Baboon, Inopportune and Buffoon
Wherever I pull these out from is beyond
me and not any part of my anatomy. Here
goes and grows on you.
Babbling brook was drank out of by a baboon
But moment was really quite inopportune
Before in himself he started taking pride
Brook was decomposed and up dried
Became buffoon reporter for the Tribune.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
Now you try to out do that one.
I am sure there are several
different Tribunes out there
who are Tribinistic.
Idle hands scorching a trail
Through the Capitol
Closed mouths and hearts turn daggers
Biting our own tongues
And the streets are red rivers
Through which they drive
golden chariots over the backs
of their forefathers
Words falter, slave and master
plebeian and patrician
And whips silence in return
They dream of a revolt
While breaking their necks to bow
We do protest hotly
In secret chambers
Tear down the throne!
Hang the tyrants!
A bloody revolution!
Let's then schedule it for the
King's convenience
Hear she comes, most lovely
She'd slit our throats
With pleasure
O Gods save our Queen!
She'll pluck this acedia
from our cold dead hands!
Slaughter the innocent
Distract us with wars!
O Brutus save us from
our apathy!
What will it take
for our walls to break?
O give us liberty
or at least grain at
our own price!
Give us our tribunes!
There can be no
Republic until
the people speak
themselves
-------------
Inspired by my research for a story. This deals specifically with the establishment of the
Roman Republic, but plenty of this still rings true to me. Acedia = apathy.
You exonerate me always as eye candy,
displayed as such, a temple to your dreams
away and out of reach, my present dandy;
include you in my search for these extremes.
To leer and confiscate towardly,
a faith in you, that this my own portrays
Catholicsm, not disorderly
contains the stark reality displays.
My thoughts of you accept repentence like,
I speak, amidst the silence of an ear
for soft tribunes of sympathtic strike
incur a love that some say disappear.
O! Father have I not refrained from seeing,
glimpses of the man whose hide and seek
shall flower this enchantment of well-being
lovelorn duties meeting you this week.
I offer invitation from the soul,
a freedom that without it, makes me whole.
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