Sing a song of suspense in which the players die.Four and twenty ravens in an Edgar Allan Pie.When the pie was broken, the ravens couldn't sing.Their throats had been sliced open by Stephen, the new King.The King was in his writing house, stifling a laughWhile his queen was in a tizzy of her bloody Lovecraft.When the dead maid got the garden for her rank as royal whore,King's shovel made it double and he married nevermore.
What a skeletal wreck of man this is.Translucent flesh and feeble bones,the kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic domes.Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at alaundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.We all have a little sin that needs venting,virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are rippedfrom the branches of office, do you know where your post entails? Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent, and a winter earned.For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life andcounting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,and hope you get a taste.WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR?WHAT THE HELL__ GOING ON? SHUT UP!I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?Say, your me, and I__ you, and they all watch the things we do,and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,haven__ felt like this in years.The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,and punch me into the dead spout again.That__ where you go when there__ no one else around,it__ just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,and a finger on the trigger.CLASSIFIED MY ASS! THAT__ A FUCKING SECRET, AND YOU KNOW IT!Government is another way to say better_than_you.It__ like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won__ stick,it__ like a whole other world where you can smell the food,but you can__ touch the silverware.Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.Humph, isn__ that sweet?And we__e all gonna die some day, because that__ the American way,and I__e drunk too much, and said too little,when your gaffer taped in themiddle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self together and see what__ happening.SHUT UP! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!I__ sorry, I could go on and on buttheir times to move on so, remember: you__e a wreck, an accident.Forget the freak, your just nature.Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we__e done.
Stonesour
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What a skeletal wreck of man this is.Translucent flesh and feeble bones,the kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic domes.Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at alaundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.We all have a little sin that needs venting,virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are rippedfrom the branches of office, do you know where your post entails? Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent, and a winter earned.For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,so we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life andcounting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,and hope you get a taste.WHAT THE FUCK IS ALL THIS FOR?WHAT THE HELL__ GOING ON? SHUT UP!I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?Say, your me, and I__ you, and they all watch the things we do,and like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,haven__ felt like this in years.The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,and punch me into the dead spout again.That__ where you go when there__ no one else around,it__ just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,and a finger on the trigger.CLASSIFIED MY ASS! THAT__ A FUCKING SECRET, AND YOU KNOW IT!Government is another way to say better_than_you.It__ like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won__ stick,it__ like a whole other world where you can smell the food,but you can__ touch the silverware.Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.Humph, isn__ that sweet?And we__e all gonna die some day, because that__ the American way,and I__e drunk too much, and said too little,when your gaffer taped in themiddle, say a prayer, say a face, get your self together and see what__ happening.SHUT UP! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!I__ sorry, I could go on and on buttheir times to move on so, remember: you__e a wreck, an accident.Forget the freak, your just nature.Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,and blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we__e done.
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Give a man a mask, and he'll tell you deeper and darker truths. But he'll also be more abusive, unaccountable, and demonic.
THE CONSCIOUS HUMANYou are not just white,but a rainbow of colors.You are not just black,but golden.You are not just a nationality,but a citizen of the world.You are not just for the right or left,but for what is right over the wrong.You are not just rich or poor,but always wealthy in the mind and heart.You are not perfect, but flawed.You are flawed, but you are just.You may just be conscious human,but you are also a magnificentreflection of God.Suzy Kassem__he Conscious Human_ Poetry by Suzy Kassem
There are those of us who nature is awakening to the secrets of the universe; apart from religious dogma or occult dabbling. It is Natural Law. It is awakening the minds and quickening the senses of those whom it's calling its descendants. Nature is fighting for its rightful place, which can never be fully usurped. Those who are most open to this knowledge are artists (poets, musicians, writers) who also happen to be free thinkers or "outsiders" to the system. We hear a voice that is calling us to waken to the secrets of the universe. Perhaps in some distant future, humanity will read of us; the ones who paved the way for this Pali or New Romanticism called the awakening unto Nature's Law. It won't be technology or software that paves the way, but nature. It won't allow itself to be destroyed, maybe uninhabitable for a time for humans, but never destroyed. There are those of us, the chosen few who are following the narrow path. We will be the future thinkers and writers who generations will read about that truly changed the world, and made a way where there seemingly was none.