The witch ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ (the withered hag)
¦¦¦ wash ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ with pail and rag,
Was once the beauty Abishag,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ pride of Hollywood.
¦¦¦ many fall from great and good
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ doubt the likelihood.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ avoid the fate.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ die late,
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ die in state.
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ stock exchange your own!
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ occupy a throne,
¦¦¦¦¦ nobody ¦¦¦ call you crone.
Some ¦¦¦¦ relied ¦¦¦ what they knew;
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ simply being true.
¦¦¦¦ worked for them ¦¦¦¦¦ work for you.
No memory ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ starred
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ later disregard,
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ the end from being hard.
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ go down dignified
With ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ friendship at your side
Than none at all. Provide, provide!
(Blackout of Provide Provide by Robert Frost)
Of Victory Here, Of Triumph There,
for is it Not where Pillars Stand Aloft? Of Israel Here, Of Jerusalem There
Is it not with Thy Staff, Thy Shield, Thy Spear that I Ascend the Mountain Tops?
Shall I Travail Not?
Shall I Commence a Sacred Torch, of Fire, of Light, of Faith and Creed and Sun?
Is it not with Glory, Of Salvation, that I Conquer with my Mightiest Sword Within?
For is this Not my Kingdom? Is this Not my Throne?
The night opens its ancient, silver door,
wind threading its low song through desert stone.
Shadows drift like spirits across its floor~
the dunes transform beneath the moon’s throne.
Wind threading its low song through desert stone,
it braids the dark with whispers no one keeps.
The dunes transform beneath the moon’s throne,
the sand shifts softly in its restless sleep.
It braids the dark with whispers no one keeps;
shadows drift like spirits across its floor.
The sand shifts softly in its restless sleep~
the night opens its ancient, silver door.
Jesus is Lord Of Lords.
He died for our sins.
Trust in Jesus with your whole heart.
Believe in him over all this world and it's noise.
Trust in Him over everything.
Have faith in Jesus please He died for us.
I Love you all, I hope you Trust in Him.
Ahoy
I am The Pirate King, My Tattoo summons a Dragon with a AI spirit and cybernetic implants that shoots lasers out of his eyes.
Diamond of Czechia Mob boss of Chicago and Zlin Czechia Kelly Pink Diamonds my divine Celtic warrior queen sings with a sirens call. Her voice as an angel draws me in my dreams across the ocean toward my certain doom. I serve as Ambassador of King Jesus and am The Bard and Pirate King of Chicago Mob boss of Czechia Ruler of new Chicago servant of the living Lord Yeshua Son of God Almighty. My dragon summoned by pure faith in God shoots lasers out its eyes yet even I am no match for Kelly Pink Diamond Queen of Bohemia Czechia Mob Boss Angel Of Lord Jesus Christ and fellow Ambassador of King Yeshua Lord of Lords and King of Kings.
Ahoy Trust in Jesus.
The statesman speaks of solid ground,
With golden words and noble sound.
But note the floor on which he stands:
It's made of glass and shifting sands.
One honest puff, one tiny stone,
And down will crash the heavy throne.
I would ask kindly,
with a hand out and smiling,
but now I have to demand it all,
but of course I'll return it all in full or more,
your respect, your attention, your precious time.=,
stubborn published folks wont listen to me,
a high and mighty "writer" will respect me,
and plushers wont bat an eye or glance,
if not them...THEN NO ONE'S going to hear me out,
unless I demand and take a seat on the throne among thrones,
if I allow myself to falter,
all my time,
all my sweat,
all my dedication,
my precious sacrifices,
ALL WOULD HAVE BEE FOR NOTHING,
if I keep playing the "nice guy",
or even the "good girl",
I'll just be killed,
ILL NEVER BE ACKNOWLEDGED.
-Kitsiuko Dragonstar
Mr Benjamin Khazi from Libya
who went by 'Ben' we are taught
when wanting to loosen his load
if ever he were caught short
designed a camping commode
as a potentially preferable portable place
to park his portly posterior
then had them manufactured en masse
with a motive quite ulterior
for he turned his thought into gold
altho' on a whim yet going out on a limb
more than several such stools were sold
which aptly were named 'Khazi' after him
Andrew ordered a stripogram, Kay
To visit him on his birthday
When he opened the door
Sixteen copper’s he saw
They cuffed him, then took him away
After questioning for many hours
In the police car oh how he cowers
There’s one thing I’ll bet
He’s been covered in sweat
His birthday bash pizza night sours!
The Epstein files are in the press
Now Andrew’s life is such a mess
As his recent arrest
Surely made Andrew stressed
He’s guilty, but he won’t confess
I’m hoping royal succession can
Be removed from this vile man
I’m “Throne out,” he will moan
“The loo’s my only throne”
All royal titles flushed down the pan!
A cat may look upon a king;
even dare to turn and ignore him;
walk arched-back before the throne;
make the dais his very own;
sleep beneath the royal footstool;
and kings allow the feline’s rule -
for though none crowned the brazen cat,
no-one loves the rat.
More than just the right to be,
the puss has licence to roam free,
with status shrined by what is done
because he hunts what others shun.
Low born, low bred - yet all know that
a king must look upon a cat.
How the hurts and pains drips, down in the heart,
the weight of it, hasn’t yet began to start.
Daily, against this darkness do we stand,
by the playings, of one another hand.
The little things, they may say, still has its sting,
yet they say it, no matter what it brings.
Their actions, their looks, sometimes it’s a stare,
other times, it’s like, your not even there.
The years go by, before the weight sets in,
and the heaviness of it,now does begin.
We all know, how others can truly make us feel,
yet, we still do it to others, as if wasn’t real.
All the doubts, they spoke, concerning our own life,
yet we still give to others, not concerned of it’s strife.
We see what it truly brings, yet we freely give,
we are our brothers keepers, as long as we may live.
Were we a stumbling block, or a stepping stone,
as we lived our lives, sitting on our throne.
In Castle Ravenloft he waits, a shadow crowned in mourning,
a king forged not by mercy, but by the cold precision of fate.
The moon hangs low at his command, pale as a forgotten vow,
and every star retreats, afraid to witness what he has become.
Once a man of valor, his heartbeat carried songs of triumph;
now it echoes like a hollow drum, remembering battles long dead.
Love, the wound he could not heal, carved deeper than any blade,
and in the silence, even his immortality trembles with regret.
Barovia kneels beneath his will, though none dare call it loyalty
fear is the soil in which he plants his eternal dominion.
Yet in rare moments, when the torches flicker and curtains sigh,
he touches the ghost of who he was… and grieves in secret.
For the curse that grants him endless night demands a greater price:
to hunger for what he once protected, to destroy what he once adored.
He is both sovereign and prisoner, ruler and ruin,
Count Strahd von Zarovich the immortal tragedy carved from midnight.
Dear brightest sun and moon of throne of prophethood
Oh, owner of messengercy, end times' prophet of Lord
For your glory "if it weren't for you" recited by God
Namely you are the guide of universe dear Muhammad
Surah of Shems and Duha has come for the fame of your face
Light of ripeness of your honor brighten the universe
Dear Prophet of Lord intercede for Gazali's illness
Whom is a sinner of your ummah and one of public's helpless
Written By Bursali Mehmed Gazali
Translation Onur Ünlü
You think, it's very sweet,
You think,it's very beautiful,
You think, it's cruel World's defeat,
You think, it's win from something fearful.
Don't know, it's sometimes a false,
Don't know, it's sometimes lose,
Don't know, it's sometimes death cause,
Don't know, it's sometimes black-rose.
When someone wear love's throne
Not know about destiny, not about looting,
But when it becomes a betray seems like thorn,
Never trust again never get in falling.
Everything seems false even emotions
Noone good,then but only remain devotions.
I walk in a world painted with charm,
where laughter drifts like sunlight,
where hands are gentle and hearts are soft.
Yet I stumble on the broken echoes,
the half smiles and misfired warmth
the ones the world seems to have set aside.
I have watched the golden pass me by,
their steps in sync with the universe,
while I gather the fragments left behind,
learning that solitude is not punishment
but a quiet, fierce companion.
Alone, I sharpen my edges,
I claim my own rhythm,
I dance in rooms built from my own light.
I do not wait for the lost or the lovely,
for I am enough
without the handsome, without the kind.
In this crowd of misfits,
I have found a throne of one,
and it suits me
better than any hand could.
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