Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.
Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.
People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.
With or without the words,
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God,
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.
The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.
If I had been given the chance,
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.
When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....
....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.
If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within,
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.
Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.
Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.
If I had been given the chance -- past tense....
....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,
until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.
December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S: 28 - 2 = 26
January 7th, 2013
It is said that he was weak because he would not
conform, could not subjugate his will, would not
let them imprison his mind, cage his spirit. Weak
because he stood alone and not with the milling
mob. Weak, because he would not speak the
words they desired to hear. Weak, because he
smiled when others wept, laughed when others
wailed, stood tall when others bent beneath the
toil of life.
They prayed for him to come to his senses and
become as they. He, though he didn’t pray as
they, desired the same for them. He knew that
there was no strength in the coalition of the crowd,
no truth in the mumbling of old truths, no love
in the demands of unconditional love.
He appreciated their prayers, they did not so
much appreciate his. He would listen as the
sound of the choir filtered through the air and
caressed the trees and wonder why the
vibration stopped when the hymn ended,
why the sermon stopped when the preacher’s
voice stopped echoing in the apse.
He would sing the song in silence as he walked
the village roads, roll the preacher’s words over
in his mind, smile at soaring hawks and old
barn cats, straighten a fence, remove a stone,
bid good-day to those who thought him weak.
He was not rich nor was he poor, neither wise
nor foolish, he just was. And so he shared his
weakness with all who thought themselves
strong, his loneliness with the friendless,
his thoughts with those who sought to teach him,
his spirit with those who allowed their spirit to be
It is said that he was weak by those who never
dared to share his weakness.
John G. Lawless//10/15/2014
Submitted to Verlena Walker contest
My shortcomings are overwhelming; however, my strengths are defeating them!
O Teacher! My Teacher!
I would dare to channel a master just for you.
I know not if I am up to this lofty task,
but it is to your expectation that I try to rise.
You never asked for anymore than my best
and I love you for never demanding any less.
O Teacher! My Teacher!
If you had not opened a locked door,
the engulfing rays of enlightenment
may never have caressed my yearning face,
or held me tightly in her awakening embrace
releasing the song desperately trapped in my soul.
O Teacher! My Teacher!
You always said I had a great gift.
If that is true, I heap all praise on you.
You have the most wonderful offering of all
for within you rested the ability to recognize
the potential now flowing freely under my pen.
O Teacher! My Teacher!
I will forever hold you in the highest esteem.
I am not certain if mere words could ever express
the appreciation I have long held for your guiding hand.
Undaunted by the impossible task now in front of me,
this student will once again try to impress his teacher.
This piece was inspired and written for Professor Judy Davis who taught at the College of Central Florida until she retired. She was my English Literature and Composition teacher the first time I went to college. Many go into teaching, but the special few, like Judy, are called to the profession. She is now enjoying her retirement, but her old student here still communicates with her occasionally.
Under her guidance, we stood at attention
forming a row for the national anthem
"Oh Say, Can You See?"...those familiar old words
We would sing, not in unison
but with avid enthusiasm
out of tune, out of rhythm
with our childish delusions
that we were quite good!
As we stood in the room
she would move down the line
with a frown in the lines
of her brow, then would bow
till her ear matched our voice
and her hand would be poised
with two fingers ensued
keeping time with the tune.
She would grit all her teeth
bite the inside of cheeks
Such a serious task!
it was all that she asked
that we please..do our best
When we mastered, at last
She would gasp, then exclaim
as we sang each refrain
Mixed with tears, she would clap
I remember it now...
Here I stand in this row
with my hand on my heart
as the first strain imparts
Yes, I know those old words...
they'll remain part of me
'til the day that I die
"O Say, Can You See?"...still familiar to me
But no..............I can't see....
There are tears in my eyes...
For the Project UFO Contest: Sponsored by Robert Heemstra
LIFE IN THE FREAK ZOO
When you meet a deaf guy no one says -
Wow, can’t you hear this (whistle)?
How about this (bell)? Or this (handclap)?
When you meet a blind girl no one says -
Oooh, can’t you see this (flashlight)?
Or this (computer screen)?
So why do people enthusiastically check out my ability
When they hear I’m colorblind?
Colorblind ? ! Oh boy, ( a freak !) this is exciting….
Can’t you see green? Red? How about yellow?
What color is this sweater? That ball?
What colour does grass look to you?
What about traffic lights?
How do you watch television?
Feels like I’m in a zoocage.
At school I was always in trouble because
In my drawings I colored the grass red instead of green.
All the same to me, but the teacher
Got quite abusive and angry because
In her world grass had to be green.
And tell me, who ever made it law
That oceans should be colored blue?
Mine were always purple, all the same to me.
Would the teacher have said to a blind kid,
“You little fool, can’t you see the grass?”
Or to a deaf child, ”Hey stupid, can’t you hear the music?”
Oh it doesn’t really bug me but
It’s interesting to see people’s behavior
Towards certain afflictions.
Alot of you folks have been able to say what you feel this holyday season with exquisite
wording and beautiful sentiments. I can't do that. Maybe if I tell you a story about a
little kid who was raised and worked on a farm. A farm boy in a class of city kids is ridiculed
for some reason and beat up alot cause that proves to city kids that they're strong when
they beat up a farmer kid. So I did the best I could with my sense of humor, got beat up
when challenged and avoided other confrontations by learning to run real fast! When they
picked teams for basketball, I was odd kid out. Too little. I found it hard to fit in anywhere.
One fine day our 7th grade teacher gave us a homework assignment to write a poem
which we would read aloud in class the next day.The stipulation was that, on your honor, you
could have no help whatsoever. A solo project.
After chores that night, I did as she said and was surprised at how easy it was. The
next day, when it was my turn, I timidly read aloud to the class the first poem I ever wrote.
When I finished, I awaited the verdict . All was quiet. The teacher told me to sit down. I did.
She then admonished me for cheating on my assignment and getting help. Of course I did
not. I still vividly remember how it felt to have all my peers watching me as our teacher
dismissed me for a cheater with a look of disdain on her face. I was speechless, devastated
and embarrassed by what others thought.
The experience pushed me deeper into myself than I had ever been.. It's amazing to me
how these feelings are resurfacing en force as I write about it. I've written poetry on and off
since then but never taken it seriously. It was just some force that reared itself once in a
while until it was subdued by writing one.
Now, in the autumn of my life, something very strange and wonderful is happening. I
have been introduced to you, my poetry soup friends. The injustice done to my poetic soul is
every day being identified by myself, rectified and healed by your loving support. I'm no
longer throwing my poems away. You have given me in two months what has been missing
since the 7th grade. You have given me courage, confidence, encouragement and the
companionship to take up where I was left off. Because of all of you, I can grow again. I was
at a stalemate in alot of things and then this. Coincidence? More like Christ incidence. Get it?
YOU are my Christmas gift from Love come down! This is my card to you.
GOD BLESS YOU ALL.- ROBERT
It’s not fair
But then it never is
All the teachers
All the learning that they got
It couldn't prepare them
It couldn't stop it
Or halt it
Or even control it?
The whirlwind that is I
All the promises and
All the lies
It was all too much
It was never enough
The whispers behind my back
The taunts, and jeers;
Even the teachers
Who are supposed to protect
and keep order;
Just walk away
Just ignore her
She’ll go away
Yes Mrs. Mother
Well stop it
She has coodies
No one likes you
No one wants’ to play with a lesbian like you
It would be so much better if she were gone
I wish she would just leave forever
I never showed my face
But you still;
What did I ever do to you?
What could I have done to you?
I was only ten
Just barely out of childhood really
But I can't really blame you...can i?
No I can't
My only option left
Did it make you happy?
Did you smile?
Was all that work
All that cruelty
All that heartache;
Was it worth it?
Did it finally make you feel better?
Like you were better,
Who was your next victim?
Not like it matters
They didn't help them either
You can't see
You refuse to see
Just like the teachers
They all failed
Not only me
I hope you all are proud.
You never listen
Yes I know it's true
I see you try and deny it
How's that working for you?
I will say one thing
You will hear another
I will try to fix it
The misunderstanding you see
I just got in trouble
(Sigh) I told you so
They never listen to me
They say they do
And I know they try
But all I want to do is scream
"JUST LISTEN TO ME SOMEONE PLEASE"
All I asked is that you think
What is real?
Do I ever ask this?
Will I ever again?
All I really did
All I want
Is to be free
Free to listen
And free to be me
You'll never see
Just how much your
Not listening has killed me
I have tried
Really I did
I know that I'm not eighty
I know that I'm not nice
But the only thing I asked
For was five minutes (at the most) of your life.
I'm sorry that you failed
I'm sorry that I tried but
Mostly I'm just sorry that
I'm not sorry,
White board…names written hori-
To go pee…right when class starts –
THAT’S just wrong…
Of students who have bladder
Problems – WOW!
Not using lunchtime to do
No one knows
When to do their duties – SER-
Class or Claaassee !
Night owl with an open circumstance fears
from blue neglect with the rages of unfortunate
idealisms---“why don’t you”---a nag nag nag
sequence, fosters an arm’s length gaze glance
I peer through picket fence fingers, while tongue
depressing hop to it euphemisms to gag
your elementary gesture fantasies with lurking
adult gonatitudes, (envy) in full glee—“I don’t
care---but then what if”---and
would even believe me if I tried to tell
you the truth, you don’t want to touch in mind.
I fail to the order of kindergartenal suicide
and prose my character to mold your moods in
one tenth hope of a swelled down deep particle
secret desire. Take it for what it is and not think
to misabandon, stop look and feelisten.
Your neighbor is only good as you. Plain
simple downdeep and bittersweet bliss bias
but for—lorn fortunate to at least gain a
Goldilocks glimpse into your uncouth
vascular unconscious. Given a mathetical
½ chance I may le-learn a think or 2
and----------------------hey, gimme me a hecka break
as he razed her eyebrows.
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
to help us understand,
The beauty of the world and all its magnificence,
In hopes of cherishing all that we see,
and becoming a wonderful person with each discovery,
To be our pillar of support,
Embracing arms that we run into to confide,
They shield us from negativity as much as they are able,
So we can decide on how to fulfill our destinies,
Much like guiding angels from great fables,
One of God's gift to mankind,
The creation of teachers,
To lead and to instill values,
Harboring hopes of one day,
For the pupils nurtured and groomed,
To make the world a better place..
We wave good bye now
Yellow paper hearts
staple gunned to the bulletin board
flapping in the fan breeze
She nods at her work
The chalkboard washed and dried
And with gnashing teeth
One by one those staples pried from their chest board
breaking, tearing the delicate paper-thin poems
One by one they break her hearts
On the desks, the apples molded
Like she did them
From seeds of wisdom she watched
their minds ripen
You want to teach me how to teach yet you are not so discreet with your racial and social preferences.
You want to teach me how to be "refine" yet I would get a fright when I see you at night.
You want to teach me to socialize yet when we meet in the streets you turn head to wave at the other person who is busy crossing the street.
You, my teacher, have taught me to forgive
You , my teacher, have taught me to be genuine
You, my teacher, have taught me to be sociable
Although you possess none of these....
I've watched the war from behind closed doors;
Eyes too glued to close.
And now knowing what's in store, there's porn no more.
God's love is the only hope we know.
We are forgiven because of the love that is Jesus.
We are saved because of the love that is Jesus.
We give our lives to the Father for we are His children and He loves us.
We are loved!
No matter what we've done, we are loved!
Confess and ask for forgiveness;
This is such a beautiful gift!
Thank You God!
Thank You Jesus!
You forgive me!
You save me!
You change me!
I am changed!
I am new!
I am renewed!
I am forgiven!
I am saved!
I am changed!
There's porn no more
For God's hope is in store!
There's porn no more
For God's love is the hope of the world!
Written some where around 1962
By Douglas Malloch
In honor of Douglas Malloch with the hope
That I am only honoring this great Poem
By reproducing a part of it
This is not the beginning of the Poem ‘The Teacher’
A general, a great divine,
Yea, Men whose names with luster shine,
Learned Latin at that simple shrine.
For here the great began
To dream, to wish, to hope, to plan;
To day was born tomorrow’s man.
And so the teacher grew to gray;
And fifty years have passed away
When someone happens on a day
To pause before the teacher’s door,
The threshold that the children wore
A half a century or more,
And asks, as that good man appears:
“Are you not weary, tired to tears,
Of teaching Latin all the years?”
A simple answer he employs
To tell a teacher’s holy joys:
“I don’t teach Latin – I teach boys.”
God bless the teacher who can look
Above beyond, the open book,
The one who teaching undertook
Nor merely for the Latin’s sake,
But for the holy chance to make
Tomorrow’s man, a soul to wake;
By Douglas Malloch
This great Poem quoted in honor of all sinbcere Teachers & ‘Andrea Dietrich a teacher’
This is also in honor and love of my wife, who also is a Teacher.
Energy and passion,
excitement breeds attraction;
a brilliant work, a masterpiece
explored in true love fashion.
Traversing plots with disregard
for clear-cut truths,
it must be hard
Our cartoon minds
the words she spins,
the twist; the end.
I walk out the door
and know my thoughts mean
Whisper me the sweet sound of freedom,
The sweet sound found in Your Name,
Holy and Heavenly freedom,
All in the Name of Jesus!
They praise me like a saint,
But I am a sinner;
They don't know the man they see.
I am an addict.
Broken eyes to pornography,
Only Jesus can set me free.
Only by His death on the cross
And the grace of His Father's love
Am I able to be set free.
With God as The Light,
The One and Only Light,
The Only Hope in sight,
Will I be set free.
I am free.
Numbness as I walk in halls
A heavy load in my hand I bear
Tome of the ancient past
Portrays a fog in my mind
Emptiness, void and vanity
As I look at zombies like me
Consumed by an epidemic...
Which left us cold-blooded
At the darkness of dusk
When the sun shines no more
I lie below the tombstone of my grave
Devoured by a sleepy hollow in my coffin
Vitality where are you?
Where are your streams of life?
I' am lost, Where am I?
Oh wait, that's right
I'm in college
An Ode To LIFE
As I lay my head down and start to fall asleep I see myself being carried off to a place and time the place of our Lords birth in Bethlehem of Judea
As in the Bible tells the story of His life and how he lived and died in that human seance and rose on the day He told of
I do not remember being here but I remember the story I was taught so many years ago
As I walk through the streets of Bethlehem I see each scene and hear every word as I am learning the story they telling is true
The writer writes of a jealous King and his way of dealing with his people and of Mary and Joseph who came to Bethlehem to have a child
The story tells of the three wise men who saw a star in the north and heard of a child who was born to be the King of the Jews and come to see and bring Him gifts
An angel from the Heavens above came to Mary and Joseph in a dream and told them they had to leave Bethlehem or King Herod would have their son killed
So they left Bethlehem and went to Egypt and there they lived until King Herod no longer ruled
As I follow along in my dream I see each scene and hear every word as I am puzzled by the fact I understand each
I don’t understand why I’m going through this time but I know I must continue on this journey
As I am pulling through a time where I reach the place of Jesus’ in Nazareth of Galilee
As I watched Him grow and work in His father's shop I could see the thing in Him that were with me
As I walk along the streets and look around I hear the people talk of a child that speaks of wondrous love that’s all forgiving and of a Father in Heaven that’s loving and true.
By Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Inspired by God
If you sit tight, and promise not to spite
I will tell you a story, when I was not in my glory
grade one, a new chapter
who knew my teacher would be a captor?
that’s right! I said it!
a washroom run, she did not permit
there I stood
as still as I could
but I couldn’t help wiggle, then jiggle, and out popped a nervous giggle
first I got a casual stare
not two seconds later, a frightening glare
Oh no! I thought
a quick exit I sought
I could feel the rush coming
my small feet started drumming
how could she be so cruel?
this has got to be against some rule!
and there it went
the warm stream I could not prevent
I could tell she was mad
but I had to go SO bad!
she pointed the way out
boy! Did she shout!
“go to the loo! You twitsy-poo”!
Oh. So you thought that was it?
why don’t you take another short sit
to the principals office I walked down
sporting a most shameful frown
she also looked unimpressed
thank goodness, I was wearing a dress
my underwear was wet but my clothes remained dry
if I had to wear lost and found clothes again, I surely would cry
I pictured Mrs. Marriotti as a belly dancer
while she called mom for dry underwear, but there was no answer
I was vexed, with what happened next
you’ll never believe me
the travesty that was caused by my pee
not only was I humiliated, and my new teacher I did annoy
but the underwear I had to wear for the day was made for a BOY!
January 30, 2012
CONTEST - Dr. Seuss is on the loose (G. Rix)
#teacher #education #children #mentor #caring #giving
An A+ teacher does their best to make a child smile
And they take the time to listen for a while
An A+ teacher does not worry when dealing with a class of over twenty
They simply take control, steering young minds to learn plenty
An A+ teacher is good at captivating young hearts
They are always dedicated to doing more than their part
An A+ teacher is a positive influence in a child's life
Always there to give direction and advice
An A+ teacher is one who puts in extra hours often unseen
They learn quickly to deal with things that cannot be foreseen
An A+ teacher fully dedicates their life to others
And every year they trade one group of students for another
An A+ teacher often stays up late with papers to grade
And then gets up early to go to a job for which they are underpaid
An A+ teacher encourages learning in young minds
And does their best at the job they are assigned
An A+ teacher gets no bonus for each child they encourage
And often have to pick themselves up when they are discouraged
I am so glad my child has an awesome teacher with a capital A
A big heartfelt thank you is all I know to say!!
I'm not wearing underwear
I can’t afford to clean my clothes
I shower every day
and sensitive skin from soap and psoriasis makes me itch
But I have bills to pay
I know you understand
Raising my little half brother and half sister
I've only met once
who are an ocean away
But this isn’t my story, it's yours
and the memories that remain
I know we've talked about it
Your pain and mine
About dad an alcoholic, and the abuse
and how you’re still attracted to it
But I still remember soo many nights
And soo many strange days
You dragged by your hair
I'll never forget
You thrown through the door
is embedded in my head
You with black eyes
you fell out of bed
I remember everything said
My brother’s name
Psychological abuse for you
soo long ago mom
You left and I don’t blame you
Years of you being cheated on
And dad would introduce us to his girlfriends
Easter holidays treasure hunt
While your husband was out betraying everyone
I know you know
That he talks poorly about you
And acts like the better man
But mom I remember
and you need to understand
What you went through
And the nights when I heard the door slam close
because you were fighting
and he told you to leave
That was how I met god in a sense
and always prayed for you to come back
Then finally I prayed for you sanity safety and for you to leave
And I would cry
as quietly as I could
cry myself to sleep
and chances are
dad either fell asleep
or went out in his drunken stupor
to cheat on you again
The divorce is over
It’s been over for years
But yet its still messy and I bite my tongue and remember
The night you came into my room
And told me you had to leave
I remember taking beer to kindergarten
Hiding it from you and dad
To throw it away
And my teacher in grade three finally asked
No lie mom
I had the same teacher in kindergarten and grade three
I could write an entire poem
about all of the people who shaped my mind
But I need you to see
When I come visit and am called an incest family man by your boyfriend
for giving you a hug
You’ve fallen into the same trap
And it’s like my own mother I’m not allowed to love
My heart sank
That buttery sweet voice
summoning me to the front of the class
I stood there chalk in hand
The question you asked
for the answer you knew
You chose not to teach
rather to embarrass
I was not a welcome guest
Hallowed halls of learning not my home
I stared emotionless
blackboard covered in dust
Laughter filled the room
Still I could shrink no further
oh how I wished to disappear
You called on one of the special ones
a joy to behold
She removed the burden from my hand
I returned to my place of shame
sitting at the head of the class
We walk talk like champions in the streets of nowhere planting seeds birthdays turn into funerals the life cement was not strong enough to build our hopes or blessings that petrol drive through our hidden abilities we all have spare wheels that God personally manufactured for us and He made education our only air filler for flat tires and this is why we don't stop and breath on our way to our dreams before we get admired right at this moment sum1 is getting cured through the love of spoken worded words laying clear pictures and he could name us life pitchers with endless scriptures and that's for his ears as he turns to be the world's champion
"Temper your enthusiasm,"
"The extremes of your reactions;
You should have
A more conventional frame
On which to hang
"Don't push people,"
"You make yourself vulnerable."
She told me not to rhapsodise,
That it would be difficult,
For me to harness my dynamism.
The tone of my work,
Is often a little dubious.
That there was something wrong.
That I'm hiding
Dark secret from the world.
"Temper your enthusiasm,"
"The extremes of your reactions;
You should have
A more conventional frame
On which to hang
("Some Sad Dark Secret" was inspired by words once spoken to me by a former tutor and mentor of mine in around 1982 or '83. And my own perhaps partly fantastical reflections on them.)
You think you’re teaching me a lesson
By what you say….or alternately by your silence
You think you are teaching me how to behave
Or what to think
Or what to say
Teacher, I don’t want to learn
The lessons that you teach
You have imbued them
With your own philosophy
The lessons are biased
Full of mind control techniques
The hidden agenda is clear
You want me in subjugation
To your wishes
Not a person in my own right
With a thinking, reasoning ability
Teacher, I can teach you a lesson or two
About true love
About the “live and let live” policy
Teacher, most of all
I want to teach you
To love with no strings attached
To love without constraint
To love without demanding obeisance
To love without conditions
To love because of love
Teacher….you need to learn
A lesson or two
About love, life, and sacrifice
Desire, Need, and Paradise
Tell me, Teacher, are you willing...
To let me teach?
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I'll shine brighter than ever
when I find my way past my woes
the farther I wander
the more I shall know
that I'm a friend with consequences
and only one could let that go
He somehow convinced me
that I needed correction
now I know where I'm going
for I followed his directions
no more full of blaming
I point it right at my nose
and realize all my problems
are by no one else controlled
Will I ever shine
with a destiny, kind
I still have little meaning
but he is there with me, sometimes
when our doors have been locked up
for so many years
it feels good to have someone
come in my circle, share my fear
Everyone so full of hatred
afraid of letting us by
even when we're most broken
still a spark in our eye
you think that would tell them
that we just want to live life
to the fullest potential
that our dreams aren't denied
We talk of good and evil
agreed on right and wrong
tell tales of when we struggled
and what we did to be strong
as the world the he's seen
is darker than mine
I am less respected as a person
but I accept that, it's fine
for he talks to me like I'm worthy
and proud to be my friend
that's why I could never replace
all the treasured words of wisdom
he gave me like a story
of survival, rise and fall
though I am a friend with great consequences
I could never begin to replace him, at all
my personal Jesus, I see the great Messiah in him
I hope one day to inherit his good heart
to pass it on to some kid one day, struggling.
In a moment there was time a child could grasp corporeal and gracious
It stopped and I carefully gave non notice to educasees
that paused me to bleed blend assinine inaccurate aforementioneds
to preprocure a mule measured primrose pathos of interposes to analyze the ex ever jutaposes of irrevelant psuedo spawn spellings intrinsic of piss patterns nego
nero nitro nuego of lunar literant intent grating gravity gunite givings presupposing cannon quantites quotient of add, substract, multiply, divide, die in my seat work consistent of soulservitude a prisoner of seatzenda, a great book read poised to a
selling of elementary sealed solvent sedintary solices sleeveless saints of sanitary sectors sanctioning soulful sensibilities senitent of sailable sanities. Boys will be boys, ADD,ADHD a cool cover up for 80 % legis lay teachers to drugafy, deamplify, villify, castrate, humilitate, propogate the post predisposition of that which is normalcy to a degree of zombie cumulo butt compliance for the powers at be be-gone, biploar bulimec, blandering, blistering, bloging, bifurcating blog bog billows, stress all that is pharmacorelative with respect to the adultoparentive coaxial moneyisms that speaks to a bygone exoera of residio responsibile valiumviscous banailty. Cool calm creepy excel expenditures procede pre positive parental protocals procreating patterened presentials to predictive humo end hiatial hemorroids. In the end we prosperspire in pain pile potentials. Predictable predicates promise postmortem primal preordinates. Enjoy eating educational entrails!