Romance To The Feeble-Minded
A sweetheart loved by every troop,
From distant lands, outside his group.
A decade’s bond, a quiet joy,
She bore his love a first-born boy.
Then fortune turned; he took the throne,
And wore a crown of steel and stone.
The state caught fire, the borders bled,
A butcher born, where mercy fled.
He turned his guns on her own race,
And wiped her memory from his face.
Severed the ties, forgot the child,
As war ran bloodthirsty and wild.
Ten years he ruled in blind deceit,
While terror marched upon the street.
An army wild he couldn't tame,
Three years of mayhem in his name.
His eldest son, a stranger grown
Unrecognized, ignored, unknown.
For eight and forty years of dread,
The general hid from son, his coward’s head.
No vision held, no focus clear,
A feeble mind led on by fear.
Too late the waking conscience stings;
Too late the courage power brings.
Unstable man, blind or visionless
Conscience- dead, tasteless and emotionless
Led his army into unnecessary blood bath
Even in his nineties, continued lying as from the birth
You couldn't find God, because you've become too serious.
You couldn't see her, even though she's everywhere.
I call your God her, and you're fast to correct it.
See how serious you've become?
Cuz even them, they don't care about their pronouns, titles.
But us human, we fight, we create 'movement' for such things.
See how serious we've become?
God is playful and creative.
He plays hide and seek,
Behind trees, clouds, mountains
In the eyes of the children,
and on their smile.
God is never serious.
We've built concrete structure, surrounded by walls, separated by fence, languages and religions.
And we call it the House of God, in all different names.
Our nations, our territory, our race...Don't we forget that the very foundation we are on, the Earth, it's part of his Kingdom?
God is never serious,
but don't we see, how serious we've become?
DucIndaDeep
Anyone can become a poet,
Drinking cognac for love,
Visit the Palace of Versailles,
Thinking about Lucille’s jewelry,
To remove her black blouse.
If he doesn’t meet his muse,
He will wander ten years in California,
In the plains of the Serengeti,
He will wander in the museums
will remove Lucille’s blouse
To meet her black gaze,
He will drink three glasses of liquor,
Anyone can become a poet.
Chacun, peut devenir un poète,
Boire du cognac par amour,
Visiter le château de Versailles,
Penser au bijoux de Lucille,
Pour ôter son chemisier noir.
S’il ne rencontre sa muse,
Il errera dix ans en Californie,
Dans les plaines du Serengeti,
Il errera dans les musées
ôtera le chemisier de Lucille
Pour croiser son regard noir,
Il boira trois verres de liqueur
Chacun, peut devenir un poète.
My limits have never left me poor
for poverty is not the emptiness of the hand,
but the silence of a barren mind.
A smile, a burst of laughter—these are wealth,
coloring what no eye can name,
where every living soul unfolds without end.
If every river longs to find the sea,
what shore is waiting for a soul like mine?
Why was I taught to count the passing years,
yet never taught what they were passing toward?
If mountains rise by carrying the earth,
what unseen weight am I supposed to bear?
Why does my heart recognize homes
my feet have never found?
If every star is placed within the night,
who scattered us across the dark?
Was I made to bloom,
or merely to become the seed
of someone else's spring?
If time is only borrowed breath,
who is waiting for its return?
Why do we spend our lives becoming,
yet never arrive?
Is the horizon always distant
because meaning was never meant
to be reached—
only followed?
And when this small flame
returns its borrowed light to dawn,
will I finally know
what I was meant to become?
Everything about society is rotten
nobody wants to make a change
everyone wants to talk or blab
social media kind of like this very
website where we write for free
and those behind the curtains steal
our words and our feelings
our voices and our choices to be,
we know this and yet we still do it
because we are hungry for a change
all of us here want to be some famous poets,
but as long as you are asking these people
here who control this page for approval,
you are screwed one hundred percent.
All of this just to turn our hearts
into paper tigers
i am here too and that is a shame on me,
but poetry has lost its dignity
and respect has turned into load of you know what.
Unfortunately regardless of how many views you get
no matter how many those dumb ass gold stars you buy
your dreams are in hands of those that will do
everything and anything to destroy you,
so just keep writing, go ahead
show them how desperate you all are.
Oh, come all ye weary, and come all ye lost
Come taste of His water and bread without cost
See, freely He offers to boundlessly give
And only in Him shall our souls ever live
Yea, blessed are the poor ones, for ye shall He fill
And ye shall drink comforts on His holy hill
Oh, come all ye wealthy—yet one thing you lack
Surrender all treasures and hold nothing back
Give all to the Master, and humble your souls
For only in Him shall our hearts be made whole
To enter His Kingdom—that one narrow door
Become like a servant, and be like one poor
And ye shall be filled with a wealth not from earth
With unending joy—peace of infinite worth
Oh, come all possessing—pretend you have naught
Become like a child—one easily taught
And you shall find treasures no man could afford
Leave all and come follow our merciful Lord
CURIOSITIES BECOME REALITY-:-
rationally
verified
patternd
unconnected
specialisation
of EMOTIONAL AWARENESS
subconsciously
residing
turbulence
chaotically
liberated
provoking DEEPER INSIGHTS
embracing
implicit
swathes
defining
art
Beyond the Curtains of Night, there is No Time in the Ether
so, I pay Homage and take Solace to the Great Master Weaver
Wings Wide like Faravahar, I was Born Bright
Into the Sky, Head High, Full Fravashi Like
turn off the Lights watch the Razzle and Dazzle
To Become, I Ascend Celestial Tabernacles
Star Bound I'm a Star Djedi
Chasing Stars like Israelites,
Chasing Treasures like Ghost Ships wrought by Argonauts
Pulling Swords, I'm a Rolling Stone, Forging Legends like Camelot
Think Not! My Shield Wields Fire like Pendragon
like 7 Rishi Stars, I Journey the Havens like Sagan
it's Astronomical, my Zin is so Uru it's Prophetic
I Part Dross like Moses,
Plant Seeds, within a Fleeting Breeze life is just Star Dust
To Fly I Trust, To Live I Must
tuned in to the High Cypher my mind is Electrified
So Electric like Mozart with the Pen Of Life
Unto The Sun, yes my heart still burns like Saffron
Sway Bright like Luther on the Front Foot,
On The High Road
I Flame Forth Stoic Swords,
To Run With The Wind, To Become, on this Heroic Course
I Am Light Bright like a Wild Horse
before emotes are released
double-check if they’re diseased
born of ego and not light
so pause thought before its flight
God’s touch is felt on our head
in heart mirrored by love led
truth impulse throbs in the throat
as in the void we free float
mindfully practice the pause
that self-aware presence thaws
becoming kind and gentle
vibrant and nonjudgmental
bliss dew drops cleanse heart of dust
whence thus gaining Cupid’s trust
mood and mode embrace-release
we flow with nonchalant ease
breath by breath honing instinct
in time we become love inked
that with ego vaporised
God within is realised
I asked the sun
rising slow over palms—
How much more
can a place bend
before it breaks?
The sun didn’t answer.
It just burned—
like truth
too hot for hands
that hide it.
I asked the courthouse steps,
worn smooth by pleading feet—
How many lies
have you carried upward
in polished shoes?
They said nothing,
but I heard the echo
of a thousand verdicts
whispering
not quite justice—
not quite.
Down by the water,
where the tide keeps time
better than men,
I asked the ocean—
How deep does corruption go?
The ocean laughed,
rolled back blue shoulders,
and said:
Deeper than your questions,
but not deeper than change.
And in the streets—
where the poor stand waiting
longer than promised —
I heard a voice,
cracked but living:
It becomes what we allow.
So I ask you—
not the sun,
not the steps,
not the sea—
How much more
can Florida become
before somebody
stands up
and says
Enough.
Two Halves Become Whole
It’s not a broken heart charm
It’s two halves of a heart
Spending time apart
That’s why this day
A gift comes your way
This half a heart I send
With all my love
To show it’s not the end
Someday maybe you’ll let me be a friend
Maybe even your mother again
Our hearts will mend
Touch this half a heart
It says how I feel
You might think
You got a rotten deal
So to your heart of hearts, I appeal
Unhappiness has taken it’s toll
Put love back in control
Let me in
Let a new love begin
I pray for the day
The two halves become whole
When love and forgiveness
Touch your tender young soul
When two lives become one,
hearts combine to create
a flow of feelings so sensuous
it can be felt by all who come
in contact with you.
When two lives become one,
minds unite to create
a design of inner dreams
so profound the foundation
is rock solid.
When two lives become one,
souls intertwine to create
a fire in the spirit so intense
nothing can fan the flame.
When two lives become one,
the universal order of things
are in sync with the teachings
of the Bible and Heaven .
feels like it is only a touch
away.
'
Every time I disclose
My hearts predisposed
To the hurt that enfolds
Directing my heart to redisclose
All my emotions then re-implode
Leading me to finally explode
I know I've been like this before
Feeling, behaving, and releasing my minds whole
Yet I know this wasn’t my initial goal
To let the world take a peak of my soul
Although here I am still standing as a mold
For the next generation to reach their true goal
So those hearts can connect as one deep haul
Encompassing each and every person’s virtues and entailing’s folds
It’s not for me to distinguish this
The devils kiss makes me think I’m faking it
Id rather be in prison than be killed for this
Instead of being a woman and taking it.
Become the poem they said
So I became the poem I read
They said become the poet
So I became the poem I wrote
I say each poem you read will leave in you
An aspect of the poet
As every poem you write contains
An aspect of the poet
So be ye poem or be ye poet
You’re wings are those of butterflies
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