West has supported us
sinserely and honestly
planting seeds of democracy
and sustainable society
in our crude land,
but hearts of our people
still attached very strong
to old illusions,
and Kremlin genius
very artful and virtuoso
manipylated and played with our post-soviet nostalgias and syndromes,
pushing us back in USSR on and on.
We have hated our freedom, alas,
and greed for instant hot money along.
Humiliation not the word,
tell me, experts, how long
this tragicomedy in 1/7 part of world prolong?
My Spellbinding Obsession
Written by D.W. Breidenthal
Like all obsessions,
I feel regret for getting
Into fantasy
Like all obsessions,
I think about my crazy
Fantasies...my mind's spinning & spinning...
I'm consuming ideas
Bliss - I'm a victim
Of my imagination
And my magical...
Spellbinding...desire
T'wards the Harry Potter books
J. K. Rowling's cool!
Kiss reality
Goodbye! I embraced fiction
In my childhood nostalgias
I'm brewin' up ideas
Like all obsessions,
They can be unhealthy
Or rather bizarre
Like all wild children,
I'm honestly curious
Of what lies ahead & its mysteries
But it's buried far
Below our feet...I'd rather
Drive a flying car!!!
Dedicated to my unhealthy obsession towards the Harry Potter series written by J.K. Rowling (one of fav. authors like evahhhhhh), but it was my childhood heroin (it got me hooked till this very day).
As the essenes of
Eden play lovely
quartets, a brief
interlude o' mine.
Oh. . . boisterous meadows
of entrancing enthralls
so fine.
As angels hearken
the harmonies of
our precious St. Uriel,
defiant.
The whimsy's of
bitter attempts
for lovely laughing
girls, made bitter
pantomime.
Oh, the Louche,
the heavenly Louche.
Its embrace
of vigorous
nostalgias
with little excuse.
So sorry,
so sorry,
here we are
oh mighty Zeus.
Falling from grace,
as pale a ghost
as the infinite
truth.
Oh! The Louche,
the heavenly Louche.
Keeper of secrets,
ours and yours,
together we're found. . .
frequenting ,
the inviting,
narcotics lounge.
A testimony of
love, why the essence
of St. Gabrielle,
you are,
you are.
As St. Uriel played
a ballad so fine,
I found myself
begging for more
amphetamine!
The Louche,
the heavenly Louche.
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