The darkness now descending floods the city as it dies
while shadows lurk in legions 'neath the looming Evil Eye.
Its frozen stare envelops all, it penetrates and pries,
denouncing loathed dissenters to the keepers in the sky.

One’s inner thoughts are well descried before they’ve passed one’s lips
and cruelly crushed with grim contempt twixt despots’ fingertips;
and when a taboo-idea’s found, with which to come to grips,
the Evil Eye dispenses pus and fabrication drips.

The Evil Eye peers down on us to conquer and control,
and marks our every movement, be we hiding in a hole
or preening like a purple parrot perched upon a pole.
Our welfare and our happiness? No, certainly’s not the goal.

For Princes rule with tungsten fists wherever they may roam
and sip from golden goblets, nectar, sweet as honeycomb
while peons (stripped of mind and soul) stray never far from home,
with faces 'neath the iron boot, ****** deep below the loam.

While phantoms fade, then reappear within the urban sprawl,
the gloom (adorned with Evil Eyes which pierce the livid pall)
pervades the ache and agony that poets sometimes scrawl
of plenitude to penury, how life endures the fall.

And peasants pass, parading by to fill the golden urn
with pennies for the afterlife wherefore the faithful yearn,
though screams of babes with empty eyes are never of concern
to those who covet silver coins, eyes cold, tongues taciturn.

And should the herd dare whisper words of freedom's fragrant bloom
or murmur sighs of worriment at earth's impending doom,
the Evil Eye will squint a bit at those who so presume,
condemning nascent untamed thoughts to wither in the womb.

The Evil Eye inspects us all, then tattles to the kings
(manipulating puppet people, pulling on the strings)
extracting secrets from our souls like spiders plucking wings
that flutter round the hangman’s knot as freedom’s carcass swings.

To hide the pains of purgatory, far-flung distant shores
(on islands of containment) cache the dingy dungeon doors
and inquisition water-boards that buoy their holy wars,
while sandmen drape our eyes with dust and rainbow metaphors.

We’ll know the party's over when there's little left to eat
and all the learned scholars, lean, stay silent when they meet -
the Evil Eye will spawn distrust on matters indiscreet.
The signs are all around us - even sheep no longer bleat.

                                    Epilogue
One sightless seer scans the skies and mourns the heretofore.
Two limbless men descend the stairs to find there is no floor.
Three tongueless women babble, telling tales of nevermore.
Four earless children drown within the ocean's muted roar.

When doubt becomes defiance, ask: Will bedlam soon arrive?
Will doves appear above us all, or drones to guard the hive
while fed with milk and honey by the Queen and kept alive
to gut the gale below them? Will the Evil Eye survive?

Atheism - Flat out denies the existence of a God.
Agnosticism - Claims God is unknown or  cannot be known.
Deism - A belief that God created the world of vegetable life, animal
              life and human life than left all, especially human life, to
             their own devises.
Humanism - A belief in the power of human reasoning apart from
             any Deity.

I quote a friend, now with the Lord, who said, "When one's view point  of God is wrong, generally their viewpoint of life is wrong."
         Lately, all these mass killings  proves my friends
         comments to  be true.The fear of God is not in the
         heart of Crews; if it was he and all the other killers
         would not have gone on a killing rampage.

Romans 3:15- 17 describes Crews and all the others like him as "Having feet swift to shed blood; destruction and misery are in their way; there is no fear of God before their eyes."  

My computer showed a person wearing a T-shirt with this message:
Student: "God, where were you when the mass killing happened in my school?"
God: "Don't you remember? I was banned from being in school."

I recently learned of an Atheist Club, open to Atheist only. You know what, if there is in fact "NO GOD" than why an Atheist Club? But
contrary to the Atheist claim that they do not believe in a god, they actually do, else Who  are they denying? I ask you, my atheist friends, isn't it kind of foolish to  form a club against  someone who doesn't exist in their minds?"


Wouldn't it be really foolish for me to form a club denying the existence of the ten planets simply on the fact that they have never seen them? I'm speaking as an atheist now.

I once worked with a man who claimed atheism as his religion,yet he took God's Name n vain every time something didn't work or he hurt himself. One day I called him on it and ask him-"Hey Rose Bud! if you deny the existence of God, why do you ask Him  to **** every thing  you don't like?" (I do not recall his answer)

Another thing that tattles on atheist that they do in fact believe in God, is what do they cry out when they are suddenly facing death?
"OH GOD  PLEASE SAVE ME!! Or they witness some horrifying
thing? What are the first words that come out of their mouth?
         "Oh my! How horrible!" ? No, You know they don't. They
           normally cry out, "OH MY GOD!"
  
Well I could write the biggest book the world has ever known proving that there are no true atheist. With these last few words
I paraphrase God's Word from Romans 1:25-32 explaining why their are men, women and young people who "changed the truth of
God into  lie" [claiming to be an Atheist] " not liking to retain God in their knowledge" [i.e.  having no desire to keep God in their conscious] "knowing the judgment of God is death" [i.e everlasting
punishment, suffering in the lake of fire] "never-the-less continue to
reject God [and do their own thing.]  -JH paraphrase from the KJV
                                          > Conclusion<
"Taking the position of being an Atheist is merely  a cover-up for
being rebellious against the authority of God  over  one's life.' -JEH

He has one eye missing
And a patchwork ****.
I tell everybody he’s winking,
That he has one eye shut.
He’s lost a lot of hair
And he no longer sits up
Like he used to before.
But whenever I see him
I am never in doubt
He is still the bear I adore.

Bubby Bear is a very good bear
The best friend there ever could be.
He sleeps by my side every night
And Bubby never argues with me.

When things get too scary
Or out of control I go and
Grab up Bubby and hold him.
He’s always warm and he’s
Sympathetic, and so I never
Feel the need to scold him.
I can always talk to him
And explain things out
Because he is so very patient.
I think it is because he
Is such a very wise bear
And always there waiting.

Bubby Bear is the finest bear
He always right beside me.
I don’t have to worry that he
He might want to abandon me.

Some people like to tease me
About the way Bubby looks
And make fun of his condition.
But they have to admit to me
They don’t have a friend who gives
One hundred percent permission,
And never gets tired of them
Or tattles their confidences
Or gets bored with what they say.
That’s why Bubby is my best friend
Always was, always will be
All night long and every single day.

Bubby Bear is a very good bear
He puts up with my every whim.
I feel sorry for anyone who
Doesn’t have a friend like him.

I lay, of my own volition, in a space meant for her:
a confined and achromatic scene.
My hands, malodorous, muddy and splintered,
leisurely rest on my chest, free from labor machines.

Here I rest, hackneyed and discouraged
in a pitifully human attempt to simulate death
I curse my virtue; it chastises back as it
mourns the curious exploitation of my health.

It was meant to last only a minute,
as sorrow chains my putrid despair in place.
Yet I, to this day, cannot begin to explain
how the darkness manifested itself a face.

I attempted to strike a movement but remained still
as the daemon began to smile.
The plan was to endure without oxygen for seconds,
yet the creature stayed my conscience for a while.

In a surprising and trepid consternation,
I find myself in service to mendicancy.
The creature, a devil with venetian red oculi,
salivates at its newest and prized delicacy.

I cry at the fleeting mastery of my faculty,
yet the tears remain inattentive and departed.
Time blesses the creature with a dominant sentence
as reality registers a dialog that I had started.

“Where is my daughter? I demand to know.”
The creature’s smile grows ever wider.
He then takes the form of the stuffed turtle toy
that used to sleep right beside her.

The creature, in a droning and unmelodious voice,
utters a perplexing, yet commanding noise:

“ATIV ARETLA NI MAN ES ED OLEF”

Frightened yet discouraged, I aim to find the sense
in the puzzling command the creature produced.
“She’s been missing for days! I need to know where she is!”
The beast speaks again, letting its anger loose:

“FELO DE SE NAM IN ALTERA VITA!!”

Suddenly, albeit boundlessly, the stillness was lifted,
and my structure was free from this tenebrous stead.
I raise myself and clasp at the summit’s precipice
after having danced with a beast in this wooden bed.

The vacant coffin remained pristine,
fitted with natural calico cotton lining.
The devil you fear the most is the one you create
and mine emerged with impeccable timing.

The creature’s malevolent ballad persistently tattles
as The Lapse rebroadcasts the “truth” it wanted to utter.
It had told me, “Become a felon of oneself,
and thine own life shall be traded for another.”

I refuse to concur with the creature’s decisiveness
as my unyielding faith will ensure my daughter’s return.
Her weighty and boundless absence must cease
and lead to the terminus of my inexhaustible concern.

You know the one,
One who blathers on... and on;
The one we'd rather not.

One prattles like a rattle,
Tattles and gabbles,
Babbles and jabbers,
Chatters til we frazzle,
Twaddles til we drop.
One never seems to stop.

One brags
One talks
Bark off trees,
One argues
With a knot.
One can't stop.

One drops names
Like cloud bursts;
One day
One will
Be caught.

One has diarrhetic run-on.
One's opinion's seldom sought.

Finally, at the end of bray,
One has only nought to say.

You say ***
I say tat
You say come, and I say go
Will they ever get along, they don't know!!

I try to tell you what I really say
as I react to you acting this and that way!!
All I hear is how you want to stay
but I'm calling you back every other day!!

I want to trust and I want to feel
but its the attention you want to steal!!
I try to talk and I try to be real,
you reply "we should eat more kale"!!

I go right back to feeling deprived
As I give and give to make you feel alive.
It is me who is supposedly the one who should be blamed
because I give to get love but feel ashamed.

They say to give and expect nothing in return.
How are you not supposed to feel the burn?
I was taught to compromise and pick your battles
So why are there so many **** and tattles?

Here is the difference between the t and the t:
Although they are alike, here is what you don't see.
You could see both in this war fought amongst leaves;
One's made from being crumbled while the other's from being beat.

Tyranny or teams, threats or truce,
Time, tattles, the, tame, though, this, tells, the, truth.
T is meant for drawing while t is meant to lose,
They both wanted peace; just one couldn't choose.

One gave you a gift and that gift was a cup.
It said "World's #1", but number 1 what...?
T, too, gave a present and this was your relief.
This gift was so grand that you let out a big scream!

I hope you guess the riddle and I hope this makes you think.
Because, t, is, the, tinker, the, tocker, in, the, tick.
T, thinks, thought, politely, through, thin, than, through, thick.
Or t doesn't think at all. Now isn't that a trick?

~ A Nursery Rhyme ~

By night the lamplights bloom in blue,
and Squinty Bat comes lurking through.
A flicker, a whisper,
a crooked spin,
she twirls in the hush where dreams begin.

She nibbles moths that orbit the glow,
grim as the gossip graveyards know.
Around the lamp
she loops and slides,
a velvet ribbon on moonlit tides.

At morning sun - dreadful, bright! -
Miss Clara Parrot claims the light.
She squawks and scolds,
so green, so loud,
a herald of day to the mortal crowd.

She tattles from trees with her feathered choir,
spilling the secrets that night conspired.
Their laughter clatters
like shattered glass,
naming each sin the shadows let pass.

Neighbors groan and pull their sheets
as Clara reigns over waking streets.
While Squinty swings
in her secret nook,
dangling like crime in a dusty book.

By day, it’s Clara, gossip and glare,  
by night, it’s Squinty, a ghost in the air.  
And before you ask:
Which one is blessed?
the sun and the moon will refuse that test.

From the bottom of my lungs
Smoke sits
rising falling like ashes from misquite pits
Them blunts stay lit
Enticing spiritual fits
As I
Contemplate on which move to makes
For heartsake
I ain't no savior just coming outta line like behavior braver
Than the rest of the simps
Acting like brain washed chimps
I broke out the cattle through galaxies I battle
Just to shatter your rattle
Now its nothing but tattles
Tails who put you in jail
It never fail
But society so lost who can I call to bail
Me out this system stuck in a prison
With no where to go my flow
Be mojo tearing up tracks like flow jo
Keep y'all in slow mo
Peep My scenario
Reaching through all Barrios in the ghetto
Don't be dead rose pedals
When things come to settle
We taking thangs back
They way they used to be
Just ask the past ancestries
Breathing through the wind
Here I come again strapped up
For Armageddon
No more letting up soon to abrupt
Wicked politics ******* devils *****
Now there's an uprise surprise
The revolution won't 've televised
Right before ya eyes
We set bullets and guns by our side
Now where you ******* can hide
Once we collide
For all the homicide ya did and hid
My history from me ***** please
We ain't taking no mercy
Leave ya beggin like Percy
Stiff as Lurch See I be the revolutionary
Only way I die is young in the cemetery so you enemy
Can follow me
But I'll be back in the form of energy crumblin empires with My next of kin
Indians Blacks and Mexican
Coming to atone America for all there sins
Soon to be Wailin' ever since Trump got the win


Hahahahaha times up clock is tickin

When fools are bored they want to play games
Little minds rattling around in hollowed brains
With little ideas fit only for the grate that flames
or just so juvenile it washes down the ***** drains

A coward who is an asinine is looking for fame
The moronic dregs is gripped by internal pains
In hot despair where's the edifying hero to blame
a louse journey is misery in the third class trains

A product of strife and born ingloriously in shame
Unbearable angst that betters ride limousines in rains
Able to attain and retain because dragons they tame
for our fool's soulless paleness begets life in chains



Copyright.LaurenceA.3rd Aug 2018.All rights reserved.

You surely can't have found happiness
for you only devour the banes of contention
in tattered minds housed in your mud hovels
miseries languishing in your warped heads
as you hide and huddled in your acrid spins

Crawl out and spew your bile in rancid breaths
the professional haters of little consequences
diseased stalkers of the hatchet jobs mobs
open your lidded eyes and wake to your pains
do not inhale your festering odious garbage
you know conflicted beings need to rant and vent

Your sick bids to reign emotional and psyche traumas
to rage your psychosis and wounds on your envied
those with qualities beyond your shattered realms
embodiment of wholesome rays that sears your wicks
propping your madness's to fight for companionship
in your poisoned states and troubled demented souls
you find no rest or haven hence your Professionality in hatred

I play the oiks like a fiddle
know the tattles would tittle
as morons dying to display brotherhood
of hoods in simpletons grape-vine
morons orders younger maidens
in their foolishness to deter contact
where contact is not forthcoming
asinine do delusions to claim they are ruling
I play the morons like Clapton on BB Lucy
just to tease them like I don't know nofinks
and set the morons on another hither thither
give the grape-vine of commoners a twang
just to **** a snoop I don't give a flying ****

Bores in bore-saloons
same bulls for republicans can cans
drink your sorrows in tales and tattles
ghosts of you haunts your ghosts in blindness
lose the loss of steps marching up to the downs you own
births miracles sanctified as ladders removed bestows means
nobody owns tomorrow your pain remains in the cut you wear