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Fred Onions Poem
World domination is a fickle thing.
Arsenals must be compiled,
and friends beguiled,
to see successes bright sheen;
At first armies are riled,
building from the broke and poor,
can save you your store,
a trick from The Hailed;
Citizens must have rights, to ignore.
Omnipotent secret police,
the raids must not cease,
cultural ideals, smudged by gore;
And no food, or space to lease.
Those city smucks must work long hours to produce.
And high taxes for the farming recluse.
No matter how much given, demand a bigger piece;
Contact territorial others, tell them of truce.
White flags hide true power,
your revelation, their final hour,
enjoy your brothers, necks snapping in a noose;
Dropped bombs birthing magnificent dour,
beautiful suns of the night,
killing sons of the fight,
mushrooms are the freshest flower;
But, indulge in those you smite,
take advantage of their blight,
for soon, you will fall from your height.
As the angels take holy flight,
evil is slayed by his purging light.
For you, Hells fire burns bright;
Universal balance makes all wrongs right.
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
The evolutionary advantage, and tragic flaw of man,
is the weight and scope of his own thought span;
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
(begins with part 1)
Though some say the tribal council foresaw the next event.
The disappearance of all the seers,
and as they went,
the people looked up with fear;
Finally the last one had gone,
along with the illumination of our paths.
And so, as we waited for the fires to once more dawn,
we again silently suffered from the coastal Rocks’ wrath;
But when word spread that gilded beacon lit no more,
greed overtook our brothers, as they decided on a change of plans.
They attacked us and razed our sacred lore,
building lighthouse others, these, of human hands;
Only, as mighty as it would be made,
however tall the tower,
no matter how many bricks would be laid,
it was no suitable substitute in power;
Frustrated, they then tried to rationalize and disprove the old towers greatness.
And upon hearing our moral gems, they would mock.
Calculating through their path without a real reasonable guess.
Their arrogance sunk them, as they became Rock;
And as friendly nations turned against us in a collective,
we felt the cold hand of civil unrest.
Our enemies took our people captive,
as our people did also oppress;
Many people made their own sect,
and blood was spilled by these cults.
Monuments to themselves, the leaders erect.
As foot soldiers are swept up in tumult;
Our tribe finally splintered,
and to this day the sects still track us as prey.
We are some of the last fundamentalists yet to be conquered,
which I am thankful for everytime I pray;’
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He then tensed and pierced me with heavy eyes.
I’ve seen many of my friends hunted down,
and yet I’ve never picked up a soldiers armor.
The only clothes I wear are a priests’ gown
and ritual vestments while at the altar.
Life has indeed given me the chance to make riches,
I thank the opportunity, but always decline.
I think I’ve found where my niche is,
every Sunday, preaching divine.
I could have been wild,
in my younger days.
But perhaps its good and mild,
that can see through the haze.
But everytime I see that golden spire,
I ignite inside with holy fire.
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
In all my modest travels abroad,
believe me when I say
’tween the tigris and euphrates I’ve trod,
and seen a Great Lighthouse by the Bay;’
A magnificent construct, endlessly tall,
seemingly to the heavens it rose,
but no light shown in its depths at all.
An empty tower starting to decompose;
At one time a gold behemoth,
but now only vines cover its brick.
Stretching to it’s zenith,
almost with a quality of magic.
An odd design aswell,
no doors or windows on the exterior.
It wasn’t marked on the map pell,
and near lay ruins of those inferior;
The origin was of an unidentifiable race.
With queries in my mind,
we began looking for a trace
of any near mankind;
Deep in the mush,
we found a sort of makeshift native local.
Stepping out of the brush,
we questioned a local;
We were directed to the priest,
upon entering the makeshift temple,
scared eyes darted at us, and released,
he began after apologizing for his whimple;
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’Our people have not seen the light for many ages,
but the stories of our ancestors show,
in the distant times of great sages,
that building emitted a saving glow;
My clan had a historic tradition,
rewarding those whose life was pure.
With a testing expedition,
leaving fate to decide for sure;
The prize-a secret spot where lay ancient groves
only believed in tale.
Where gold comes abundantly in huge troves,
and massive feasts that never go stale;
Life’s final test for those who bravely seek,
sailing down a vicious line of coast.
Jagged Rock and decaying trees of bleak,
with all the beasts that dark place can host;
But then one day the structure had appeared,
spreading light o’er the masses.
Allowing those navigators to steer clear
any Rocks or trespasses;
A gleaming gilded monument.
With no operators in sight,
or master crafters that could have beat,
its ornate workings to such a height;
Upon first sight,
the people knew the garden was now free.
By trusting the light,
they could cross safely;
Word of its mysterious walls,
was received by distant kin.
Bread was broke in our hallowed halls.
It united us then;
Over time, those from the city came.
Those slave, peasant, senator and king,
all to rid themselves of mans common shame.
Bringing gold, frankensense, mer and songs to sing;
Our people now thrived,
we quickly became a center of trade.
But most did not predict, what in the shadows writhed.
At our souls it rudely bade;
(Cont'd in part 2)
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
Deep in self
where thought takes its toll;
Past Determination
where foresight first achieves its goal;
Beyond Compassion
but not always by Misery;
Opposite Reason
laughing at ideals of Sanity;
Skewing Memories
in religious peace, it sees a cultural war;
Fortifying Beliefs
in religious war, hope weighs in more;
Unfathomable queries
is where its minions lay their seed;
Morality chooses
the heroes it will breed;
Constucting sanctuaries
where anyone can cry;
Burrowing tunnels
where courage may lie;
Wild Dreams
a mere nightly place to play;
Adjacent Consciousness
is usually where it may stay;
Imagination-Where the Soul dances with Possiblity
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
My fair lady,
standing so tall.
My fair lady,
watching over us all.
My fair lady.
guiding my pursuit.
My fair lady,
Guarding Libertys' fruit.
There are those cowards with a knife in the crowd,
Never hide from us, rise up, be proud.
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
Time for Revolution!
spread the revelation.
Governmental evolution,
blessed elation!
With strange knowledge of fresh relation,
we'll overthrow the oppressive regime!
Our fiery souls burning with titillation!
we can't fail as a team.
But beware, dear philosophers, uprising is no picture of violet,
scarred spirits, forever changed, with images of the violent.
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
Spring enters like
a welcome maid in a dirty
room, cleaning all of Winters mess
and correcting Fall for putting him up to it,
spreading her beauty and love, leaving her
fresh scents & perfect memories
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
Buring eyes of my contempt,
please take notice of my hint,
of your glares I wish exempt,
away from your coloring tint.
Let me forget paying your friendly rent,.
Confine me to my nest.
In societal dues, I'm spent,
leave me to solitary rest.
All your social circles make me weary,
I just bide until my sweet solitary.
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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Fred Onions Poem
I silently sit in my seat,
all alone in my own asylum,
but everyone else stand and elates,
conversing, cuddling and catching up, I just
wait for when the show will
start so I can seem
dim in the darkness, and the daring
actors attract the attention.
Copyright © Fred Onions | Year Posted 2008
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