The rioters and I. we go in different directions down the imperturbable street.
but we want the same things peace,calm and love .
The rioters and I ,we agree that the old ways are wrong and no longer fit. They want to smash, break and burn. Me a hater of violence does not want the old ways turned into martyrs but into lessons on how not to from history.
The rioters and I we agree that we are of one spiecies. We have diferent ways and diferent backgrounds. But one day we will find one calm, one love and one peace. where we can all live in peace as one down this imperturbable street.
The street will never be the same ,only better I hope! No more the rioters and I just love and peace.
when the old ways are no more, relegated into history.
written for the dverse prose prompt using
I theif stole a calender He only got 12 months Boom boom
#contentious # poems Swagger stick Handing out fear from their hand The hand holding the swagger stick Swagger stick used to abuse the unwilling Abused by swagger stick to make them willing No to war! Killed by the unwilling For the benefit of bullies……. Swagger stick just a symbol of the bully A symbol of … Continue reading SWAGGER STICK(no to war).
Flowing snake’s coil Touch my exposed calf Making me forget the pain In my weeping heart The cursive fear of snakes Briefly touches my heart Forcing me to forget The pain you left behind The cursive pain of your death May touch my heart But I will never forget The love you showed the world … Continue reading cursive pain
CHAPTER 1. Loomings
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation.
Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.