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Undeserving
| Open Poetry #32 |
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Undeserving |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
Undeserving Philosophical Editorial Review Looking upon their service, smiling faces - a brutal scenery lives behind their eyes. Our children in schools of art, art of war, art of defending our lives and liberty… Our young – expressions of hope for the elderly, the weak, the un-armed citizen, you and me, living in the land of the so called free… Yet, we hear the noise of those with simple minds, those who will not understand, Those schooled in capitol law and live in journalism’s land; land of the free to be anything they wish it to be, lawyers and politicians making law and calling for order; and for their own tranquility. Those that are tolerated by the majority… First right provided to them, those that do not understand, the keeper of the capitol law, talking down our children in the art of protecting them. Children providing perfect living for the undeserving with the sacrifice, which our children freely give… No gratitude in pay, no help for their lives and family, expected to be as a professional with an education in the art of war, not politically, but demonstrated freely as faceless workers only, certainly not the brightest nor the best we have and see, of course not, that status reserved for the politician and journalistic high. Saved for the graves of gold, placing their lives above the police, fireman, and military child schooled in the art of war, no hearts, or souls, or love for them, only blame and shame, to them it shall go… Pensions of gold for the wealthy politicians. They live in a painted world protected by the lies of their friends in journalism’s land - land of the free. Steeling from the pockets of our children, the child schooled in the art of war. Children placed throughout the land of the droning and lamenting undeserving politician and journalistic pontificator of self-expression, and their own sweet reality. Domestic and foreign politicians sliding on the ice, skating free… Dominating the wealth of silver and gold… While pursuing our children’s progress intimating posture of care and humanity’s welfare. Teaching from their books of civility and restrain – no butter, no meat, no prayer in the street. God replaced by a plastic statue of jolly naked feet and the homeless prostitutes needing drugs to be free – not a woman or a man, just something evolved from the sand, an ameba controlled by their hand… With God, we are justified in our Constitution. Without God, our embarrassment and shame. Society dictates, but the journalistic politician owns society’s schools, harbors, flags, and farms. The only value left is with our children the schooled in the art of war – the art of defending the land of the free, defending our lives and liberty… Hidden behind those eyes of pain and sorrow, bleeding and dying for that piece of Constitutional power, sworn to them by an oath of death, any being against it foreign or domestic, in the hope of freedom’s ringing bell. Yet, the politician ask for more sacrifice, as printed by their journalistic hypocrites – we can not ring that bell, the ears of the poor lost would be defiled. Their hand forced across their chest, their lips are bent to sing to the splendor of the ringing bell and that old glory - instead, let the children schooled in the art of war stand and defend, lest the political head should worry and fret for their own living… Take from the labor of the laborer; take their sweat and toil. “They have enough” those politician journalist cry; or some of it will go to spoil – the only spoil tolerable is their own squalor. That bitterness they have against the protected paper of which they soon will call disgusting – no longer written by our forefathers, but by that ameba from the sandy pond near the oceans shore… Look at your children ameba! Look deep into their eyes, ask the questions why some live to criticize, those little ones you have demoralized. You, politician journalist, are undeserving of that noble place, your palace of dreams – where you are safely kept, by the children trained in the art of war; born up in the school of war. Trained to defend for the right of the likes of you – your freedom. This day is a shameful day indeed, when the right of the truly free are given to the undeserving free, by the services of our children – children in the school of art, the art of war - protectors and keepers of this Constitutionality. A sovereignty for rent, and maybe an event for sell. The world court has certainly dispelled the right to live protected by our paper shell. Politicians, baneful, and lusting bureaucrats looting gold and silver – standing on the heads of our children, those children taught to sacrifice for freedom’s sake – sacrifice for the caprice of the cross-dressed, the non-gendered ameba, the tautly - untouched by the Indian’s leafy plant, and being the foe of God’s human peace and light. Theirs is that duty but to do and die – our police, fireman, and military child, the children schooled in the art, the art of war – this country, and its people they are serving. Look behind their eyes and smiling faces where there in-lies a brutal cry. Our children in schools of art, art of war, art of defending our lives of freedom, and liberty, even those undeserving are paid, paid in blood. She said: ”You look cute in the dark.” |
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
this should probably go into the prose forum |
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JL Member Ascendant
since 2004-04-01
Posts 6128Texas, USA |
So right..... sorry! JL:0  She said: ”You look cute in the dark.” |
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