All education and habit
instigation occurs in time used
coincidently with life's constant,
kudzu will to make life livable in senses

only one fully functional can make, ah,
and we know mankind can become broken,
fail to function for any good use imaginable,

while using carnal mind made excuses to steal,
take away the ra' effort of the tamer of horses,

rob the seed stored for the sure and certain
cold to come, watch the birds flying south,

wonder where the wild goose leads, indeed,
come, and see, let this mind be in you, linked
to all a mortal has time to think twice, once
in slack jaw awe, as we appear in thought, once

aha, we may imagine, all alike, first knowing, yes,
that works, that has utility to me, see, I know,

how to catch a rabbit, and take it's life, for me,
and my baby who shall soon see winter, first,

and play for a minute in cold, cold snow,
not giving any thought to the bunny fur.

Why at this late hour
When the blood of our soldiers water the soil
And the sweat from our brows has fed the clouds
To dark, thick clouds, do Calvary come?

The infernal string's been plucked, the anthems sung.
So do not promise us the red Clover, for victory or not
The living soul's spirit has gone with the dead
And transformed them to living carcass

Arrive not dear salvation for all that I love lies here
let us fall with our soldiers and transcend with them
There's no greater Victory --or place for us no more--,
Except here, to be buried with the dead.

There is a gravity to
sadness; it pulls me
downward into a
deep dark well.
I can't climb out.
It's my own private hell.
I pray for levitation.
I jump, only to fall.
I feel forgotten.

I put one foot in
front of the other,
and I will rise.
I move on.
Hope returns like
a long-lost friend,
and I find my sanctuary.

Your eyes run up, chasing after your feelings— the softest echo  
of a heart, once feeling passionately in love, but only in secret.  
A storm of longing; calm beginnings soon roar thundering  
clapping opening and closing gates.  

The haste, becomes the menace of biting into a bullet;  
never knowing its taste. For any chance given, will later on  
pierce through you in secretive conclusions— another round,  
another round, for a scar so yawning, and a memory so tired  
of ruminating last nights.  

Your tears, are picturesque ashes; core flames that shriek
a pain  before a moment’s murmurs. While an after long
upshot,  distinguishes something oppressive, growing
out of your heart’s  flame— your cheeks raised red of blush;
unease in a fiery rose.

Wouldn’t you love to grow openly under the summer kisses  
that wash the earth in light; as for me, it seemed  
reminiscent of your former bright smile.  

You were once the joy forward looking to a better day;  
a ray after the rain. To reign supreme on their minds;
on  top of every thought of you, worn proudly as a crown.        
        The former is gone.  

The world nicked away that stem of your courageous,
precious, and outrageous company; during the wake
of you finding yourself
      _— you’re so restless now. _
What would distinguish your fiery beauty,
is extinguished; diminished,
          — buried by the earth.  

Still your enduring fiery beauty could feed greed  
into Hell’s gate. For even buried in tragedy;
you shall  ascend gladly to avenge those who hurt you,
in your triumph.

Christ on the cross was maximumly heroic:
He was braver than braves that slay goliath foes,
Or warriors facing deadly threats with stoic
And stony faces, standing nose to nose.  
At Golgotha the sin of all the world was laid
On Him who, though despised, was more victorious
Than a general at his own ticker-tape parade,
Thronged by a grateful nation joyous and uproarious.
Had Christ destroyed his enemies with a thought
(An option for Him), He would've suffered a defeat
Since all the lessons the Lord of Glory taught
Would've been dismissed as having been taught by a cheat.
It would've been the easy, cowardly fashion
Of escaping the pain that proved His Godly passion.