King of the Poets
6/17/2008 8:45:40 PM
Evil needs no hope (Written 4/30/08) (11:48 pm)

Through the days
Of despair,
Sing praises
For the light is near

In days
Of harmony,
Cheer all hours
For misery is a company

In the days
Of evil,
Never count Hope
A savior

For Hope is a helpless
Man’s prayer
In times of need,
Thus bear’s a core of uncertainty;
And evil and their men
Thrive in the face of uncertainties,

Rather act with all thy will
And evil shall never prevail….
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Palace of Disgrace (Written 4/6/08)

Staring at the echoes
Of the world,
Looking to find a home
Within its palace
Of disgrace, hate
Blasphemies and inequities

Only to realize a home
Is too much to ask;
For it can’t afford shelter;
Instead I dream
And dwelling in my world of dreams
Hoping never to wake
To be offered a sit at the palace of disgrace
For its guests may succeed and thrive
But they shall never know peace,
Thus, I dream to loath the palace.
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Beauty in the Beast (Written 4/22/08)

Lost in the brine
Between whom I appear
And who I cease to be,

I stare close into the brine
To sip a view
To uncover the puzzled truth

Instead by the wicks
Of Narcissus
I fall

And a new villain
Is born
Without empathy for a man’s scorn

And they shall I blame
For by the fires of their tongues,
My eyes sought
To cure the beast.
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Sunday Blues (Written 4/20/08)

Why do
God
Need
A Cathedral to talk to me?

Jesus was poor!

Why do
The Po’
Live on the streets?

The church got a roof!
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Faith is Blind (Written 4/17/08)

Let’s take an odyssey
Into the solitaire mind
Of the mad man
Who screamed praises
When evil lurked,

To the one who walked in the rain
Absorbing every pain
Yet fell to his knees
To thank the lord for the miserable day.

Never wishing to realize
He always praised and prayed
With eyes closed
Never seeing he who brought
The fortunes

For we shall all see to truly believe;
An instinct molded into our human temperament.
But the man who never saw
Is he yet man, for not seeing he believed?

Now close your eyes
And let him watch,
If he saw the one who brought the fortunes
Shall he still believe?

Guess we’ll never know- or told
For he refuses to let go the eyes unclosed!
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King of the Poets

The wrongs by my hands
Are zero
Yet persecuted with fire
From the hands of Nero.

Spoke words of the greats
Better than Ion;
Placed my creations atop
Of pillar of stylites,

And they in the start
Supported my shout,
Thus bulked up more courage
Than Charles a silent

Gently rose from infant to great.

Thence in mind,
Against all- words stand righteous
And out the corner of thine eye- see same,
But instead a Papal axe
I face-
For they- the “Otto the Greats” distaste my shout.
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Truth about Wishes

What we know
We truly don’t deserve;
We wish to have,
And what we know
We truly deserve;
We fight to have
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Muse of Nymphs

Reflections strike thought of Newfangled ill
Within the sight of all mirror,
Torching fire for thy tongue to spill
All blindness thy bosom do harbor,
For so oft in barren of wits
I’ve invoked thy fair face for my Muse
Never failing to win heaven’s graces;
Belting nymph melodies from the blankest of verse.
Yet, thy stares at mirror lie sore
But to my pen, a strike at gold
Thus never wishing back the days of yore
In fear of muse, if thy eye, beauty found
------For thy lust at mirror lay my treasure
------yet grief at blasphemies from such creature
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Red and Blue kids

Out the corner of each sight
Eyes met with disgrace;
The youths, leaders of tomorrow
Draped in Red and Blue
Twisting fingers
As if in jest;
Knowing quite well sorrow
Lay in their ambitions of tomorrow

Thus I watch with a fool’s glare
Way beyond their stare
Unable to comprehend
The immaturity their fingers bleed;

Shoot, kill, send the other to the grave
Yet can spell the name on his own grave