…for all of it's loveliness, allure, charm…it has indeed unfolded in my more developed endeavors as …escapism…diversion…dodging…so very simplistic when compared to the mishaps and misfortunes that must be faced at times…I find myself  rising  from the depths of security  and ascending… gasping for breath at the surface of my life…

able to…

ready to….

scared to death to…..

move forward……

the difference?...Willing to…

How strange to pour words into the ears of total strangers
We're consoled that their hearts beat the same beat.

We write of cares and broken hearts
We write of mythological creatures and likewise, love
Indeed, at the waterhole, commonality is revealed.

Dare we tell of who we are, who we really are?
Hard to face the facts shorn, but every witty in our ditty
Shows how ephemeral is life, and wink! soon over.

Butter the prose like sparkling cheerleaders
But alone, we cry and keep counsel with the shade
We write, we write and find it turns out not so bad.

Dormant, standing on the bow peering out with telescope in hand
Quite seas
Off in the distance,
Land
Bright sunlight piercing through closed fingers
Shielding the reflection of the ocean and sky
To no avail
Telescope still in hand
Distance drawing nearer
"Land **!" yells the lookout as dry ugly faces peer out from below deck
Grumbling voices wake from their slumber as the crew saunters their way into the day light and fresh air
They grab rope, and hooks, swords, and supplies
Captain steering towards the shore
They hop on three dinghies
Eight strong
Yo ** ** and a bottle of ***
Eyepatches, sly grins, and peg legs a plenty
No one greets them on the small island
They are there to pillage the resources and devour the meats as they reach soil
Sharp teeth and empty stomachs
Tattoos of women with large *******, and anchors, hearts, and daggers
***
Much *** will be swigged and landing in bellies come nightfall
Songs sung by fires warm light
At mornings break they shall hunt and scour the land for animals and resources
They haven't a map but smell treasure
They know it's there
They whiff at the air to determine their course
They argue their cut, their share of their findings until one man lay dead from sharp blades final judgement
More for the taking of the rest of the crew
Morning comes
Through the branches, over rocks they climb towards the peek
The summit
A cave, a cave is in sight
They throw rocks in order to draw out and living creature that may have made a home inside
No sound permeates
It is safe to enter
Fire sticks are lit and cave is entered with caution
Whispers and hushes
They stumble
Head meets rock
Blood
This is no easy life
They reach a cavernous waterhole
The first man is egged on to explore its contents
Explore its depth
The water is knee deep
Until, until he sinks out of sight and the water swallows him whole
Startled, the men scamper back to dry land
"Where has our fellow mate gone", they ask
Splashing, he reemerges
He reaches the surface and cries out
"Gold!!"

When I was younger an infant of
the illusions of the world, my mum,
"She was a lost sheep trying to find a herd,
Church was my Sunday destination.

Drinking and eating though it was the
blood of a fallen man, people in lines!
Like waiting to pay for something,
its the UK we line up for everything.

"if there isn't a line don't trust it,

I used to pray little hands clasped together,
but then mummy and daddy argued..
so very loud, I prayed for silence
but  anger travels, voices echoing in vacant halls.

I asked on Sundays "why doesn't god help,
"Why doesn't god breath,
"Who created God,
"Why does he not hear my pain,
"Why doesn't he just stop the devil,

"Free will of man he gave,
"Because he is everywhere, he is the breath of the universe,
"God has no creator, for god created everything,
"He hears everything, that all speak,

My mind thought on these answers, even though
young my mind collectively I was thinking,
"why does he help others yet not me,
if free will is ours then isn't he violating it
by helping the few and not the many so we
have no free will at all??

Sunday came around, and I had questions to
ask my mother was cool
"A mind is a journey, and thoughts are our footsteps,
My mum was deep, and also loving and silly..
I walked in a now not seeing this place as before.

Eating the bread disc it just felt stale in my mouth.
Songs were sung and the plate was passed around,
those with little gave much "Later I would understand,
Then I walked up to the priest, nervous of my questions.

Sir, I thought of the words on answers I asked.
My question like water flowing out my mouth...
I told him of my confusion at his answers that I
had thought long and *******..

If,
Everything has a creator
God created everything
God doesn't have a creator

Doesn't make sense the last cant happen
without the first, then I continued...

"God gave free will, our path is his chosen
he knows our life upon our creation,

"But then why does he help others?
Or so they say, isn't he breaking that pattern
on non interference, or is the reality that nothing
Is answered its happenstance, our will is our own.

"If he hears everything, sees all, would that not
make him non omnipotent as he could stop the
playing of the devils tongue, as he lets children
die at cruel hands, sees those  **** innocence but
just watches like its pay per-view.
                          
"Wouldn't an omnipotent being have the power to seal the devils fate, but if not in choosing is he no better than the one he warns others about?

The gentlemen just stood there and had to
think on my questions, and his answered
sealed the position I stand on now
                                  "God has a plan for every one,
I knew then as a child that this was just a herd
of sheep gathering in a waterhole of falsehoods.

My mother excepted my stance, for her she
had a needing for something more than herself.
But life is the something more, to attend to yourself,
friends those around you helping strangers when
the need is needed.

I wasn't only going to be good for what a book said,
Fearful that some are only that way, not because of humanity,
but the fear of spoken words that they'll go to a fiery place.
My mother was cool, an open book of thought, she delved
into a few religions, spiritual gain.. she past a while ago...

The proof of my thoughts confuse some, I say that those
stories as a child didn't hold water, but we all grew out
of the tooth fairy, Santa. but still believe a story that holds
great contradictions, from a time long ago not suitable to this
day and age. I see the world and see more shedding the covering
of there eyes.

Were growing up, leaving our cradle of ignorance and
superstitions behind. I look up at the night sky, never
thanking some abandoned father.. But just looking at
the universe realizing I'm just a spec of dust in the motion
that are happening around and above. I glad I'm still here,
but that could change at any moment. Then I'd just be
a memory on others thoughts, just hopeful that  I made
a little ripple to make others lives, my children's, my wife,
my friends better, worthy of the time I was around ..

Dried up waterhole
evaporated muse

A poets despair
spitting dust.

Animals around the waterhole watch and stalk
Their prey.
I sit, in heat, as the animals
They rip open their food
as I rip off my clothes.
We are animals, no different.
Driven by food and ***,
these rule the world,
not money and power.
I want to be taken
and thrown, hard, on to the ground.
I want to **** like an animal,
***** and depraved.
Rules broken, beds broken,
No rules, no safety,
Just ***.

Noon. The desertsun is sitting at the summit of the sky,
glaring at the endless sands that span in front her firey eye
and there´s not a single cloud around her that she must condone,
just a squad of squawking storks is floating neath her golden throne.
Like a boat that´s built of birds, in search for cypresscrowns to land
which resemble scattered islands in this silent sea of sand.

At a waterhole´s a warthog, noticed by the nearest croc,
drinking calmly from the pond, but suddenly: A state of shock.
Fleeing flocks of rhimgazelles. A turtle imitates a rock.
And the victims bleeding nose is caught inside a lethal lock.
Groups of kudus, gnus, baboons who ring their roaring warning bells
and the arid air is full of fear and dust and death and yells.

In the distance sits and listens watchfully a fennec fox,
sheltered by a fence of thorns, upon a pile of desert rocks.
Covered under cactusshades decays a lonely nomads bone,
where the lazy lizards lie in cool and cosy homes of stone;
and the sun, relaxed as ever, crawls along her wonted trail,
like a glowing, cyclopean, billion-year-old cosmic snail.

a shrill voice in the desert
the waterhole dried up
with nowhere else to go.

it is snowing
I am a fish wrapped in a newspaper

the newspaper is old
you can barely see the letters

I can only see one word with each eye
however,
there is not much to understand
one word is life
and the other is its opposite

there is a hole between them

through which one can see the sky

just like through a waterhole
one can always see
an escape

Under the cosmic
dust, an elite existence
wants to close the waterhole.

Hostility was increasing
between the same species.

But evil and good would
always co-sleep.

O Buddha
I will make the tree
walk and come to you
where you used to sit under.

And ask some stingy
questions. Why you want non-
violence when violence
would always exist?

And the light
hesitates to shine in pitch dark?
And the words remain quiet?

Why it was so impossible?

silver and gold could allow you to paste a plastic smile ,                                                                                                            authentic company speaks a spring of joy into existence,                                                                                                         silence speaks and reminds us of the essence of company ,                                                                                                       those who pursue money have no peace because peace never had a price tag words of advice offer tunnel vision but mock he who turns a blind eye to them ,                                                                                                            to see love in people is to see light,                                                                                                              to see hate in them is to reflect the murky thoughts you harbor  ,                                                                                                    patience speeds us up to our destiny but impatience drags us into detoured conundrums ,                                                                                               a soul without belief is an elephant without a trunk,                                                                                                              it cannot smell where the next waterhole is and it dries up and ****** like dry thorns ,                                                                                                             a stubborn child twists the guts of the mother but a good child attracts favor ,                                                                                                              the voter’s voice is silenced the moment they cast their vote into the ballot ,                                                                                                          the ballot speaks after and its bitterness or sweetness is felt by he who dumped their opinion into it ,                                                                                                     struggle done by a mass benefits a minority ,                                                                                                      majority movements often endorsed have blurred conceptions of the truth ,because propaganda is sweet to the ear but poisonous to the mind ,                                                                                                words end wars but swords prolong it ,                                                                                                             the summit of surrender comes from desperation but it silences arrogance, unsettled debts are like slave masters wrestling the conscience chaining liberty , most generous people are drenched in abundance but with raging consciences which rest when tranquilized by charity,                                                                                                                                                                         a lack of meditation causes mental congestion constant meditation may cause mild vexation ,                                                                                                                      knowledge is a light and its usefulness depends on its availability and its quality ,                                                                        a deficiency strains the eyes and prompts ignorance and baseless intuition ,                                                youths are victims of media and untamed indolent tendencies ,                                their future is riddled with dependence but the elders are content with sentencing the future to a cruel slow death ,                                                                                                                                                                                                     this fast age slowly drowns awareness ,                                                                    the influx of irresponsibility has shunned prioritizing ,                                            our native culture is a spare wheel in the car produced by adopted traditions we borrowed , we expose our teeth in approval of cultural adultery ,                             and yet we are somber about patriarchs who embrace infidelity ,                                         the weak frequency of morality strengthened the waves of crime ,                              even the ink is horrified to narrate the barbarism it is assigned to narrate on paper , religion finally wore an invisibility cloak ,                                                                                                                                                                                   all we see now is money parading in its disguise ,                                                     cross is commerce bible is authoritative text for seasoned heresies ,                     prostitutes solicit their services at cheaper rate than those in the house of prayer , dens of robbers blooming with ephemeral petals which shall wither,                                                                                                                                                                             surrendering security to the state is a sacrifice of liberty and freedom after speech ,Marxism wears robes of communism and moves its hand while taunting us  for being foolish to think that it passed on ,                                                                  vision is more important than sight ,                                                                                         it is requires sight to realize all this ,                                                                             it is vision that prompts a decision to act on what u have seen

Was it nobility
to prepare body edible,
digging waterhole?

You sell the kisses
gracefully for the suckers
in return for soul.

The water color
doesn't stay on your face in-
moon. Stars twinkle.