terror

Blood Sweat And Tears..

 

  • We have nothing to offer you say the cows but our blood sweat and tears. The blood humans cook and call juice or gravy. The sweat is uric acid, the pre-urine in their muscle cells which causes
    arthritis. Their tears and terror become adrenaline which saturates their flesh during
    transit and as they are murdered.

    saiom shriver


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Blowing up women and children

Blowing up women and children

By jfarrell

 

If you wanna blow up women and children -

   - in fact, hurt children in any way -

If you wanna drive a car into a crowd of pedestrians;

You would be kept alive and awake with drugs

As we cut the skin from your screaming body;

Alas, no pain relief

You would be kept alive,

Screaming, dripping

Literally a bloody sight

I don’t know if it’s possible for skin to grow back,

After being so completely removed,

But, if it does, great

We get to skin you again and again and again

And stream it on live tv;

Terrorists? You with the bomb

You’re no different than my dad,

He could only hit the wife and kids, such a big man;

I should fear you?

Come, sit with me, talk,

See the visions my god shows me

Then you will know terror

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

hurt kids, you answer to me

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The Flight of Cowards

Folder: 
A View From My Bay

THE FLIGHT OF COWARDS

  

I stood at the pane transfixed and amazed, as I watched an evil most foul, partaking in a meal of human innocence, fleeing what was to become holed ground.

 

  19 cowards to my home they are bound, bringing a false gospel through the air.

 They preach a word that cannot be heard by most any civilized ear.

 Little boys transporting endless shame to their worthless and empty names.

 

 The Towers are down.

 The Pentagon Attacked.

 Shanksville turned into a burial ground.

 

 We will not forget, you demented wretch.

 From these cowardly acts, we will rebound.

 

 Hear this sound even from the grave, you and your cohorts will all be found, 19 and counting down.

 

American, I proclaim without any shame, color not my claim to fame.

 19 cowards easy to sway, allowed yourselves to be molded like cheap store-bought clay.

 Not a Soldier among them, not a man in sight.

 19 cowards, you boarded the wrong flight.

 

Eternal hate is your check-in gate.

 There will be no applause for your dastardly cause.

 

Four planes in flight, 19 cowards in sight.

 Each making false claims of morality.

 

With feckless thugs claiming a right to blood, supported by God above.

 Haven’t you heard that God is love?

  

Hiding behind curtains, claiming credit from afar, devoid of honor, dignity and a true sense of who you are.

 Soulless puppets hanging from a dead tree, this is all they can ever hope to be.

 

Feet of clay with manhood left wanting.

 Misdirected boys growing up with no toys.

 

Bereft of the valor that it takes to be a man, knowing no honor, your words a joke, on every syllable, I pray you choke.

 All you have done is bring shame to your State.

 Flying cowards your only fate.

 

Cowardly spawns that speak of lust and virgins waiting in the sky to ease their boyish urges.

 Seeking sex, not love, with shameful indifference, as if blessed from above, this truly isn’t.

 

What god above would proclaim this as just?

 Living day to day seeking only lust.

  

Foolish cowards, you have sealed your fate, chained to your followers living eternity in hate.

 I ask you weak and rudderless thugs, how many must die before you open your eyes, and realize that you and your kind are living a lie?

  

I have an extra bit of news for you intruders; your daggers of hate will never penetrate the God inspired gates of the United States.

  

I challenge all cowards of your similar ilk; make your case to this determined face.

 Meet me head-on let’s settle our fates.

  

I challenge you, come from behind the curtain, step to the gate, pick any date, look me in the eye and let’s seal our fates.

 Let’s see who blinks first and is just living a lie.

 Let’s see who blinks first and who must die.

  

What honor is there in what you have done?

 Where is the victory in your demon ways?

 Show me, coward, what have you won?

 Tell me, coward, why do you continue to run?

 

Your empty sacrifice was not the means to an end.

 Your misguided direction, not true to any cause.

 19 Cowards flying limp and blind, into an eternal fate of hate.

 Into a rapid decline.

 

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The Reign

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"Where so many rush to fall asleep,

I tend to creep,

afraid of the a lack of light, 

what's in store for tonight. 

 

Would you like to know why?

I'm afraid of what's inside,

what I always seem to need,

what sleeps within me.

 

When the darkness falls

and my mind succumbs to sweet slumber,

lumbering in comes the pattering of feet,

clawed, and I can't seem to scream.

 

I try to get out from underneath the covers,

to run away, but I am stayed 

by the sudden jacket, holding arms back,

while at my heels chases the maniac. 

 

It is the ghoul, it's in my room,

and now theres nothing but abyss,

amiss of clothes and shoe and tooth

as I run to only bring closer nothingness.

 

And now I am within reach, looking back

at the black teeth, to tear my wide and tall,

before tripping onto face,

no hands to break the fall. 

 

And looking to what had cause the trip,

innocent children, empty faces,

look into me, through me, and it hurts,

it burns, no clue why they are in my plight.

 

And now taking flight, they chase me too,

I am running to a single point,

straight jacket still applied,

my escape impossible, my voice mute. 

 

Again, so focued to the rear,

I forget about the front, 

looking ahead to see now in front of me

the biggest snake ever slithers on scene. 

 

The snake grows bigger, stopping,

rearing its head, baring its fangs,

it wraps me in it's tail,

and squeezes me tight.

 

I can't stand the grip, crying out,

but no sound comes, 

just the sound of my eyes popping out,

and the sound of the plop.

 

The drop of me, hitting the carpet,

falling onto the floor, blanket wrapped around me,

back in my room, not monsters,

no snake no ghoul.

 

Just the sweat drenched shirt,

the paper-dry throat,

rattled, another night lost

to the internal battle. Nightmares reign."  

Author's Notes/Comments: 

So many have issues falling asleep, though the reasons are as numerous as some of them terrorizing. 

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A Baby's Heart-Wrenching Scream

Something happened to me and it was extreme.

As I was aborting a baby, it let out a loud scream.

The scream was heart-wrenching and it was chilling.

It was terrifying and I certainly didn't like the feeling.

There were no ifs, ands, or maybes.

I decided to stop aborting babies.

I can still hear that baby's horrible scream.

I would give anything if it was only a dream.

It was an experience that I truly deplore.

I decided then and there not to abort babies anymore.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is based on a true story.

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Dr Clockstop's Sinister Sideshow

Off with your tweed and on with my silk,

The colourful carriage rears over the hill,

The Sinister Sideshow has come back to town,

Do you hear that unmistakable sound?

The clunking and banging of Clockstop's things,

Books and such, yes, and an army of strings. 

Strings, you say? Yes! His puppet display!

 Never been seen, always hidden away,

We know that they're locked in carriage number three,

If he sees you, I'll say it was nothing to do with me!

But enough of that now, On With The Show!

Starting off with a bow so unnaturally low, 

The leader's a dwarf, so we all know his face,

Then his ladies are adorned with silk, string and lace,

Blues, greens and reds dazzle drinkers and wives,

Diamonds glimmer lights into transfixed eyes,

There are songs of old friendships and songs of old lovers,

But the men see not stories, just girls in bright colours. 

'That's rather sinister...' Hmm? Yes, it is...

But old Clockstop knows where all these men live.

That is the trick of Doctor Clockstop's routine, 

You can leave if you manage to keep your hands clean!

Those who don't often boo at the Final Act,

As the puppet show dancers are emotionless and flat. 

But do not be fooled, for the puppets aren't wood.

I might have suggested you run, if I could...

Doctor Clockstop will follow with puppets in hand,

You can plead, but don't expect him to understand:

Men who grope women and make crude remarks,

Can expect to be treated with the same disregard.

"You were leering, and that reflects little respect..."

Now you're dead, with a puppet string tied round your neck.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

© Lizzie Ayres, 2013

Aggressive Warhead

Folder: 
Poetry

I was at home,

Relaxed and alone.

I lay sleeping,

The darkness was reaping.


 

Then I heard the sound;

Crushed windows all around.

Everything was destroyed,

Of glass everything devoid.


 

Then I heard Warhead at my door,

Personification of Balthazor.

The glass broke into shivers,

Splinters were in my flesh delivered.


 

In spite of my fear,

At Warhead I did appear.

And tried to calm him down,

And he stopped throwing things around.


 

Everything seemed to be well,

Warhead had changes of mood, I can tell.

And Lays-chips was lying there,

I wouldn't touch it, I declared;

'cause it belonged to Warhead.


 

Hours later, Warhead came down;

In his anger still drowned.

He wanted his stuff,

But I knew he would bluff.

Always talking about guns,

But the true deed he shuns.

Though I was confused,

His stuff still unused.

Is what Ramses did tell,

And so ended this hell...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about some bad thing that happened to me.

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who am i?

 

when all confidence has left you,

and you feel bereft of love,

forsaken by those who claimed they cared,

that's when i'll fit you like a glove.

 

i'll wait behind your neediness,

and use arrogance, he's my friend,

i'll have you projecting all of me 

onto children, women, and men.

 

that's when i do my finest work,

and all of me i'll bring,

when others up and leave you,

i'll infect you, and do my thing.

 

my presence will be cunning,

my manipulation sly,

i'll have you wrapped around me,

you won't even ask yourself why.

 

the more of you i can consume,

the larger we become,

to contaminate all is what i want,

'cause YOUR pain, to me, is FUN!

 

a fiendish scowling wimp, you see,

a psychopath, my dear,

enjoying all your suffering,

your kidnapper...i'm fear.

 

 

 

 

10:07 AM 6/22/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

the only thing to ever fear, is fear itself. ~franklin d. roosevelt~

 

and that's the truth.

 

.

Fear's House Of Mirrors

fear is the king 

 

of a coward's delight,

 

fear rules illusions

 

that cloud all fools' sight,

 

fear wants compliance

 

adoration and praise,

 

fear becomes arrogance

 

when you challenge his gaze,

 

turning the tables around 

 

can be bliss,

 

when I make friends with fear

 

his intentions I twist,

 

fear uses everyone

 

and makes them his slaves,

 

fear turns the souls 

 

of some dead in their graves,

 

fear teases weaknesses 

 

of youth and of old,

 

fear changes hearts of warmth

 

into stone cold,

 

fear is the god 

 

that brings glory to killing,

 

fear is the god 

 

that makes the spineless willing,

 

motivation of many is controlled by fear,

 

due to principles twisted,

 

and virtues unclear,

 

many will use fear,

 

unwilling to see,

 

their fears are controlling them

 

clear as can be,

 

if ever you see one who 

 

worries too much,

 

believe it is fear that is

 

gaining their trust,

 

 

fear is a mirror


when we've lost our way,

 

that tells us "forget love, honey...


I'm your hero...please stay?"

 

misguided people fall into fear's rut,

 

they slip and fall in,


losing touch with their gut,

 

banish your worries


and live in the now,

 

To strongarm your fears,


honeybun, this is how!!

 

 

6:57 PM 6/19/2013 ©

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

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