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"They’re from another country."
"But… they’re people too, aren’t they?"
"Yeah, but not our people."
my neck wants the
raw wind?    bitter

,biting cool&swallow
ing whole      yet,so
the flavour of winter
layered down like tree rings
each season recorded in bone and marrow

each moment laid down in the mind
each heartbeat for good or ill

the rivers of blood full of life giving breath
free oxygen suckled from births first gasp
Born to fight,
Trained to ****,
Protect My Friends,
Always Will
Stay Low,
Move Fast,
**** First,
Die Last,
One Shot,
One ****,
No Luck,
Pure Skill
Mess with the best,
Die like the rest.
You can mess with a gun,
You can mess with a knife,
But mess with me, and
I'll take your life
Popular Gaming Poem
'Tis a tale, a sorry tale
Of a man, never took the leap
Of a man, free yet caged
A lion amongst the sheep.

A man of great ability,
Of unrealized potential
Confined and clipped by limits
The herd had deemed essential.

A man, a brilliant man,
Stripped of glory and his claws.
Left forlorn and wounded
By the sheep and their laws.

A man, a greater man
Led by the lesser to believe
He owed them much and more
And everything, without reprieve.

A man, a most herculean man
Could have the world, his to keep.
Alas had he only remembered
He was a lion, not a sheep.
The poem isn't just for prodigies rather it's for everyone - all of us, as individuals, possess the potential to do something truly extraordinary; to achieve it we must not fall prey to mob mentality.
About the sweet bag of a bee
Two cupids fell at odds,
And whose the pretty prize should be
They vowed to ask the gods.

Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stripped them,
And, taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipped them.

Which done, to still their wanton cries,
When quiet grown she’d seen them,
She kissed, and wiped their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.
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