Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Attitude

Attitude
Float like a butterfly
Sting like a bee
I have made my way
On an early Sunday morn
Everyone’s heart broken and torn

Weighing in at 1.9 pounds
A little under a foot
All in wonder, spell-bound
Caught the eyes of many
Fists clinched in rage

Attitude
Eleven inches of cocky power
Ready for the world
Filled with dynamite
If you want a piece of me

Meet Mema,
Or tangle with Papa too
They will make you
Black and blue


The lost fantasy


The lost fantasy
Drifting in and out of consciousness
I see her
Beauty deep as our love
Tied with emotion
Floating on top of the world
The whips of leather caress my
Backside ever so softly
Leaving a sting of ecstasy
Our eyes embrace
As she begins her rein
Bow I must respect
The queen I lust
She is but my idol
I beg for her desire
As the chains become tight
Her demands become known
Her very essence
Her body must be worshiped
Drop to my knees
I kiss her feet
Beg for her to let me
Adore her wholly
Does she truly know
What I want
Or is she powering through the motions
Unknowingly traveling
To a distant place
Alone
The cuffs of the forbidden world
Become wrapped around my wrists
She brings me closer to her
Again the sharp sting of the
Leather tells me
My queen is truly in charge
As the binds become even tighter…
The darkness of the night
Climbs through the shades
We curl up
To forget the days
Tribulations
Drifting off to sleep

Sunday, March 27, 2011

The Other One...


The Other One…
Who is she?
I cannot tell
There, there she sits
My fate to wait in hell

Sin we must
We are told
In God we trust
Be bold

I look to her
The beauty bound
Where is our next desire?
Look at satan’s crown

She must spread
Bear him a child
No wait the deed
She has already been defiled

Our fate
Is upon us
We see man lying
His empty carcass

Waiting
In open field
Ready to cast a stone
He cannot be concealed

The child
Born of Satan
Must die an angles death
For the ruler must me the Son

The Son of man
Will walk
On this barren land
Gathering his flock

Death Hall


Death Hall
All are a sleep
Do they dream?
Or weep
Shall I stop?
And see
A butcher shop
It must be
Where have they gone?
They are but weeds
Something they have all undergone
I too will endure
Old and withdrawn
As in the battle of Marston moor*
In ‘44*
We will all meet again


*the battle of Marston moor in 1644

Age

Age
Entered into a contract
We pass with our eyes wired shut
Closed, to all the pains forming from around us
Shutting our eyes we see no future
Gloom as the time of age is upon us
Devouring each other
The weak unable to survive
The strong dieing from the lack of food
Looking to the dusk forging ahead
The age of our time is ever so near
Shut in by societies faults
The anger of the world frightens us
As children we scurry off to hide
The caves are all taken we shut our eyes
Our age has trapped us in time