Leeroy von Nebulae and Pitter Patter Supernova
Upon the sparkling April field, where the bell-flowers blossomed,
two poets stood amid the blooms, two writers of their wisdom,
where singing aves exalted them, cause deep in verse have fathomed
and treated poetry like none, with loyalty and serfdom.
Meantime the birds were chirping in the leafage of the forest
the two composers synthesiz'd the crop of thoughts that random
became their poetry's free verse, philosophy, thus, modest,
the scriptures called bankrupted talk and artlessness of flotsam.
The authors, thus, amid the trees, and vervains' purple colors,
narrated 'bout the pepper steaks and pizzas pepperoni,
the grayish donkeys and their bray, through softened words of candor,
conducting hence this spectacle and joyous ceremony.
What was occurring round the two was godly sent, on purpose;
the softened breeze, the sunny morn, the singing of the birdies,
and furthermore their kindest verse that both believed was flawless,
- the soul's redemption stands upon the praising by the toadies.
Obtusely raising, slow but firm, their tilted thoughts euphoric
have driven both to fly above this natural assemblage,
hence joyfully enjoined the cause of logic anti-strophic,
amid the clouds envisioning a pizza-Heaven-cottage.
Leeroy von Nebulae and Pitter Patter Supernova
expressed their malarky of verse, that donkeys then recited
and stood impassive 'mid the blooms, their thoughts a dull cadenza,
evaluated by the birds, that chirped their notes, astounded.
© 03-23-2014, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic decapentasyllabic verse)
Sponsor: rob carmack
Contest Name: Screwed II
Is this a poem?
I will let poets decide
I read here, words and prose
How is it possible
Such ingenuity, over and over
Expressions of the heart
Bitterness sits in the cold
Lovers shedding words
Lost souls attacking verbs
Poets in mourning
Deep and emotional losses
Opening the gates of heaven
For the bereaved and forlorn
Poets who dance and cry
Add some spiced rum and tears
Poets who ponder why?
Poets who offer comfort
Random words of the charitable order
Poets who cannot compose
Yet they are more poetic
Brutal exposure of the heart
Is poetic in its own right
Painters of poetic verse
Who disperse art like candy
I bow my head
In honor of you all
My last request
When that dark omen of death arrives
There shall be a poetic funeral
I shall write nor speak no more
Of lovers and poets
Drunk with words
You all, hoist some cheer
I wish to be surrounded
As all of you
What playground does not hold the magic lure
Of see-saws firmly braced upon their stands?
What child resists excitement, felt for sure
In ups and downs: the hard thump when he lands
And surging thrill of bouncing up again—
To know that when he's hit that lowest low,
It's followed by a swing to new heights when
He'll know once more the joy of that plateau?
In contrast of the see-saw truth is found,
For truly, were it stable, it would bore
The simplest mind; for only from the ground
Does grandeur of the heavens make its score.
And only in imbalances we feel
The balance that keeps life on even keel.
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Contest: Teeter-Totter: Balance the Load
Sponsor: Sheri Fresonke Harper - Judged 10/7/2014
-a request by Mam Aiyah
You as a man can fill up this world
With the love of your heart,
Let them flow into your veins
As the oxygen of your spirit
Goes into the lungs of your kindness
You as a man can share the thoughts of your brain,
Even though your memory is not that enough to complete the story
Let your axon abound and connect to the spinal cord of your dreams
You as a man can smile with your lips
Let there be a good quotes for every word
Of your mouth as they slip,
Swallow all the sorrows,
Cut the sadness of your teeth, make them fly away
You as a man can show your eyes with happiness,
Mix this with inspirations
As they blink in with visionaries
You as a man can smell the fragrance of nice posture
Strain the bad from good using your cilia,
As your thumb and index made it concrete
And threw them at a distance
You as a man can hear solutions,
Can fight all the negative pictures
With your muscles in your skeleton,
You can build a problem killer device
Energy is your emotions,
You as a man can face all of your knotty points
You can hold the sky,
As your feet stay on the ground…
Because you as a MAN,
Is H U M A N…
The welfare poem is not for you
and not enough for anyone.
The welfare poem is very small
and not just given to everyone.
It's not enough to read for long.
It's just a little short.
It's not paid much attention to
and not the longing sort.
With thanks there's those who'll get it.
Those of who deserve it.
It's just some stolen words,
though I would soon forget it.
It's filled with much disgrace.
Those wary as they read.
It may be meant for you
if you accept the need.
I hope you have enjoyed it.
I'll cut you off for now.
But if you want more later
just beg there's more somehow.
I do not know?
If Brahma is Brahma I also am Brahma,
then why am I wandering on a not real way
holding something I don’t know in my hand?
I can lead my life toward good
because everything is Brahma, but I can live
an evil life as well because everything comes from my ego.
If Brahma is Brahma I can cross over the ego
bury myself in meditation,
though it may be a lonely
and a trying way.
Gather ashes from six* burnt senses
and walk on the nonexistent way
because I am a naught substance,
though to be in a mode to attain spiritual awakening,
my ego, stands in the middle of good and evil
unable me to shake off tenacious carnal desire,
it compels me to keep walking on the path of evil passions
and if the terminal goal of life’s never ending circle is
an attainment of spiritual awakening,
and spiritual awakening is to walk in light,
the brightness is the way;
however, paradoxical, in a sense, is also true
stupidity and ignorance though lay in the darkness,
it may also be the way. Yet, the problem of life is
still laying under my foot; and that is the chain of anguish
which would never, ever, be cut off;
I, therefore, collapse on the way
while dragging the chain of a great weight
it may be the end of anguish, a knot of a life’s circle,
or a moment of a pause in the ever changing world,
or it may well be a renewed life in Faramita the world of Paradise,
or the beginning of another anguish in the transmigration of the soul,
and that’s why I believe the nonexistent substance is the way
to Brahma which is one same substance.
Tat tvam asi, I am the Brahma
Tat tvam asi, That art thou
*Six senses: five basic physical senses plus soul or intellect.
I do not know?
—Brahma eva idam visvam(1)—
A life neither has beginning because beginning is Brahma
or end because end is Brahma, it rides on a wagon named Karma(2)
and goes as a wheel whirls.
I came to this very spot becoming a sun, a moon and the stars
following the stream which carries anguish, and one day
I must cross; since it’s impossible to see the past because
there is no beginning or end, I wonder how to manage a day
when everything changes without beginning or end;
I came this far becoming a sun, a moon and the stars
and wandering in a wasteland looking at the bridge
In this barren soil:
though flowers bloom, they smell of death
that tempts to ruin me;
though there is a spring,
it’s bubbling sand seen in a mirage to intensify my thirst;
though there are fruit bearing trees,
the taste of fruit is more bitter than Eden’s forbidden fruit;
though there are snows,
they come as a blizzard and pierce the skin to tear it to pieces.
Since Brahma is on the other side of Elysium
no matter how much you wander in this boundless barren land,
though it may seems within hand’s reach, you would never be able
to touch; because your anguish, the reality of life is nothing more than
pursuing a pain, a spinning of a wheel of Karma.
Although my body is worn out
I have no place to lay my body down;
although my wounded soul is wailing
no place to bury my soul to rest,
and if this is my Karma to be accepted,
how do I untie these entangled knots of anxiety.
I exist, therefore my six(3) senses feel and perceive reasons,
then, how do I denounce this Sabba,(4) or deliver from suffering,
for that is the reason I exist.
All phenomena, however, to undergo everyone as Atman(5)
carrying their own Karma, because Brahma is everything
and Karma is the footmarks of ever changing mundane world.
1. Brahma eva idam visvam: Brahman, indeed, is this world-all. 2. Karma: destiny.
3. Six Senses: five basic physical senses plus soul or intellect. 4. Sabba: this world.
5. Atman: soul, ego, or I.
He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died,
he has not been the same.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it,
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain,
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best,
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows
what happens next.
All results of
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
And flowers wilt.
And flowers fade.
The eternity is only in me-
The twig that bears the flowers.
Sparrows are born
And sparrows die.
And brighten the sky.
That who nurtures sparrows is me-
A cozy make of a twig upon a twig.
The sun fades
And moon is born.
The twilight blurs
And moonlight spreads.
All the soothing moonlight beams are me-
A crisscross of unfathomed twigs.
Whether in its birth
Or in its death;
In the heart
Of its heart;
The entire beauty is none but one-
A design of mysterious twigs.
Money money, ringing in your tills,
Calling us to worship,
The hundred dollar bills.
Bend our knees in wonder,
Bow our heads in awe,
At the power of the liar,
Who now controls us all.
From the darkest deep caverns,
To the stars in the sky,
From the infinite universe,
To the strangers passing by.
From your inner most conviction,
To your laughing in the night,
From everything you 're seeing,
To everything out of sight.
The new God has risen,
To claim the holy throne,
The one that we have emptied,
Our hearts all cold as stone.
The throne that we have emptied,
We killed the rightful king,
Sold his crown an sceptre,
Pawned his sacred ring.
Raised his bleeding body,
Up on that bloody hill,
The silent lamb still bleeding,
As the money fills your tills.
They don’t walk to them
To beseech their shows of hands
They as a rule stay
On a raised dais and talk down
At their feet on crusade grounds
What does it feel like to wake up into your skin?
What do you feel first most days?
Is it in any way influenced by gratitude,
or totally given over to worry,
anxiety about your shortness of time?
Is this life the one you had in mind as a child?
When did this that you do to fill your days and years become your dream?
Or is it your nightmare?
Or something in between?
If so, which parts are closest to your dream
and what were you doing
with whom and why
as this became your dream?
Were these relationships good dream mentors for you?
How did you get to this day, this place, this vocation?
When did your nightmare start
and is it something more than the fear
of your own cherished dream's loss?
What is that one thing that sets you apart,
that is your unique character fingerprint?
How is your identity unique from all others alive now,
or in the past,
or in future generations?
And, if your uniqueness is no one thing,
but a constellation of attributes,
characteristics, dreams, fears, wisdom,
aspirations, relationships, memories,
then how is any one of those unique to you,
and if none is,
after due consideration,
then how are you not part of me
and all that is related to you
that is also related to others
that are less directly related to you,
on back to the emergence of memory capacity itself?
What do you imagine was that first memory?
Do you think it was of longing or belonging,
or somehow both,
like the contentment waiting within harmonic contention,
resolution waving toward our future revolution,
still redeeming in noncontentious background?
Is contentment intuited as informationic,
to know and love nature's wise resolving resolutions?
Evolution and Revolution each grow, respectively,
Yin- and Yang-tempered resolve,
slow and fast-paced momentum
optimizing balanced incoming diastolic form,
with outgoing memory-folded contentment,
Prime permacultural balance,
optimizing enculturation's meaning
by minimizing future's monoculturally rapacious dissonance
and co-passionate awe.
What is it to be a Tree?
Do trees ever mind being so close ...so intertwined ?
Do they ever long for space as I do?
Do they prefer to be so meshed…branches touching branches
all the time or do they like me long
Do their branches reach for another’s touch?
….................stretching to find it?
Do they cling and pine when isolated …as we do sometimes?
When a tree falls does another one grieve?
Do they sometimes wish to be free?
To be as free
as he does....... from me?
Does life always include such serious stuff?
Or do trees simply shift in the breezes
of superfluous fluff?
Do they ever
What on earth is it like ....to be?
to be a standing…a standing only ...are they lonely?
What is it?
to be a tree?
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
My life has been one enormous charade,
A make believe game,
A play I have played,
A story I tell myself, day and night,
Hidden from myself, out of sight,
A game of hide and seek,
While searching for something else to eat.
A cosmic game,
A comic game,
A bad joke,
A puff of smoke,
A lonely path,
I used to take it so seriously,
Think it, feel it so real, so perfectly,
So certain I that was right,
That I lived in the light,
So convinced that I knew the rules,
So obvious I had all the tools,
That I saw the truth,
That I saw the light,
Would win the battle, win the fight.
Heard the sound of the distant drum,
Calling me to battle with the devious one.
The walls of my ego were high and mighty,
My dreams and delusions danced in front of me,
Their smooth dark surface impossible to climb,
Images I swallowed and thought were mine.
I made them alive, moving and real,
Twist and turn like a slimy eel,
Just to tell myself that I was still someone,
Playing in the game and having lots of fun,
Just to tell me and to tell you,
That I wasn't a loser,
So I wouldn’t hear the words game over.
Check and mate,
Here's the gate,
You have to take,
Out of the Game,
The game of shame.
The game of avoiding being blue,
Of dogging the bullets they shot at you,
The atomic bomb they drop on your head,
The monsters that they put under your bed.
The game of hiding away,
Live to play another day,
Even if it's only make believe,
The prizes in plastic,
And not worth a dime,
At least I have the impression that they are mine,
At least I don't fell the pain,
The pain of shame,
In this perverted game.
So that I don't feel I'm a prisoner,
Tied to this post,
Don't even realise that I'm only a ghost,
That the truth is well hidden,
On the board of the game.
That the prizes are in plastic,
But they are shiny and new,
The paint hardly chipped,
The emptiness hardly shows through,
The laughing is loud,
The smiles are all warm and friendly,
And we are all together,
Joyful and happy.
The illusion is REAL,
And only the mad man knows,
That it's a rotten deal.
more of my poems at http://labyrinthoflies.com
Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass.
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are.
Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment.
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers,
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.
Do you believe in the things that you've always known,
Can you understand the things you've been shown.
Is it the visions you see that make you believe,
Or is the feelings you get when you've been deceived.
The pain you feel a never ending ache ,
Tearing your heart and soul from you every day.
Time ticks slowly pounding away at you,
Throbbing heart breaking and there's nothing you can do,
Must I settle for these lost and broken dreams,
Because it has all the signs that what it seems.
How much should a man endure to find his way,
It cant possibly be like this hard for me every day.
There is nothing so frustrating as being so confused,
Especially when you've discovered that you've been used.
I will get through this lonely phase I have no doubts,
But I'm sure there will come a day I'll figure it all out.
Cautiously I walk the path that's been laid before me,
In faith I will continue for I know he will let me see.
Life will be thrown at you in so many different ways,
I will be prepared for these things for the rest of my days.
Broken dreams will be the learning tree for me to grow ,
Living my life with Joy Happiness is what I'll always Know.
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?
What is a fight without a cause?
Is it just a hidden affair that has no voice?
Only knowledge that cannot be divulged and when discussed, the topic is irrelevant.
Mentality is a place of iniquity.
Mediums are designed by civil engineers to place mentally captured vestibules; those,
which will manifest identities.
You can hear their mundaneness in their conversation.
You do not want to speak to a naked wall.
As a result, they enter your vocal environment.
For that reason, you speak out.
penned on october 24, 2014!
Let the Deicide commence.
You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.
I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways
Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own personal reality
These struggles are not insurmountable.
I am striving and thriving for more.
The strife I am in put me on top of the world.
Today I know people for who they are.
However, all this is just preliminary.
Foundation for me to excel from.
I am going after my dreams.
I will not be hinder by downward spiraling.
I will seize the day.
The discord of a country is political propaganda.
It will cause friction and human mania.
However, this is just a prerequisite to becoming a develop country.
I see the dilemma of a nation living as one.
I know that my niche has formed.
I must sequester a destiny to conform the norms.
The Lord has given me this transformation to perform.
No bamboozling is allowed.
I will seized the day because this is my time.
Penned on November 01, 2014!
The eye,a sign the
unwise can't comprehend
Forged from the world's
illumination in darkened
enlightened ones like
Leonardo da Vinci,Isaac
The eye is a tree
with many branches like
Priory of Scion,Knight
in all corners of earth.
The world is clothed
through wisdom from
The eye,all seeing
emblem of power and
riches to the lion hearted
and loyal souls.
A seat of influence and
Creating the social order
through men of power....
Some see it as a
curse,others a blessing.
I feel it,the great eye is
I see outer space
As the place
To retrace the roots
Of the human race.
I see under the sea
Is where our bodily
Cells first came to be.
Man's heart is in the stars,
Holding onto the dream to reach Mars.
Written in the stars as destiny.
I am but a child,
Born onto this planet turned wild.
I am but a soul
Sent here to alleviate the toll.
I see a sea of stars,
A healing ocean for our scars.
I see an empty crater
As void as our love for our Creator.
Man's fate has
Always been to create.
Man's destiny is to face
The sailing of the vastness of sea and space.
A little boy and an ant became great friends one day.
But how to live drew them apart, and this is how they ran astray:
In the Ant’s heart was strict authority and constant work to rule the day.
Why wasn’t the boy toting behind someone, collecting for the food array?
The ant would always build everything in exactly the same proven way.
The anthill, underground, protected them perfectly as shown, every day.
Not adding to the hive was a horrible crime, none would ever display.
The ant knew all would be perfect, if everyone did their job, and obeyed.
But the boy wanted to build bridges and trestles, just like his Dad, each day.
All of them out in the open, none of them under ground or hidden away.
Inventiveness came with the notice, of new and exciting things in daily play.
His life was really cool, not boring, as standing in a line would convey.
He’d invent, ponder, and build in exciting, new ways, to fit each new byway.
Quick minded, resilient he’d build, many fascinating and unique causeways.
The boy and the ant eventually went away, not happy with how the other lived.
They thought the other shortsighted and scorned, at what the other could give.
But they went away without realizing, how very similar were their lives.
For each would spend their time endeavoring to help others with their drive.
But understanding is a harder concept than building a bridge or storing food.
It takes a true gift to see the world as others do…
The moral to this story is really quite easy for all to see:
You can’t expect others to live lives, how you want them to be.
Each was adding to their different worlds, only they could see.
One building for a smaller, singular hive, the other the hive of mankind, you see.
Each in their own way: truly cast a long shadow to fill… an important need.
I look at myself in the puddle
That laid just below my feet
Yet when I look at the watery mirror
I see a different reflection of myself.
The person in the reflection
Is a different person of confidence
Someone that is brave and bold
With a bright smile on her face.
She has her head held high
Ready to take on the world
Looking toward a bright future
As she leaves tomorrow behind.
When I look down at her,
Is she looking up at me?
Am I just the tails of the coin,
While she is the head?
Am I just a figment
Of what I was before
That this reflection
Is the aftermath of growth?
Could this be who I am?
Is this woman the real me?
The me I am meant to be?
Or a possible me?
Yet when I looked closely
I could see that the one
Staring back at me
With a confidence smile
Was me...I am that woman.
The reflection in the puddle
Is the me that I am
The one with a smile on her face
Filled with bravery and confidence.
The real me, a figment
I am one and the same
In reality and in the puddle
This is the real me.
the less i have of
the additional use of
the more it breaks down
A thorough yield
On a farm field of far east
It took me time to realize
How far I am to my far east of coast
Call of my weather
Call of my winds
I sailed further and farther
To my naked coasts
Naive songs, Nimble rains
Nile of rivers, Nascent clouds
Reaching this far
I kissed my earth
Ground of my grief
Glory of my ghosts
Glad is those leaves
However scanty they are
Cast is my shadows
No longer they hide
My colors and my figures
They cast numbers on stars
Measure their light
Scope my winters
Scale my summers
Scanty my rains
Scuttle I wish my springs
Now let me see my greens
Their leveling heights
Their leafy gaze
Their spiderly gesture
Their primordial texture
Now let me be slow
In company of my greens
#Poem by +Gokul Alex
As houses shake people think of red, when comes thunder.
Safely in our rooms, on our warm beds, then comes thunder.
Will you sacrifice yourself for those that you love like
In those romantic stories you've read, when comes thunder?
Even the most sturdy of men will feel like brittle
Glass and sense vast approaching dread, when comes thunder.
Women will lite slender candles to illuminate
Their tattered bibles, their daily bread, when comes thunder.
As I write this I hear something familiar yet strange,
"You are not alone, Timothy" said the loud thunder.