Poetry-Thing Thursday: Freedom Was Nice

Generals reign with unhindered powers.
A clock turns slowly through the hours.
Their dawning day shall be ours.

Walk through a forest but return home alone.
Sense the rain-fall coming soon.
Rationalize senselessness as logic.

Through and through.
Black and blue.
Sound turns you on and tunes you out.
Religion makes you fear what isn’t there.

Lift an insect ‘pon a finger,
see it as precious;
a child’s pet with love-eternal.

Life and death.
Short of breadth.
Loss of breath.
Birth, rebirth,
for math and worth.
Fire and ice.
Freedom was nice.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Now Uncouth

I will not always,
say things that you like,
but make no mistake
that is my right,
to hold in my heart,
for that which I’ll fight.

I have opinions,
as do you, too,
but do suspect,
that far too few do,
disagree with effect.

Bear that in mind,
with whomever you like.
But remember,
they too have a right,
to believe and hold dear,
for that which they’ll fight.

You may be wrong.
You may be right.
You may find joy,
in silence respite,
But recall;
no hatred is might.

It is formed by a mind,
fearing to accept,
disagreements and pleads,
to be better, correct.

But humanity’s needs,
must turn off our hatred.
Our anger and spite.
So we together, embrace,
for that which we’ll fight.

So drink from the cup,
of wisdom and truth,
denying the rituals,
formed in man’s youth.

It may be there that we found them,
now they’re uncouth.

Take my hand.
Walk with me.
We’ll follow the sunset,
all the way to the sea.

And there we will sit,
and long reminisce,
about lovers and lives long-passed,
and the hope of future-bliss.

So when next the sun rises,
and you and I part,
we leave without sorrow,
however heavier of heart.

Because choices are infinite,
but decisions too few,
perhaps for us both,
it’ll be “if only you knew.”

But I do know one thing,
this I can’t deny,
that in my heart I’ll keep you,
if the stars I must defy.

And through ages to come,
and those that have passed,
I’ll know I’m not the only one,
with such feelings that last.

That is, only if,
you take my hand,
and hold it with yours,
so together we stand.

Undulate.
Punctuate.
Feel Irate?
Capitulate.

It’s all done,
but crime and fun.
We’re all one,
under the sun.

Rotation.
Probation.
Penetration.
Space-station

It’s all been said,
the living dead–
in your head,
on my bed.

Forget lies.
They’re fraternal suicide.
In dead eyes,
find an endless tide.

Living nature.
Nomenclature.
In my back acre,
turn to vapor.

It is the word,
I’ve so far seldom heard
perhaps my mind has blurred
from the Earth-absurd.

Copulate.
Consummate.
Postulate.
Be my mate.

Never relate,
’cause I don’t,
prostrate.
Don’t believe in fate,
’cause it’s a
slave-state.