The Pen of a Poet

The pen of a poet

with a low wit has nothing to do

with the shoe of those

who wrote their prose before them.


The same tool

can be filled with the drool

of those idiots who pivot

their pens on the paper to make a dot

and sell it as a caper.


The words they write

have as much bite as the spot

of spit they made

or, more accurately, laid on the sheet

and could easily be beat by

a small cinder that would lie on their pad

and hinder them.


However, ink may be read even after some smolder

and can age even older than saliva,

which evaporates under very little  heat.

This is more than enough reason to take a seat

and learn to write with ink

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The Manipulator

A painter of reality itself

To many a loyal fan.

A main player of his base’s shelf

Of lies with dishonorable plans


A guy with the tally to push around

A man smaller than he

Without the skills to predict the sound

Of the outcries that shall spree.


A manipulator that dons titles

To distract from the man he is.

So he can keep his sheep from eating his vitals

And claim their value as his.


A builder that creates a great wall

Between his practices and image.

Thus when his wall is threatened to fall,

He makes excuses using his lineage.


A disgusting human who cannot admit

That he has ever done wrong,

Due to the throne, he crafted of shit,

Being threatened to topple with someone else’s song.


So go ahead, and do what you will;

Whatever moves you plan to make.

Although your followers now protect you still,

You better watch out, for your sake.

Political Nihilism

What is the meaning

of political leanings

if all they cause are fights?

What is the definition

of political ambition

if all of politics is shite?

Why do we care

about foreign affairs

if we want to keep them out?

What is the use

of talking about any kind of abuse

if both sides just argue and shout?

What is the reason

of going through the seasons

if we have to go through all of this?

What is the point

of our leader, to appoint

if all our options just miss?


Why should we go through all of this shit?

We go through this all the time.

Why should we put up with this?

Because everyone’s a reverse mime.

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Black and White Rainbow

The static clears and the world is set

With Dorothy staring into the sunset

As well as a rainbow so far away

That must have been colored white and gray
This black and white rainbow

That has been so dull

What is there to show

That isn’t here to mull
From blades of grass to iron wood trees

These are the materials that we need to ease

Any other struggle that we may have here

Instead of looking past anything, failing to endear
This black and white rainbow

We always hope has color

So we suspend belief of what we know

To submit to the allor

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Politics AKA This is NOT what I wanted to discuss

Politics, Politics oh golly my,

A subject that balances facts with lies.

Politics, politics oh golly me,

Probably not the talk to have over tea.

For as the subject turns brutal, and you talk about sin,

You’ll find your tea, from your cup, all over him.

The friend, you realized, has different views than you,

It instantly turns you to enemies from dudes.

This comes from a spark or even a small comment,

That you really thought would be pretty harmless.

But since you started it there is no stop,

Until someone has to do something that actually is not,

As circular an argument as this topic seems,

That is all that discussing politics means.

Politics, Politics, oh golly my,

One of the greatest dividers of all times.

Politics, Politics, oh golly me,

Why don’t you just let the subject be.

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A Dark and Stormy Night

The Clouds are gray, and the forest is quite a sight,

It is what happens, on a dark and stormy night.

Watch and see, as the remnants of magic fade,

Gaze upon this most beautiful trade.

See the color drain slightly from the leaves,

As the witchcraft, out from it bleeds.

Gaze upon the lightning strike,

As it burns the sorcery bright.

Watch as gods fall, struck by their own might,

Masked by the sound of thunder and light.

Look at them fall, see where they lie,

Look at them crash, as they die.

Make haste, make haste so you won’t miss,

The death of the old ways, good bye I kiss.

Let the new generation of thinking begin,

One that even I won’t be starring in.

My time of birth had played a part,

Too late for the Old World and the New World’s too far.

If only my birth had been with this next world’s,

I would have had a place for my knowledge to unfurl.

A world that would have devoured my philosophy,

A world that would have been grateful to have me.

But my time to strut the stage has past,

But in spirit and writing, my lead will last.

So let the cogs turn, and let the steam pour,

Let the factories rumble and roar.

Thank the Ancients’ magic for carrying us this high,

But now we must carry ourselves, before the magic runs dry.

Let us sit here together in the pouring rain,

To give our condolences to the Old World’s reign.

And what will come of the funeral witnessed tonight?

For that we would have to see beyond The Dark and Stormy Night.

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