I am a poet, simple crafter of the words that ever after will resound with rhyme and laughter or the sounds of tears. I come from noble background truly, poets, royal lines, and duly priests of Enoch's line most cruelly light upon my years. When as a child, into the night the skies they pointed, and with fright I looked upon the boundless light most unnatural did show and told was I that these were ready craft of man, built true and steady and yet my young heart was but heavy for knowing where they go. In early mourning hours come did they, those who the light would shun and dark, mischievous as the sun upon my weakened eyes. Into the flesh pressed they most quick the light of metal, deep the prick of painful knives and sharpest tricks to take the heart alone. For Enoch's priests did in the night meet side by side, and were alight of secrets of the blinding light placed deep within the stone. And as I lay upon the rock and watched the white and hooded frock walk round my body with the lock of Solomon's sealed doors. Now, poet bard I have become. My bleeding fingers have gone numb from writing truths that have undone the line of Crowley's whores. And in the shadows of the day where you doth look, and you doth say that truth is found, I will say nay! This be not where it lies. Or in the corners of the mind, where secrets lie, and secrets find, I will say nay! You cannot bind the stonemason's tools untried. The governor, the man of rules, The hiding magus, all are fools, The farmer running from the ghouls brought up by his own fear. All of you are, by Great Design so close to finding truth and lines but walk away, your own declines! The truth is very near. And with the ending of these rhymes, The lie of ending of the times will never cease, less coins collect and truth be false, and truth neglect.
Be it because the eel doth grin, or be it because of too much gin, or be it because of the sin that hideth in your soul? Should you but look upon the bard and feel that evil is too hard and that my words do flash a card That I would be a ghoul? Be at rest, your heart to mend. I am not evil threat, but friend.
Delete the thread someone please it's an eye saw. And pointless , but that was point........................... Remember bard , count em up..... A=1 Blah blah blah
Multiply those letters by your iq. Wait a while folks , he will be back at some point, With a thesaurus and a packet off space dust.. Ffs I'm bored already
Or would you like to show the jumped up working class oik what's what , REALTIME Shall we say two minutes a post....
Do,you realise we are gonna delete all this shit , including mine , I hope , but we know you prepare everything , so you got it saved eh!
Bit shit , but ok, I ain't much better but mine add up. Yours don't. Which means your only doing half the job... Is that usual , getting off halfway thru the job??????
The curious days, the ones that come And make the kings do up and run And wander though the timeline: Son, The king is dead and done. And on the shelf, the lonely heads to look upon the fields of dead and wonder, sullen, will they spread Their seed, or be but shunned. And whilst the seedlings doth but grow and mark the places row on row where sentinels did be, and flow, the prince is but a stone. We watch, and laugh, as princely doth he speak and wander like a moth with words and Cheshir's grin and doth the lady protest and moan? Still, we do wish the game to cease. In princely fashion does, at least, the king made prince by washing, cease to raise the broken cup. We shall not cease! Say knights of old, Our bones shall rot, our flesh grow cold, yet by the finger, we are told, will we find truth and sup. By Solomon's house, I verily say Shall you go look, and be that may the house is but a wall of stone and dome of golden lies Therein a pillar made of stone stands tall, to burry secrets grown like chalices and swords and wands and pentagrams within your hands.
In doing a poem, as such Do your best that it will not be much. In pentameter rhyme Or similar shine, Thank the gallery readers. I'm touched.
Come on limpic prostrate Give us a rhyme... Make it really funny , and the letters must add up to , Idiot Sorry , grammar Stephen ,,lol. The letters must add up to the word , idiot.
I am no hidden, as you see, I merely write in verse. Creativity is the key, at vespers and at terse. Be not afraid, don't kick don't boo, Don't rage or rant or hiss. Sit back, enjoy, and have a laugh. Or don't and be remiss. As clever as the words may seem It is but nothing, just a dream.
I think what you should do , mr Pentecost , is come to rosé with your ID so there isn't any misunderstandings.. You see this is a private site , that is open to the public to veiw , with no , secret areas... Obviously you don't want your name plastered all over , understood. But we are doing something here, it's not just a forum... Really , not a forum other than its software.. This may be a misconception, which I'm glad to clear up for you.. I thought I had a few times... We will write a thread for explanation. So it can sit there. So could you pm rosé with your ID, it would be advisable, this is a place where the internet is not anonymous " WE HAVE NOTHING TO HIDE " Is the motto....
I will not say your words are poo; but don't quit your day jobs, you two. The words I write are merry rhyme, I've nothing up my sleeve. But stay not too close to the thread in the tangled web you weave.
Bit biblical in taste , written haste. This may be wrong , not the case If you use tools of old , you find the trail will go cold. There was a time when men were men, but now all they do is cower with pen. The times have changed and rhym is rap. I think that is a load of god crap... Only joking , don't be offended , x
