.
.
When truth
Becomes
Indistinguishable
From hypocrisy
And lies,
And betrayal is
Our only shield,
Our children’s
Children
Will be
Christened
Death.
.
Then war
Shall be
The playground
Of daemons
With no need
For illusion
Or disguise.
.
When veracity
Is a chaos which
Warms loveless
Hearts,
And tongues
Dance in
Forked trance,
Then tomorrow
Shall have no dawn,
Nor shall there
Be sorrow.
.
For infant
Unloved Death
Will find
Sustenance
In rotting
Gore, a
Wretched
Feast of Plenty
Readily available
On the
Playground of war.
.
.
Bear … 01.16.2015
ⓒBearspawprint2015
Δαιμονία Νύμφη – δαίμονας
STOP
JUST STOP
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Thank you for the “shout out” ❤
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Forked trance, what a metaphor, it’s brilliant.
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I don’t think anyone is listening Bear. Generals gather in their masses just like whiches at black Masses.
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Have you heard the term “preaching to the choir” ?
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Oh! Yes
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I think it was we do.
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I think that is what we do
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powerful!
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Thank you, Beautiful Lady. ❤
:
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The world we live in
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😦 Too too much of this poor old world, yes, but not all. People like yourself breathe out flowers and light, and write with gentle softness. As long as there is poetry like yours, there is hope that the daemons shall starve.
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