If you prophecy the end of kings you are wrong.
Write no epitaphs, dig no graves, taste no grief.
The new czar, a rough and worldly killer firmly fixed
this very day stirs the cauldron of war to reset empire
Still, foxly friends of tyranny, who stab at weak democracy
praise the czar's autocracy, and mock free speech with treachery.
As modern judases, riding limitless swells of fortune, tease simple mobs
our old republic stagers and fades, mortally wounded by hypocrisy.
Perhaps, someday, freedom’s autopsy will show what transpired,
but if you prophecy the end of kings you are wrong.
Categories:
stagers, freedom, teen, war,
Form: Free verse
I cannot paint my soul to form a portrait.
I am no saint.
Not to one color and not to a brush.
I stare hopeless into the above.
Can this universe be my curse.
In the clear blue skies.
Where the angels die with the butterflies.
I bleed.
Through my sinful eyes.
I am lost.
Will I be found.
Before the nick and before my time.
I am standing on the land of Corn.
Where Death stagers and where Decay was reborn.
I feed my blood to the spoils on the battleground.
I am dead to the unborn.
Darkness surrounds my damaged soul.
Turmoil thunders inside the depths of my mind.
I see silver in the moon, but I am feeling grey.
I am white, but I am black to her back.
I look out of my window.
Fires are burning the land into ash.
I do not see one tree.
My arms are bound.
My wrists are bleeding.
I am cut, but not by the cross.
I am nailed, into my coffin.
Although my wounds are healing.
I am burning with scars.
My world is on fire in the tornado of rain.
My turmoil of thunder is the depth of my pain.
Categories:
stagers, emotions, universe,
Form: Free verse
I cannot paint my soul to form a
portrait.
I am no saint.
Not to one color and not to a
brush.
I stare hopeless into the above.
Can this universe be my curse.
In the clear blue skies.
Where the angels die with the
butterflies.
I bleed.
Through my sinful eyes.
I am lost.
Will I be found.
Before the nick and before my
time.
I am standing on the land of
Corn.
Where Death stagers and where
Decay was reborn.
I feed my blood to the spoils on
the battleground.
I am dead to the unborn.
Darkness surrounds my
damaged soul.
Turmoil thunders inside the
depths of my mind.
I see silver in the moon, but I am
feeling grey.
I am white, but I am black to her
back.
I look out of my window.
Fires are burning the land into
ash.
I do not see one tree.
My arms are bound.
My wrists are bleeding.
I am cut, but not by the cross.
I am nailed, into my coffin.
Although my wounds are
healing.
I am burning with scars.
My world is on fire in the
tornado of rain.
My turmoil of thunder is the
depth of my pain.
Categories:
stagers, emotions
Form: ABC
Will
Wells
Fargo
get credit
for the Amex card?
Categories:
stagers, business, funny,
Form: Fibonacci